The reality, unfortunately, wasn’t at all what she’d imagined.
Although a few of the people she’d met had befriended her and Collette, most members of theTonmerely tolerated them. Two illegitimate sisters of a wealthy baron, presented to London’s most elite, although a novelty, were nonethelessillegitimate.
“It’s my opinion that all these unmarried gentlemen are simply waiting to see how theTonresponds to the first man who pays you his addresses,” Collette said beside her in a hushed tone.
“They’re afraid I will taint them with my illegitimacy.”
“Perhaps. But once one takes notice and suffers no considerable consequences,” Collette continued as though Diana hadn’t inserted her pessimism. “Others will follow. By that point, the fact that you were born out of wedlock will be inconsequential.”
Diana shook her head. “Even if you are correct, I would first need one gentleman to notice me first.” Any of them.
“And the higher his status, the better.”
“Easier said than done.” Diana stared at the lake where the other couples were already drifting away. Watching them grow smaller increased her awareness of the hopelessness of it all.
“I’m only glad that you’re willing to make an effort. I’m not sure I could have insisted on teaching if Bethany and Chase hadn’t hopes of you making a match.” Dismissing their embarrassing lack of suitors without another thought, Collette rubbed her hands together. “The duchess has set out some of the prettiest pastries, and I’m dying to see if they taste as good as they look. Shall I fill a plate for you as well?”
“No, thank you.” Diana wished she could have the same cavalier attitude that her older sister did. But how could she enjoy pastries when Captain Edgeworth refused to so much as glance in her direction? “Perhaps he’ll ask me when they return…” She trailed off wistfully as Collette marched off.
She ought not to remain sitting alone. It was rather pathetic, really. But if she was to attempt to insert herself into any of the conversations, she'd be met with a less than enthusiastic welcome.
She wouldn’t be dismissed outright. No, she would be… tolerated.
She was one of Chaswick’s sisters, after all, even if she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.
She exhaled a long breath and shifted her attention back toward the lake. The couples appeared to be delighted with their companions and most likely wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. The thought had her slumping in her chair.
“Already weary of the parties, Miss Diana?”
Diana twisted around and, although she knew she ought to sit up prettily at the sight of her brother’s friend, the Marquess of Greystone, she slid deeper into her chair.
He didn’t need to say a single word to relay his disapproval of her. No, he managed to do that just fine merely with the way he walked, the way he talked, and most of all, the way he looked at her, like she was an ant who’d managed to find her way onto his billiard table.
Hehadbeen kind, however, when he’d danced with her the other afternoon. He’d even gone so far as to compliment her eyes.
“I’m not weary,” she assured him, lest her brother hear she was bored and think she wasn’t grateful for all that he’d done.
“Excellent, then.” Just as he’d done in his ballroom two days before, the Marquess extended an elegantly clad leg and bowed to her as though she was the queen of England. “I’d be honored if you’d risk life and limb by allowing me to row you about the lake.”
Lord Greystone was perhaps more handsome than the three military men put together with his silver-grey eyes and perfectly styled coffee-colored hair. Unfortunately, though, he was as old as her brother—practically thirty! He was exceedingly lofty and… dressed better than most ladies did.
Furthermore, he was a marquess, only one step down from a duke.
Besides all of that, when he wasn’t dripping with disdain for her manners, he treated her like an annoying younger relation—the same as all her brother’s friends did.
And just as he’d likely been obliged to practice the waltz with her, Lord Greystone had no doubt only invited her onto the lake today because Chaswick had asked him to.
Having completed his bow, upright once again, he stared down his aristocratic nose at her.
“Afraid I’ll overturn the boat and drown us both?” he asked.
“No. I mean, I’m not afraid you’ll drown us. I would like that very much.” She couldn’t very well refuse. “To be rowed across the water, not the drowning.”
Even if the idea of floating around the murky lake was slightly terrifying—and even though the idea of making awkward conversation with him for no less than half an hour was a daunting prospect—refusing a marquess wasn’t an option.
But… “Won’t the lace on your sleeves get in the way?” She eyed his colorful ensemble skeptically.
He glanced at his wrists, twisting his arms forward and back and watching the lace cascade around his hands as he did so. If anything, to her surprise, the lace made his hands appear extraordinarily masculine.
