Hyacinth looked over, then swallowed a groan. “Lord Litchfield. Yes, I know him. Well, not truly. He has visited Edgerton House. Early in the Season, he pursued Marigold quite avidly.”
“She wasn’t charmed, I take it.”
“Marigold has been steadfastly determined not to show favor to any particular gentleman until someone captures her heart.”
Her twin was determined, as all the Bridewell sisters were, to marry for love. Their parents’ marriage had been an affectionate one, and their three elder sisters were besotted with their husbands too. Marigold and Hyacinth had made a vow to each other at the Season’s start. They wouldn’t be charmed by little more than a pretty face or nice manners. They were seeking that one special gentleman who would notice them for more than their hefty dowries and familial ties to a dukedom.
“He looks as if he intends to approach,” Emma murmured. “Gird yourself.”
Hyacinth bit back a chuckle.
As Emma predicted, he strode toward them.
“Good heavens, he’s looking at you quite wolfishly,” Emma murmured under her breath.
“Well, I wish he would stop.” Hyacinth did her best not to meet Litchfield’s gaze, though she could sense his approach with increasing dread.
“I have an idea.” Emma reached for Hyacinth’s hand, taking it firmly into her own. “Come with me,” she said, then tugged Hyacinth toward the ballroom’s pocket doors.
“Where are we going?”
“First, we’re going to the retiring room until the immediate threat has passed.”
“I don’t think he’d truly mind if I refused to dance with him.” Hyacinth didn’t look back and hoped Litchfield got the intended message of her hasty departure. “The fact that he pursued my sister gives you an indication of just how important I am to him.”
“You have plenty of charms of your own,” Emma insisted as the proceeded at a quick clip out of the ballroom and down the Beckfords’ main hallway toward the ladies’ retiring room.
“Thank you, Em.” It wasn't that Hyacinth believed herself without charms. She only had to look at Marigold to know that she was pretty. They looked alike after all.
But Hyacinth was under no illusions about Litchfield or gentlemen like him. They were fare more interested in what they could gain from a connection to the Duke of Edgerton than any unique qualities Hyacinth or her sister possessed.
Once they were safely behind the closed door of the retiring room, Emma paced, a finger tapping her lips.
“Stay here,” she finally said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Wait, Emma. Where are you going?” Hyacinth all but bleated.
Foolish as it might be, she wanted to be in the ballroom when Sir Tristan arrived, though she could hardly admit that to her friend.
Emma strode to the door and turned back at the threshold. “I'm going to find Tristan.”
“Why?” Hyacinth’s heart rattled fiercely in her chest.
“Because he can ask you to dance. And then Lord Litchfield will stop looking at you like he’s starving and you’re a feast.”
“I don't think it's a good idea.”
“I do.” Emma shot Hyacinth a wink. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
As soon as Emma departed, panic worked its way into Hyacinth’s chest until she could barely breathe.
It was what she wanted, of course. What she’d dreamed of. To dance with Tristan, to be held in his arms. She’d imagined it countless times, but she didn’t want him to do so as a favor to save her from Litchfield. Not if he truly had no interest in dancing with her.
He would only ever see her as Emma’s wallflower friend who needed rescuing from an unwanted suitor.
As she paced the retiring room, she couldn’t decide.
Was seeing her as a wallflower in need of rescue better than Sir Tristan not seeing her at all?
