Beatrice snatched at her dance card, still on her wrist. There was the name, Lord Beechum. “Blast!” she exclaimed. “I will go at once and apologize, but we won’t be able to dance tonight since the rest of my card is full.”
“Sometimes hosts add dances,” Amity said, “but it’s always handled before intermission since it would cause more people to be left out if we tried to tack one on the end now.” She wrung her hands. “Henry is a bit peeved, as well.”
“Oh dear!” Charlotte said again.
“Stop saying that,” Beatrice snapped. “It makes my insides twist each time you do.”
“I’m going to the edge of the dance floor,” Mr. Carson said, “to apologize to my partner as soon as I see her. If I could only remember what she looked like. I knew approximately which table she would be at, but...,” he trailed off uncertainly.
“She has pale brown hair, a pink dress, and is on the taller side, like Beatrice. Moreover, she’s with Charlotte’s partner, so you two can stand together in shame.”
They hurried off, and then Amity looked at her again. “That was badly done, Bea.”
“I know. We were talking about treacle and didn’t hear the music begin. Or, at least, I didn’t. I was too busy taking Mr. Carson to task, but it was really all Charlotte’s fault. She—”
Amity held up her hand, and Bea could see the sparkling engagement ring and the thick band of gold on her ring finger. Somehow her shorter, milder sister had become more commanding and even formidable since becoming a duchess.
“It doesn’t matter now. Before the dance ends and you are approached by your next partner, you must go make amends with Lord Beechum and beg his forgiveness.”
“Beg?” Beatrice muttered.
“It’s only an expression,” Amity said, pushing her forward.
With assuredly little time left before she had to dance with — she looked at her card —Lord Tuppence?That couldn’t be correct, but it was what the blighter’s handwriting looked like. With probably a minute or two to spare, she would, indeed, ask Lord Beechum’s forgiveness and hope he wasn’t one of the gentlemen to whom Charlotte had fibbed.
“Ah, here she is, the wayward heiress, herself.”
Drat!He had already danced with Charlotte. Maybe Beatrice should spread the rumor her little sister was the Marchioness of Marzipan. But that could land them both in trouble.
“My lord, please accept my sincerest apologies,” she said, attempting a deep yet graceful curtsey, which she hoped was appropriate under the circumstances. “I would not have missed our dance for the world. I found myself” —why hadn’t she come up with an excuse?— “stuck in....” She could hardly say the ladies’ retiring room as that brought up a vivid image she would rather not put into his lordship’s mind.
“In toffee,” he provided, a devilish gleam in his eye. “Were you stuck in toffee, perhaps?”
She laughed lightly, although she felt like being sick on his perfectly shiny boots.
“Would that were the case, my lord. I was stuck in a conversation with two rascals, as it turned out. Although my dance card is full this evening, I hope you will allow me to make it up to you at another dance.”
“Very good of you to offer. Please, don’t worry overmuch about it,” he said, neither accepting nor declining. “The dance is ending, so we’d best find our next partners.” With a shallow bow, he walked away.
His ego was probably a little bruised. She ought to have said she really had been stuck in toffee, because to learn she’d been gabbing away had insulted him further. She was a twitter-pated ninny, to be sure. Now, to find Lord Tuppence.
***
BEATRICE COULDN’T WAITto speak with Mr. Carson the following day, certain he would come to the shop. Sure enough, just after three o’clock, he arrived. With the shop momentarily empty, Charlotte whistled with infuriatingly loud sharpness, calling her from the back room.
“You used to do that solely to express happiness,” she remarked to Charlotte as she parted the curtain, “not to summon people. I don’t care for it, not one bit.”
She eyed the American. There he was, handsome as ever, smiling and appearing more relaxed than at any time the previous evening.
“Maybe I am simply happy to see Mr. Carson,” Charlotte protested. “But I will try to stop. It’s simply so easy to be heard. If Amity had whistled in such a way last night to gain our attention, we wouldn’t have missed the start of that dance.”
“We did make a hash of it, didn’t we?” Mr. Carson said with his good-natured ease. “I’m going to send over a bottle of brandy to the duke to thank him for the entire thing, if you think that’s the right thing to do. Or is that too small a gesture? Should I send a horse or something?”
Beatrice chuckled. “I know my brother-in-law enjoys a good glass of French brandy. I’m sure that will be welcome.”
“What about your sister? May I send the duchess something, too? Or is that considered too forward?”
“I’m certain she would appreciate any gesture.” Beatrice had to admit to herself, she was impressed by Mr. Carson’s thoughtfulness.
