“As is my father.”
Willa said, “Oh, look, Cassandra has arrived.”
The two of them turned toward the receiving line to see Cassandra finish her last curtsey.
One couldn’t miss her. She was the tallest woman in the room and she did not stoop like so many others would have done. Better yet, she piled her gold curls high on her head to be artfully held in place with jeweled pins. The jewels were probably real. Any other reasonable person would have used paste but Thomas Holwell, MP, wanted one and all to see his wealth.
With just a green ribbon woven in her hair, Leonie feared she appeared drab next to her friends, and the thought amused her.
Cassandra spied them. She gave a small wave and began making her way toward them. The three friends took a moment for welcoming kisses on the cheek.
Leonie gave her friends considering looks. “Tonight, the two of you remind me of goddesses. Willa is the moon goddess Selene and, Cassandra, you are like Demeter, queen of the harvest.”
“What a flight of fancy you are on tonight,” Cassandra declared. “How shall we christen Leonie, Willa? Aphrodite?”
Leonie winced. “Too obvious. And nothing could be further than the truth. I’m far from the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“You say that,” Cassandra said, “however, I watch men look at you as if you were a spoonful of honey they’d like to drip into their mouths.”
“Or a flower they would like to pollinate,” Willa agreed.
Heat rushed up to Leonie’s cheeks. This sort of talk embarrassed her. “Now you are being silly. Men hardly notice me.”
“You captured the interest of a duke last year,” Cassandra reminded her.
“One who was so entranced he jilted me for an actress,” Leonie answered. It had not been pleasant being the target of spiteful gossip after Baynton had withdrawn his offer. But the truth was, Leonie had been relieved that she didn’t have to marry. In fact, if she had her way, she would rather die a spinster. She had no desire to submit to a man. Not ever again—
For the briefest of seconds, the bad memory threatened to overwhelm her. She glanced at the sterling punch bowl on its table across the room. There was quite a crowd in front of it. She knew better than to join them—
“Persephone,” Willa declared. “You are like Demeter’s daughter, who was stolen to the underworld, Leonie. You appear so at peace and yet there is this sorrow about you.”
Dear Willa, too perceptive.
Leonie forced a smile. “What nonsense do you speak?”
“I agree,” Cassandra said breezily. “Leonie is the goddess of Love, not the Underworld.”
Willa shrugged, unintimidated by their responses. Instead, she asked, “Are we playing the game this year?”
Leonie had forgotten the game and she had devised it.
“Pleasetell me we are going to play the game again this year,” Cassandra agreed. “Father went on all afternoon about my failure to attract a husband and of what would happen if I don’t finally marry. I know Helen put him up to it.” Helen was Cassandra’s stepmother. “I need something to make all of this”—she waved a gloved hand to include the dazzling company—“more interesting. I’m fatigued of the whole thing and we haven’t even started.”
Leonie’s thoughts exactly. She felt her spirits lift.
The “game” had started as a jest between them, a friendly wager. Each one of them had placed five pounds in a reticle and whoever received the most points by the end of the Season became the winner. The points were easy to earn since they were assigned to different acts of courting. It was a test of flirting prowess but it also helped keep their fathers appeased in the belief their daughters were doing what all eligible young ladies should to catch a husband.
To make the game more interesting, they had decided points could only count for one particular gentleman. They had chosen Lord Stokes because his name had been mentioned most by their fathers.
Willa had won the wager. Stokes had been like wax in her hand until his family informed him they would not support such a match. He’d claimed to be heartbroken but then he quickly offered for Lady Amanda White, a slender blonde with bloodlines better than the king’s. She didn’t have Willa’s fortune but she had dowry enough for Stokes.
Leonie had barely registered a point because of the Duke of Baynton’s interest. She’d had to play the demure, shy virgin while he’d been evidently carrying on with his actress.
“The game would make this Season vastly more entertaining,” Cassandra predicted.
“And why do you say that?” Leonie asked.
“Why? Because of the Duke of Camberly,” Cassandra answered, and Willa quickly nodded.
