“I think I understand the white bits now.” Ciaran was standing next to Lachlan, with Isla on his arm. “They make more sense now you’re wearing the gown. They, ah…well, they enhance the…” He made a vague gesture toward Hyacinth’s bosom. “That is, they call attention to the—”
“For God’s sake, Ciaran.” Lachlan’s smile was swallowed by his usual dark scowl as he eyed his brother.
“What? That’s what the white bits are for, isn’t it?”
Lachlan didn’t answer, but continued to glower at him until Ciaran gave a helpless shrug. “Well then, I’ll simply say all three ladies look lovely tonight. Your turban, Lady Chase, is an exceedingly good one. I didn’t realize feathers of such a spectacular green existed in nature.”
“Never mind my feathers, you young rogue. Make yourself useful, and take me over to Lady Atherton. She’s just there on the other side of the ballroom, chatting with Lady Eustace.”
“Who are all those young ladies hanging about the alcoves?” Ciaran asked, peering across the ballroom at a cluster of grim-faced debutantes.
Lady Chase squinted at the ladies through her quizzing glass. “Wallflowers. Well, it’s disgraceful any young lady should be neglected, with all these gentlemen wandering about. Shockingly bad manners on their part.”
“Wallflowers?” Ciaran looked appalled. “But they’re lovely!”
“Amiable, too, most of them.” Lady Chase lowered the glass with a sigh. “Oh, look, Hyacinth—poor Miss Atkinson is back for a third season. Well, it’s a pity. She’s a sweet thing, but no money, you know, so what’s to be done?”
“Why don’t you invite her to dance, Ciaran?” Isla suggested.
“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I’ll make myself useful, just as Lady Chase commands, and invite themallto dance.”
Lady Chase nodded approvingly at him. “Very gentlemanly of you, Mr. Ramsey. Now, Hyacinth, my dear. Don’t fret. You’ve never looked lovelier, but do stop biting your lip, won’t you? Miss Ramsey, come along, and I’ll introduce you to Lady Eustace and her son. Perhaps he’ll invite you to dance. He isn’t handsome, and he’s an atrocious dancer, but you have to start somewhere.”
“Yes, my lady.” With a last wide-eyed look at Hyacinth, Isla let Lady Chase and Ciaran drag her to the other side of the ballroom.
Hyacinth watched them go. Ciaran’s coat was a bit rumpled, his hair was tousled, and he was pushing his way through the crowd with a bit more energy than was strictly polite, but his height and dark good looks were striking. Hyacinth noticed more than one pair of appreciative feminine eyes following his progress across the ballroom. “It looks as if thetonwill welcome Ciaran warmly enough.”
“The female half, yes, though I don’t know why. He looks like a blackguard.”
“He does a bit, but it suits him. The young ladies here seem inclined to admire him.”
“The Scottish lasses did, as well. No need to worry about Ciaran. He can take care of himself, and Lady Chase has Isla well in hand. Will you dance, Miss Somerset?”
Her nervous gaze roamed the ballroom. They’d attracted more than one curious glance when they were announced, and even now she saw a number of speculative faces pointed in her direction, but it was nothing to the stares and whispers that would commence once she and Lachlan danced together.
“Tell me about Ciaran’s Scottish lasses first.”
He let out a surprised laugh. “Tell tales on Ciaran? All right. He’s a rogue. I can’t say any more than that without shocking you.”
Hyacinth was absurdly gratified to have made him laugh, and her lips curved in an answering smile. “Indeed? How intriguing. What has he done?”
His eyes narrowed. “One tale about one lass. Then we dance.”
“Yes, all right.” She’d have to dance sooner or later, and perhaps it was a nice long tale.
“Ciaran’s first love was a red-headed lass named Fiona. She didn’t return his affection, so he tried to woo her by bringing her a gift—a fish he’d caught, which was still thrashing and flopping when he dropped it in her lap. She screamed and ran away from him, and Ciaran’s heart was broken.”
Hyacinth laughed, delighted. “Oh, poor Ciaran. How old was he?”
“Seven. He’s better at wooing now.”
“Did he win the affections of his second love?”
“One tale about one lass, Miss Somerset. It’s time for our dance.”
Dread rolled through Hyacinth as the couples on the floor moved through the final figures of the quadrille. “Perhaps we should wait just a bit longer, until...”
Until I’m not about to cast up my accounts all over your shoes.
