Lucy forced her attention back to her cousin. “Dance? You must be jesting, Eloisa.” She glanced again at the dancers moving gracefully across the floor and shook her head. It was a crush. If she made a mistake—and shewould—she’d send them all toppling like a row of dominoes. “I can’t risk it. No, I’m afraid I’m destined to be a wallflower.”
Aunt Jarvis had been settling her ruffles, but at the word “wallflower” she turned an anxious gaze toward the card room. Uncle Jarvis had disappeared into it the moment they’d entered the ballroom this evening, leaving Lucy and Eloisa to the tender chaperonage of Aunt Jarvis. “Wallflower? Oh no, my dear. Your uncle won’t like that. You must dance, or else you’ll put him into a temper.”
Lucy didn’t much care whether her uncle liked it or not, but she held her tongue. Aunt Jarvis was as much a victim of Uncle Jarvis’s fits and pets as Lucy and Eloisa were. There was no point in taking her poor aunt to task for Uncle Jarvis’s tyranny. Lucy reached out to give the bony hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just the quadrille, Aunt. I daresay I can manage the country dances well enough.”
Notwell, but well enough.
Aunt Jarvis patted her hand. “You’re a good girl, Lucinda. I realize your uncle can be, ah…a bit trying at times, but you mustn’t think too badly of him. For good or ill, it has fallen to him to make you fit to take your place in London society.”
Lucy held back a snort. For a man devoted to his niece’s social triumph, Uncle Jarvis spent a good deal of his time in the card room.
Not that it made much difference. Unfortunately for all of them, she was as ill-suited to London society as she’d dreaded she would be, and Uncle and Aunt Jarvis were equally as ill-suited to guide her through the many pitfalls of a season. Of the four of them, Eloisa was the only one who showed any promise of flourishing. She’d taken to London with the grace and aplomb of a natural belle.
“The heat, girls!” Aunt Jarvis flapped her fan in front of her face. “Thank goodness for Dr. Digby’s Calming Tonic! It’s done wonders for my nerves. Even so, I’ll be astonished if one of us doesn’t succumb to a swoon.”
Lucy hid a smile. Dear Dr. Digby. His tonic was proving to be quite a magical cure. “You look very well tonight, Aunt.”
“You do, mama. The very picture of good health,” Eloisa chimed in. Lucy occasionally lost patience with her aunt’s megrims, but Eloisa was unfailingly loyal to her mother, in the way of two prisoners who’d been years under the command of the same particularly brutal gaoler.
Aunt Jarvis flushed with pleasure. “Indeed, Lucinda, the tonic is every bit the miracle you promised. I can’t recall the last time I felt so well.”
Lucy thought it likely it had been before her aunt married Uncle Jarvis, but once again, she held her tongue.
Eloisa leaned close to whisper in Lucy’s ear. “What’s in the tonic, really?”
“It’s saffron tea with crushed hyssop, a bit of orange flower water, and a drop of honey. If my aunt should find herself failing again, Dr. Digby also has a warm bath oil to sooth inflammations and nervous disorders. It smells lovely. Like lavender.”
“You’re very good to her.” Eloisa slid her hand into Lucy’s. “I’m truly grateful.”
Lucy squeezed her cousin’s fingers. The blossoming friendship between them was another of Dr. Digby’s miracles, and the one for which Lucy was the most grateful.
After circling Lucy warily for the first few weeks of their acquaintance, Eloisa had eased into a cautious affection for her new cousin. She still thought Lucy very odd, and was often scandalized with her unconventional behavior, but at some point, she’d cast aside her doubts. Since then, their relationship had thrived.
Eloisa turned to speak to her mother while Lucy’s gaze roved over the assembled crowd. She’d had high hopes for a pleasant evening, especially when Uncle Jarvis disappeared into the card room, but they’d been sitting here for an hour now without a single person venturing near them. Their hostess, Lady Ivey, who’d been a dear old friend of Lucy’s mother had kindly introduced them to one or two of her other guests, but since then, no one had offered them as much as a nod of welcome.
Lucy sighed. Well, at least one good thing would come of being ignored. She’d be spared the humiliation of dancing, since it wasn’t likely anyone would ask her.
“Perhaps it would be wise if we left early, Aunt,” Lucy suggested, after another twenty minutes passed without anyone glancing in their direction. “We don’t want to overtax your nerves. It’s our first ball of the season. There’s no sense in wearying you on the first night—”
“Look, Lucy. It’s Lady Felicia Wroth!” Eloisa clutched at Lucy’s arm. “We met Lady Felicia at Thomas Wright’s Dancing Academy yesterday, Mama.”
Aunt Jarvis peered over Lucy’s head toward the other side of the ballroom. “My goodness. Her party looks very grand. Who are those two gentlemen with her?”
“The taller, fair-haired gentleman is her brother, the Earl of Vale,” Lucy said. “We met him yesterday, as well.”
He’d arrived at Thomas Wilson’s to collect Lady Felicia in a smart black phaeton with gold-spoked wheels and extravagant royal blue upholstery, his hands steady on the reins of a matched pair of spirited grays. He’d leapt down from the carriage with a flourish and tossed the reins to a boy loitering in the street.
As soon as Lucy laid eyes on him, she’d fallen into a panic. She’d recognized him as Ciaran’s friend—the gentleman she’d met briefly at Brighton Racetrack. Indeed, one couldn’t help but remember Lord Vale. He was the epitome of the fashionable London gentleman.
He hadn’t forgotten her, either. One glance, and he knew her at once as the scandalous lady who’d attended the bare-knuckle bout. Much to Lucy’s relief, he hadn’t betrayed her secret. Aside from a rather wicked glint in his blue eyes, he’d behaved as if they’d never met.
Aunt Jarvis was watching him now with wide eyes. “Oh, my. Heisvery…well, my goodness. He rather catches one’s eye, doesn’t he? I suppose he’s quite the gentleman about town?”
“Yes, very fashionable, indeed.” Eloisa’s gaze lingered on Lord Vale. “Lady Felicia is fond of him. She speaks of him with great affection. I don’t know who the other gentleman with them is, but he looks a bit stern, doesn’t he?”
Lady Felicia was holding her brother’s arm, but on her other side was another gentleman, nearly as tall as Lord Vale, with chestnut hair and a firm, unsmiling mouth.
Eloisa fingers tightened around Lucy’s arm. “Lady Felicia just nodded and smiled at me, and—look, they’re coming this way!”
