Page 108 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

Isobel chuckled. “And how long does the receiving line last?” she asked.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Forever.”

When Catriona joined them—as she had been at the end of the Sinclair queue—Robert grinned. “Ah, here’s my dance partner,” he said.

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Come along. Let’s get some lemonade before these beasties trample your toes.”

But before they could move on, the butler made an announcement that had them all gaping in horror.

“Lord and Lady Swofford,” he intoned from the top of the stairs. “Lord William Swofford. Miss Celia Swofford.”

Isobel heard her mother gasp. Ellie’s hand tightened on her arm.

“She did not come,” Ellie whispered.

“Apparently she did,” Declan drawled.

“Lud, Isobel.” Ellie tugged on her arm. “Let’s give them a wide berth.”

Robert and his brother exchanged a wry glance. “And how.”

The four of them rounded the ballroom and stepped into the antechamber that had been elegantly set up with supper tables and a light buffet—groaning with all her favorite foods. “How lovely,” Isobel said. She was delighted and humbled at the lengths the duchess had gone designing a party for her.

Guilt, of course, pricked her again, but she pressed it away and took a glass of lemonade along with the other ladies. The men turned up their noses, averring they would rather drink swamp water than lemonade, and then Ellie assured them there was probably plenty of that in the card room decanters.

“Doona tempt us,” Robert said.

“As though you won’t decamp there soon enough,” Ellie responded.

“Certainly not until our duty has been done here.” Declan offered his arm to Isobel. “Would you care to dance? I believe a reel is next.”

“Ach. I do love a good reel.”

The dance with Declan was delightful—he hardly trampled her toes at all—as was the next with Robert. By then, Nick’s friends Tully and Penny had arrived and they asked her to dance as well.

Of course, the entire time, she kept watching the stairs in hopes that Nick would soon be released from his duties. It occurred to her that being a viscount, or a duke for that matter, was more work than it was worth. It was a good thing she had no intention of becoming a duchess. Wasn’t it?

By the end of her last dance, she was breathless and thirsty once more.

Penny walked her to the lemonade table and stood with her while she gulped down her second glass. He even deigned to drink with her.

“I thought men didn’t drink lemonade,” she teased.

He bowed. “I would make any sacrifice for you, Miss Isobel.”

“How kind,” she said with a grin. But then her grin faded as she spotted an unwelcome face heading toward her. “I don’t suppose you would dance with Lady Celia?”

He grimaced. “Not that. Anything but that.”

“She’s coming.” It was probably politic to warn him. His expression tightened, and he looked as though he might run. Fortunately, he was a stalwart sort and stood by her side as Celia and her friends crowded around them.

They were all as tight-lipped as she, and there was something almost pugnacious in the way they surrounded the two of them. Isobel didn’t care for it in the least. She had a pretty good idea that it was a confrontation Celia had in mind.

What a pity the dear girl had no idea with whom she was dealing.

“So you’ve done it,” Celia said in a snide voice. She had the good grace to keep her voice down, but that was probably more to save her reputation than Isobel’s.

Isobel smiled sweetly and batted her lashes. “I beg your pardon?”