Page 5

Stella leaned forward and tapped one of the champagne glasses before wrapping her hand around it. Even wearing her spectacles, she had trouble judging how far away an object was.

“Bottoms up!” Merry said cheerily. “That’s an American toast, by the way. I heard it on my last visit to Boston.”

Stella took a gulp of champagne before returning to the subject they had been discussing. “I haven’t seen much evidence of gentlemen who scheme to damage a lady’s virtue. I haven’t experienced it, I mean.”

Merry opened her mouth, but Stella added hastily, “It could be, of course, that my red hair and freckles, not to mention the spectacles, are enough to curb their lust.”

“Pooh!” Merry retorted. “Your hair is beautiful. One of my dearest friends, Mrs. Cleopatra Addison, has fiery red hair, and I assure you that she had most of the male population at her feet when she debuted. What’s more, to be frank, your bosom is a thing of beauty.”

Stella generally thought of her breasts as annoyingly large compared to the rest of her but she smiled a thank-you. “My aunt has warned me many times that unmarried men will attempt to kiss me. They haven’t.”

“Is there someone you would like to kiss?” Merry asked. She was pouring herself another glass of champagne, so she topped up Stella’s glass as well. “I hope you don’t mind if I get tipsy. I forgot to eat today because of all the last-minute preparations for the ball.”

“From what I see, hapless sentimentality overrules lust,” Stella told Merry. “Dowries aside, unmarried gentlemen are either in love or looking for love.”

“A utilitarian quest that masquerades as romance,” Merry said, poking through the small squares of toast that had been sent up with the champagne. “Must needs be done, though. The world must be peopled. I think that’s Shakespeare. Being an American and ill-educated, I’m never entirely sure.”

“Benedict, in Much Ado about Nothing,” Stella said. “The world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married.”

“You had that stored in your head until just the right moment?” Merry asked, looking impressed.

Stella shrugged uncomfortably, realizing that she’d once again broken her promise to Mrs. Thyme to keep irritating knowledge to herself. “My point is that the bachelors we meet in ballrooms are not lustful, as my aunt insists. They are looking for love.”

“They could be doing both,” Merry said, a nostalgic look in her eye suggesting that her husband had managed that feat.

Stella didn’t answer. Many men had an eye on her dowry, but as far as she could see, not a single one of them had designs on her virtue.

They were looking for lovable women.

Stella would be the first to admit that she failed on that front. She was too awkward, too outspoken, too argumentative. Too peculiar. Too much hair.

Not to mention the spectacles.

Her own family had shown little propensity to love her, so why should some random stranger with whom she had danced a few times?

Men looking for love were selective. Their eyes skated over Stella as if she were invisible, after which they plunged to their knees before bird-boned and delicate ladies, tender girls with silky ringlets.

Silvester was a good example. He scooped Stella off the dance floor—but he promptly slipped away to bow before Lady Yasmin.

“Just decide who you want and inform him of your choice,” Merry advised her. “You must try this salmon paste. It’s quite delicious.”

Stella had to stuff a piece of toast in her mouth to suppress a humiliated squeak at the very idea of her “informing” Silvester that she had decided to marry him. “Is that how you found your husband?” she asked, once she swallowed.

“Well, no,” Merry said. “That is, I chose someone, but he turned out to be the wrong person.”

“After which, you chose the duke?”

“No, he chose me,” Merry confessed. “My advice doesn’t match my experience.”

That didn’t surprise Stella. Merry’s husband had likely pursued her with the fervor with which Silvester was pursuing Lady Yasmin. Stella hadn’t formally met Yasmin, but she had a shrewd idea that the lady didn’t get into arguments with her suitors.

Lady Yasmin was Silvester’s equal in the marital sweepstakes. Their children would be exquisite, rich, and titled. They would gracefully dance without ever falling over.

Silvester wasn’t looking for a woman who had memorized Shakespeare plays but someone slender, beautiful, and undeniably charming. Stella’s legs were sturdy even without having children, and charm was in short supply. Her eventual husband would propose with an eye to her dowry, not her allure.

Lucy popped back into the bedchamber with Stella’s gown over her arm.

“I suppose we must return to the ballroom,” Merry sighed, finishing her champagne. “Lucy, poor Lady Stella is in the midst of the horrors of her first Season. Can you think of any advice?”