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“Nothing important.” She edged away because he was so large, even when leaning against the wall.

“We can talk about the play if you prefer. But frankly, it’s a watered-down version of Shakespeare’s original, and we have to spend at least ten more minutes together.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ten minutes?”

“A call to an acquaintance’s box lasts precisely twenty minutes,” he informed her. “Lady Regina will never abrogate social rules. Tell me about the lost will?” His eyes gleamed at her in the candlelight.

“How did you know there is a will?”

“The only other word that could follow ‘lost’ is heir. Has anyone gone missing lately?”

“I see why novelists lean on that plot device,” Ella observed. “You no longer look bored.”

His brows drew together.

“I apologize,” she said quickly. “That’s Unkind Thought #4 for the day. I promise to be extremely pleasant from now on.”

He repeated the phrase slowly.

“I allow myself only four UTs, or Unkind Thoughts, a day,” she explained. “You already know I’m the poor relation, but in case you have never imagined what that’s like—and believe me, you wouldn’t be alone—it is extremely easy to lurk at the side of a room thinking frightfully judgmental thoughts.”

He smiled faintly. “You judge me easily bored.”

“I apologize if that is not the case,” Ella said. “At times, faces do not reflect thoughts.”

“In truth, I find social events boring,” Lord Peregrine said, finishing his champagne.

He might as well have flatly said that she was boring. Ella managed not to flinch, but it was an effort. She found that her heart was beating quickly; she felt more alive than she had in ages.

But he was bored.

“Would you like another glass of champagne?” he asked, after a silence.

“I oughtn’t to.”

“Why not? I can’t imagine that inebriation will make you less frank than you are already.”

Ella choked with laughter. “That’s put me in my place, hasn’t it? So you think I’m rude, and I think you’re perpetually bored and, given your evasion of my query about your daily activities, probably feckless as well. At this rate, we’ll have to be seated at opposite ends of the table during Christmas lunch.”

A footman popped up with a tray of champagne. Lord Peregrine handed one to Ella, their fingers brushing.

Her heart skipped a beat at his touch, which was embarrassing. Yet Lord Peregrine was the first eligible gentleman who had ever paid her attention. The fact that he was doing so only to avoid his former fiancée had to be acknowledged. It was a fact, just like his reaction to Fulvia’s beauty was a fact.

“Let’s return to the lost will,” Lord Peregrine said, not bothering to counter her assessment of their future holidays.

She hesitated, but he was to be a family member. Besides, he did look interested. “My father made a will. I—and the butler who witnessed it—remember him writing out the document. It has never been found. It’s irrelevant at this point.”

“Would you be the heiress rather than Fulvia?”

She blinked. “I was under the impression that you had mountains of sovereigns and no need for a dowry.”

“That is correct. But to clarify, had there been a large inheritance, you would have been the heiress. Since there’s nothing to inherit, the will is irrelevant.”

“More or less,” Ella admitted. “I didn’t surprise you with regards to our standing, did I? Fulvia will inherit two hundred acres in the north of England. If you put a modicum of money back into it, the land will repay you.”

Lord Peregrine took a swallow of wine. “I have no need for Fulvia’s acres.”

“Thank goodness,” Ella said, somewhat flustered. “I had the awful thought that perhaps my uncle had promised you stocks.”