Evie struggled with how to explain that she and Rothwell might move in the same social spaces in society, but they held very different roles in that world. Evie’s role was different from Imogen’s too. She’d had no coming out, no trousseau. She had no dowry, and Aunt Lydia rarely spoke to her of marriage or the expectation that a suitor would one day offer for her.
“No falling out. We simply aren’t as close as we were as children.”
Imogen pursed her lips in concentration. “That’s a pity. I should like to have insight into the real Lord Rothwell before considering whether we might suit.”
“He’s just over there.” Evie didn’t bother pointing. Rothwell dominated the room, both because he exuded a magnetic quality and because every lady watched him with the same look of interest and curiosity that Imogen wore on her face. “You could quiz him if you like.”
Imogen waved toward the room. “But this is all so much forced frivolity and false politeness. It’s hard to know someone well in such circumstances.”
“I suspect it’s hard to know someone well at all.” As a confidante of her aunt’s, who was a confidante of many of the most powerful noblemen and ladies in London society, Evie knew more secrets than she had any right to. Few people were as they seemed, and most had tragedies and troubles that they struggled with out of view of polite society.
“It’s true,” Imogen murmured in agreement. “At a certain point, one must simply follow one’s heart.”
Evie eyed her friend. Normally, Imogen was a lady of facts and science and would argue for the merits of logic over whimsy.
Was Rothwell’s appeal, or the power he’d soon inherit, so compelling that he’d charmed her without trying?
Lady Hepworth clapped her hands, snapping Evie out of her musings.
“Now, let’s take a small respite and then gather in the main hall to commence the games.” Lady Hepworth paused, glancing around the room to ensure that she had the notice of every guest. “By lottery, we’ve chosen the name of one guest who will decide on our next game.” With a flick of her wrist, Rothwell’s aunt gestured toward the left side of the room. “Lady Maribel, please tell us what you’ve selected.”
The gregarious blonde shot up from her spot on the settee near Rothwell, giggling and all but bouncing on the toes of her slippers. “I choose…” She cast a gaze meaningfully back at Rothwell. “Hide and seek!”
“Only on this floor of the castle, if you please,” Lady Hepworth intoned loudly. “And since you picked the game, Lady Maribel, you shall be the seeker.”
“Perfect,” the debutante chimed, clasping her hands and beaming a blinding smile.
“Reconvene in the main hall in ten minutes,” Lady Hepworth directed as guests began milling about, seeking refreshments or the retiring room.
“I think this is my cue to escape,” Evie told her friend. “Enjoy the game.”
“You truly don’t wish to play?” Imogen laid a hand gently on Evie’s arm. “This one sounds fun. If nothing else, we have an excuse to explore the castle.”
While the others walked out, Rothwell lingered in the room, chatting with Lord Jameson.
She heard Lady Maribel’s name on Jameson’s tongue and watched Rothwell chuckle in reply. Perhaps Imogen was right. The simpering debutante wouldwinthis silly game of catching a marquess.
“I’m sorry, Imogen. I think it’s best I go to my room.” Evie wasn’t certain why, but her patience for all of it had suddenly worn threadbare. She couldn’t stomach imagining Lady Maribel skittering around the castle, hoping to encounter Rothwell in some darkened room.
“Rest well. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Imogen’s eyes held real concern.
“Of course, you will. I’ll see you at breakfast, I’m sure.”
Imogen seemed satisfied with that. “I’ll save you a seat.”
Evie glanced once at Rothwell, who immediately turned his head toward her as if sensing her scrutiny. They weren’t close enough to exchange any words, and Evie didn’t know what inane conversation she’d manage with him even if they were.
She headed for the staircase that led to her guest room upstairs, which, unfortunately, meant she had to cross the great hall. A gaggle of ladies waiting for the game to begin slowed her progress, and by the time she passed across the hall, Lady Maribel stood at its center, her hand covering her eyes.
“Everyone quiet so we can count down,” Lady Hepworth commanded.
A moment later, the countdown commenced, and Evie picked up her pace, determined to clear the area before Lady Maribel began her search.
Before she reached the stairs, two ladies nearly collided with her in their rush to find a hiding place.
“You must hide, Miss Granger. The count is almost finished,” Lady Northam insisted.
“I’m not—”
