He’d won. Valen tried hard not to smile. “No doubt. But, a gadfly? Hardly. Perhaps, you mean a popinjay.”
“Precisely!” She waggled her hand at his trousers, as if she might wave them away.
He took her hand in his, calmly laid it over his arm, and patted it.
“This is lunacy.” She fumed, but didn’t pull away. “Madness.”
He smiled fondly at her. “A family trait, or so I’ve been told.”
She exhaled loudly and trudged beside him to the carriage and on to Lady Sefton’s garden breakfast.
Lady Elizabeth Hampton held court in a lush garden, reveling in the attention the ladies were giving her. And the gentlemen, well, what could be more gratifying? Each one was like a piece of fruit set out for her inspection. This one was too fuzzy. This one not plump enough in the pocket. This one too old. She fanned herself gracefully and smiled. Everything was going exactly as she had planned.
Then, fate took an evil turn. A horrifying creature walked under Lady Sefton’s rose-covered transom, and Elizabeth nearly choked on her own saliva. Her fan fell from her fingers. As her courtiers scrambled to pick it up, she jumped to her feet to make certain she was seeing the interloper correctly.
For the briefest moment, she forgot herself and frowned. The voice of her former governess tapped Elizabeth’s shoulder. Frowns beget wrinkles. Ladies must refrain from such destructive expressions.
“Egad,” she muttered, losing control of herself entirely after obtaining a full view of the problem.
Handsome Lord Looks-Like-A-Cherub handed her the fan. She took it and attempted to say thank you, but egad was the only utterance stumbling from her lips.
Her fingers closed around the exquisitely patterned silk of her overdress, and with her other hand she rapped the wretched fan against her thigh. “Impossible,” she whispered.
An attentive young man with hearing too keen inquired as to what might be impossible? Elizabeth remembered herself, smiled genially at her swains, and bid them excuse her. Their downcast countenances bolstered her spirits somewhat. They inquired what they might do for her. How might they ease her alarm? Elizabeth reconsidered her predicament. With four gentlemen circling around her, at least for the moment, she needn’t flee Lady Sefton’s gathering. Although she was taller than two of the gentlemen, she might hide quite admirably in their midst.
But, drat it all, she came here to be seen, not to be cloistered away in a remote corner of the garden. No, it would not do. She must think of a strategy. Where was her brother when she needed him?
Lord Looks-Like-A-Cherub guided Elizabeth back to the bench under the walnut tree, expressing concern over her sudden pallor. Lord Pointy-Nose-But-Has-Thirty-Thousand-A-Year began reciting a poem to cheer her up. Sir Blah leaned against the tree and flicked at the windswept wings of his hair, warning Pointy-Nose not to make a cake of himself. Elizabeth lowered her fan to her lap and smiled up at them, trying to look maidenly and helpless while planning how to murder the monstrous oaf who had ruined today’s hard won entrée.
“You’re very kind.” She beamed at them. “What a lovely poem.” She fanned herself and lowered her lashes in Lord Pointy-Nose’s direction. “I daresay you have completely restored my serenity.” She let her fan flutter to her breast. “How clever you are to have committed to memory the entire sonnet.” He reddened at her praise, and she felt certain he would call tomorrow morning. “I especially enjoyed the part about the birds singing so sweetly.” Surely, in so syrupy a poem, the fellow had recited something about birds.
Given this modest encouragement, he rehearsed again the stanza about trilling larks and morning dew. Sir Blah rolled his eyes heavenward. Thank goodness, her brother charged into the circle and interrupted the tedium.
He greeted the other gentlemen. “You won’t mind if I take my sister away for a moment, will you?” At their protest, he reassured them. “I promise to bring her back.” He teased them for ignoring all the other young ladies, who must surely be pining for their attention. Before long, he had the lot of them laughing and giving her up without a second thought.
Nobody could refuse Robert. He was as genuine and warm as she was calculating and hard, twins and yet opposites. What she wouldn’t give to have his effortless congeniality, his naive confidence. While she must laboriously study every social tactic and female ploy available, Robert merely grinned and jibed his way into everyone’s heart.
The wretch.
Robert pulled her to her feet and tucked her hand under his arm. When they were out of earshot, he leaned close. “There’s someone you must meet. Absolutely first-rate fellow. Tip-top.”
“That tells me nothing, Robbie. How many pounds a year?”
“No. It’s not like that.” Robert halted and turned to her. “He’s my friend. That’s the point, isn’t it? I want you to meet him, not bag him and drag him home to bail us out.”
“Oh, I see.” Elizabeth glared at Robert as he continued down the path, tugging her along behind him. “Begging your pardon, but I thought we had a plan. A rather important one.”
“You have a plan. I’m simply your dubious pawn, my dear. St. Evert has nothing to do with all that. Best of men.” They rounded a perfectly sculptured hedge. “Met him on the continent. I’d trust him with my life. Ah, here he is.”
She came face-to-face with the monstrous oaf and forgot to breathe.
2
I’d Rather Be Dyed
Elizabeth had searched all over Piccadilly for this red silk. The shopkeeper called the color smashed strawberry. A perfect red, embroidered with white lotus blossoms delicately outlined in black, with dark green stems, and leaves curled artfully in the background.
