That, Ivy knew, had to be Miss Ringwood, unless some other hopeful had also managed to get herself engaged recently.
She studied the girl, noting the quietly modest gown, Roman nose and prominent front teeth. Not a classic beauty, but attractive in her own way.
A gentleman came up to her, took her hand and kissed it possessively. This must be Sir Timothy, the future groom. He was also quite tall, so they were well matched in height. Dark hair, darker than hers, but neatly cut as befitted a future barrister.
His clothing was correct but not flamboyant, and he would not have stood out from a crowd of his peers.
But there was something…
“You’re frowning,” said Rose, walking to her side. “What is it?”
“There’s something about that man. See? Over there?” She directed Rose’s attention to the side of the ballroom. “That’s Miss Ringwood, I believe, and next to her is her new fiancé.”
“I see them,” said Rose from behind her fan.
“Look at him,” Ivy turned her back on them, not willing to be observed paying too much attention. “Doesn’t it seem to you as if there’s something familiar about him?”
“Hmm.” Rose casually ran her gaze around the room and then back to the subject under discussion. “You know…maybe…” She sighed. “There is something about him, but I’ll be damned if I can put my finger on it…”
Chapter Eighteen
Prudence tried to catch her breath at the end of the dance. “My goodness, Mr Carmichael. You are certainly an energetic partner.”
The young man opposite her bowed, his face heated with colour. “It is such a pleasure dancing with you, Miss Hartsmere-Drake. You have such elegant vivacity and style…”
“Doesn’t she, though?” A cool voice answered the fulsome commentary. “A rare bloom indeed. We can all agree on that.” Sir Ronan took Prudence’s hand and tucked it under his arm. “And now, lad, you’ll forgive me, but Miss Hartsmere-Drake’s aunt is looking for her and I’ve undertaken to restore this elegantly vivacious young lady to her side.”
“Oh, I…ah, well then…” Mr Carmichael bowed low. “Thank you again for the pleasure, Miss Hartsmere-Drake. I hope that when next I see you, I might beg the honour of another dance…?”
“I’m sure she will look forward to that, sir.”
Before Prudence could utter a word of her own, Sir Ronan had spun her away and was walking her off in the opposite direction.
“I can speak for myself, you know,” she retorted as they neared the ballroom door. “If given half the chance, that is.”
Unrepentant, Sir Ronan grinned down at her. “Come now, Miss Prudence. If you’re trying to tell me you were entranced by that poor lad’s awkward attempts at flirtation, I’ll not believe it.”
“I wouldn’t call that flirtation,” she remonstrated.
“Neither would I,” he laughed. “And yet it was the best he could do.”
She lifted her chin. “I think you are being cruel, sir. You have years of experience at this sort of thing, I’m sure. Young Mr Carmichael has not attained your level of competence.”
“So you’re saying I’m an experienced flirt?”
She eyed him. “I’d wager on it.”
“How much?”
“Pardon?”
“Never wager with an Irishman, darlin’. Not unless you mean it.”
“Oh.” She thought about that. “I suppose I could wager a dance next week?”
“Hmm.” He drew her to one side as the departing throng made its way to the hall. There was now quite a crowd gathering belongings and summoning carriages, so their presence was barely noticed. “Not much of a wager. You’d dance with me no matter what.”
Prudence managed to stop her jaw from dropping. “Good God, Sir Ronan. You are the most abysmally self-confident rogue, aren’t you?”
“So you wouldn’t dance with me?”
She blinked. “That’s not the point.”
“I’m a good dancer, though, you’d agree? And our steps are well matched?”
“Er…yes, I suppose you could say that.”
“I just did.”
Prudence clenched her teeth. “You can be quite aggravating as well.”
“Only when my interest is caught.”
“Oh.” She didn’t have any kind of answer ready for his blunt honesty.
“Here’s what I think,” he said casually. “You want to wager with me. You believe I’m an experienced flirt and you’re prepared to wager on it, right?”
“That’s correct.” Just looking into those eyes, Prudence knew she was absolutely right.
“How do we determine the winner?”
It was a valid question, but before Prudence could form an answer, the Celchesters, Mama and daughter, passed them. Lady Celchester threw Sir Ronan a frowning glance as Miss Henrietta seared Prudence with a decidedly unpleasant gaze.
“I have it,” said Prudence wickedly. “You shall endeavour to obtain a dance from Henrietta Celchester. She doesn’t care much for dancing, and her Mama will only permit gentlemen she considers suitable candidates to even solicit one. She loathes flirtatious behaviour more than anything. So if you can persuade them both into letting you dance with Henrietta?” She grinned. “Then I will have lost my wager and you will have proved you can charm your way into a dance without any sort of flirtation.”
“Perhaps I might just be an eligible candidate for Miss Henrietta’s hand, though. Did you ever think of that?”
“No.” Prudence shook her head. “You’re too…”
“Too what?”
“Never mind.” They moved forward as the crowd thinned. “Now as to our wager. I think perhaps a small sum to be given to charity might be in order. Shall we say…five shillings?”
“I’ve a better idea.” He leaned toward her. “A kiss, Miss Prudence. Should I win, I shall claim a kiss from you at a time and place of my choosing.”
Prudence gulped, struggling against the strange warmth that billowed up from deep inside to send heat to her cheeks. “You
