Page 6 of The Love Potion
“I take no offense at all,” he said. “Miss…?”
“Miss Kynthea Petrelli, Your Grace. I am Lady Zoe’s cousin and companion, and I must say, she has been very excited to meet you.”
His brows narrowed, beginning to form an ugly picture of the two women. The English beauty was the titled, rich girl, no doubt spoiled and used to taking out her peeves on her poorer relation. She obviously had no idea that she was much too young for him. Worse, she thought she could elevate herself by making Miss Petrelli look foolish.
“Actually, Your Grace,” Lady Zoe rushed to say, “I have some questions I’d love to ask you about your horses. I’ve learned that—”
“May I have the pleasure of a dance, Miss Petrelli?” he interrupted.
Which forced Nate, the poor bastard, to request the same of the shrew.
“And I should be in alt if I could have the same of you, Lady Zoe,” Nate said with every appearance of eagerness.
“Me? Well, of course,” said Miss Petrelli, as she offered up her card.
“I should be happy as well,” said Lady Zoe, her eyes glossing straight over Nate to wait for Ras to turn her direction.
He did not. Indeed, he did everything but turn his back on her in the cut direct. And then—thank God—the orchestra finally began the music. He took his leave with a short bow and a reassuring smile.
“I shall look forward to returning for our dance, Miss Petrelli—”
“And I shall count the minutes until we can speak again, Lady Zoe,” continued Nate.
“Your Grace,” said Miss Petrelli as she curtseyed again. This time it was a very proper, very elegant dip of her chin.
“My lord,” said Lady Zoe to Nate. Then she stretched her hand out to Ras. “Your Grace, if I could but ask a quick question…”
At last. It was with great satisfaction that Ras was able to give the woman the cut direct. Unfortunately, it was Miss Petrelli’s voice that followed him, making him wonder if his action would cost her more than it would punish the shrew.
“Oh dear,” she said. “Don’t worry, Zoe. I’ll fix it.”
Chapter Three
Kynthea was notin the best frame of mind when the high and mighty Duke of Harle came to claim her hand for her dance. Her largest complaint was embarrassment. The plan had been for her to bring the potion to Zoe in a glass who would then contrive to get the duke todrinkit. The girl’s reasoning went like this: the elixir would naturally touch his lips which was akin to skin.
There had been no discussion of Kynthea falling flat on her face while dousing the duke.
Zoe had been all apologies afterwards, swearing she would make it up to Kynthea later, most especially after she wed the duke. Kynthea had managed to exact a promise that the girl would never, ever humiliate her again like that.
Zoe immediately agreed. She was at heart a kind person, but her empathy was usually reserved for horses. It sometimes took stern words for her to see that people had feelings, too. How would a horse feel if it was forced to take a tumble onto hard packed ground?
Once phrased that way, Zoe understood. And Kynthea knew that the lesson would stick. So the two cousins were once again in accord.
The duke, however, was still in Kynthea’s black book. Certainly, the man had cause to be miffed. He’d been thoroughly doused with that love potion, after all. No one wanted to spend an evening with damp shirt points, but that hardly necessitated him giving Zoe the cut direct.
Did he not understand how his approval—or disapproval in this case—could ruin a girl in her first come-out? And what cause did he have to cut Zoe when Kynthea had been the one to drench him? The girl had been close to tears all evening, and no amount of attention had restored her confidence. That made her other dance partners gloomy as well, and Kynthea had spent most of the evening commiserating with ignored partners and cajoling Zoe into a better frame of mind.
It hadn’t worked. And now His Grace was crossing the room to claim her for his dance when she just wanted to slap him.
“Don’t forget to ask him the questions,” Zoe hissed in her ear. “Madame Ilie said it would make the potion more effective.”
Yes, she remembered the list of impertinent questions. She would never be able to casually work any of them into a conversation. When was the last time you cried and why? Or what was the hardest decision you ever had to make? Her mother would turn over in her grave if she thought Kynthea had asked such things of a duke! Her mother had been raised as the daughter of an earl, just like Zoe. And though she married a vicar out of love (thereby significantly dropping her social status), she’d insisted her children know all the fine points of polite society.
“Aren’t you done with this love potion nonsense?” she whispered furiously back to Zoe. “Hasn’t it already been enough of a disaster?”
“It’s my only hope now!” Zoe wailed much too loudly.
Kynthea didn’t answer. There wasn’t time as His Grace arrived in front of her. His dashing friend, Lord Nathaniel, was a mere half-step behind, and the two gentlemen bowed before them.
