Page 6 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“Yes, well, you know Julia—she’s likely judging the success of the night on how many of these people recognize the importance of the featured women.”
They all exchanged less-than-hopeful glances. Both of his friends then looked away and he followed the direction of their gazes.
“Who is that? There with Penelope and Julia?” Both of their wives were standing in a corner, involved in an animated discussion with an older woman.
“That’s Miss Mayne. She is apparently quite an expert on old coins. She heard Julia talking of Boudicca and mentioned she has a gold coin from one of the old Celtic tribes from that time.”
“Then Penelope barged in with ideas of how the Roman systems of commerce changed the Celts—and they were off.”
“And so were we,” Chester said wryly.
“Miss Mayne?” Whiddon asked. “I thought she was a young miss, on the hunt for a husband?”
“That’s the niece. The elder is a spinster aunt, bringing the girl out. You’ve met her? The younger one?”
“Briefly. Ah, there she is now.” He pointed with his chin as the girl from the other night joined the ladies.
“I’m just shocked you remembered her name,” Sterne marveled, eyeing him closely.
“Probably would not have, had you not just said it out loud.” Whiddon shrugged and turned his attention elsewhere, determined not to get caught staring at the chit.
Bad enough that she kept intruding on his thoughts these last few days. It wasn’t her looks. He told himself that he could surely find thick, honeyed locks and smokey blue eyes on any number of other debutantes. But the willowy form and the graceful way she moved? Even when she was fanning his foul smoke away, she had moved with a fascinating fluidity.
And that was the rub, wasn’t it?
He only pulled out his stinking cheroots when he found himself in desperate need of a bit of solitude. It all pressed in on him at times, the forced cheer, the cut-throat maneuverings beneath the gaiety, the constant vying for position.
He retreated from it, occasionally, behind a literal smokescreen.
It was usually effective, too, chasing away persistent mamas and determined chits in irritation and disgust. That is, until Miss Mayne stood defiantly in the opposite corner, poised gracefully while she blew his vile smoke back at him.
He grinned every time he thought of it.
She was pluck through, that one. No simpering or fawning from her. She took the disdain he tossed at her and flung it back with a bit of her own.
He didn’t like how much he’d enjoyed it.
He didn’t like how often he’d thought of it, since.
He wasnotgoing to seek her out tonight to see if she would do it again.
“How long do I have to stay tonight?” he asked Chester. “In order to stay in your lady’s good graces?”
Chester clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Frankly, I think she’s amazed that you showed your face. Grateful, too, for your support, Whiddon.” The earl glanced over at his wife. “But if you really wish to turn her up sweet, then stay on and dance a set or two.”
He made a face. But he didn’t leave. Though he did half hide between his friends and a pillar covered in greenery and boughs of apple blossoms. It was the perfect vantage point from which to surreptitiously watch the younger Miss Mayne as the evening wore on. She seemed to have several friends amongst the young ladies. Both Penelope and Julia seemed friendly and welcoming to her when their paths crossed. But only a few gentlemen approached her, and she did not seem to be dancing much.
It took him a while to discern the why of it. At first, he thought the young bucks must be blind as well as stupid. How could they ignore such a girl amidst the usual standard fare of debutantes? But once she joined a group of young ladies, he saw a pattern emerge and he realized that Miss Mayne was the object of a subtle game of interference.
The perpetrator was another young girl. She was dressed in a gown of a garish peachy-orange and she was very, very good at subterfuge.
It all appeared quite natural. A gentleman would approach or be drawn into their group and he would innocently converse with or admire Miss Mayne. Who could not? In a slip of ivory silk with an overskirt of violet lutestring, she drew a man’s eye. Especially the bodice, where the lutestring was heavily embroidered with matching silk and pearls, and where it met beneath the girl’s bosom and showcased her fine curves.
But each time, the gentleman’s attention would be diverted, drawn away by the orange gowned girl, either to herself or to one of the other young women. It appeared, even from afar, that this girl steered the conversations. Inevitably, the gentleman would be enticed away to the dance floor, or to the refreshment tables, or to another group.
Their crowd shrank steadily until Miss Mayne was left alone, standing against the wall.
Whiddon was struck with a spike of empathetic fury. By all the demons in hell, but he hated a stacked game. He despised a cheat. He loathed nothing more than a charming smile that hid a knife aimed at your back.
