Page 98 of The Rake's Daughter
“But is there? Their secret could come out any day. All it takes is one person who knows Sir Bartleby’s natural daughter—”
“We’ll deal with that when it happens. At the moment the girls are enjoying themselves.” And he had to admit the chaperone had helped with that—she seemed to know everyone.
“Well then.” Race drained his glass and stood.
Leo looked up, surprised. “Going out?” He’d expected to spend a long lazy evening in. Perhaps a game of billiards or two. Or a round of cards.
“Thought I might drop in to the Gainsborough ball.”
“The Gainsborough ball? I thought you weren’t going to that.”
“Changed my mind.”
Leo drained his glass and set it aside. “Wait a minute, I’ll come with you.”
Race frowned. “I thought you wanted a break from your social duties.”
“Changed my mind.”
***
Are you enjoying yourself, Mr. Harvey?” Izzy asked her current partner. The Gainsborough ball was not one of the grandest social occasions, but she was enjoying herself immensely.
“To tell the truth, Miss Isobel, I’m feeling rather melancholy,” Mr. Harvey said heavily, which was strange, because he was usually quite amiable. He had sought her out at every social occasion since she and Clarissa had first made an appearance in society, and was about to lead her out for a country-dance.
In fact Mr. Harvey was on the list Izzy and Mrs. Price-Jones were compiling of men suitable for Izzy’s practical marriage intentions. Though not very high on the list, Izzy had to admit.
Not that Izzy could rouse much enthusiasm for any of them, but that would come, she told herself. She just had to put her mind to it, instead of letting it drift off in the direction of a certain irritating man. Who was, thankfully, not here tonight, so she could relax.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Harvey. Is there anything I can do to help cheer you up?”
He gave her a strange look. “But, Miss Isobel, you are the cause of my melancholy.”
“I am?” she said brightly, thinking he was attempting some kind of flirty badinage. Which he never had before—he was a rather earnest fellow—but you never knew. “Pray, what have I done?”
He gave her a wounded look. “You refused me.” He sounded quite serious.
Izzy was puzzled. “Refused you what? I am about to dance with you now, am I not?”
“Refused your hand.”
She glanced at her hand involuntarily. “My hand in what sense, Mr. Harvey? No, please don’t look at me like that. I promise I am not toying with you. I truly don’t understand what you are saying.”
“Your hand in marriage, Miss Isobel.”
She stared at him blankly. “But you haven’t asked for my hand in marriage.”
“I did. I applied to your guardian for permission to court you with a view to marriage. He refused me without a second’s hesitation.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You mean you asked Lord Salcott?”
“Your guardian, yes.” He pointed. “That man over there.”
Izzy whirled around. There he was indeed, the interfering, impossible, infuriating man, standing in the entrance with Lord Randall as if they’d just arrived. He wasn’t supposed to have come tonight, but now she was glad he had. She glared across the room at him. “So that man over there refused you permission to court me?”
“Yes. He made it absolutely clear that I had no hope. Hence my dejection.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Fury choked her. “He had no right.”
