Page 95 of The Girl Out of Time
“Good luck with that,” Louisa said. “Mar—I mean, Emmeline—I would still be glad if you attended some of the balls with me.” She smiled. “I will not holdhimagainst you.”
Sebastian mockingly put a hand on his chest. “You wound me.”
“Think about it, won’t you?” Louisa said to Emmeline. “And send me a message if you do want to go. We’re on Grosvenor Square.”
After she left, Emmeline turned to Sebastian with raised eyebrows.
“Your friend is quite entertaining,” he said.
“To mock?”
“Hardly an unfair fight, don’t you think? Now that she knows where—and who—I am, she might even bring a gun next time. Or a cricket bat.”
Emmeline snorted. “About those invitations … would we happen to have one for Lady Jersey’s ball?”
“I believe we do. Are we thinking of going?”
“Louisa is going to be there.”
“I see.” Sebastian went over to the cabinet, pulled out a decanter, and poured himself a drink. “Well, I like my evenings challenging.”
“Chocolate tart?” Louisa offered, handing a little plate to Emmeline.
A few other guests milled around the dessert table, but most of the attendees of Lady Jersey’s ball were engaged in dancing or chatting in small groups around the ballroom. Emmeline had a hard time deciding which was the more resplendent: the room, with its white gilded walls and vaulted ceiling, or the guests, glittering at least as much as the two massive chandeliers.
“Thank you.” Emmeline accepted the dessert as she glanced around the room. Louisa had assured her the duchess wasn’t coming—she had a headache—and the duke never attended such functions. She should be safe, and hopefully she’d gradually relax enough to dance.
And do some scouting.
Louisa almost choked on her tart. “There she is!”
“Who?” Emmeline searched the room, panicked. Did the duchess decide to come, after all?
Louisa grabbed her arm and steered her toward the grand curved staircase leading into the ballroom. She pointed out a woman descending—or gliding, rather, considering how smoothly she walked. She held her head high, a peacock feather in her coiffure trailing behind her. Her dress—the latest style, from what Emmeline had seen on the fashion plates—matched the feather with a combination of blue and green silk embroidered with fine golden thread.
“Who is she?”
“That is the woman who will ruin all of our prospects,” Louisa muttered. “Lady Cassiopeia Lennox. The only child of the Earl of Wescott and theIncomparableof last season.” She continued to munch on her tart, her gaze darkening. “Twenty-four offers of marriage, the rumors say. Rejected every single one of them. And she can afford to do so. With that dowry, they’ll still pant after her like thirsty puppies.”
Indeed, a group of admirers sprouted from the crowd and encircled Lady Cassiopeia, each of the young men fighting for his piece of precious real estate.
Oh, what Father would do, if that were me.A pang of sadness arose, but she pushed it down when Sebastian approached them.
He stopped next to her. “Who are we gawking at?”
“Lady Cassiopeia.”
“Hmm.” Sebastian followed her gaze and tilted his head. “Look at them, poor things.”
“I’m surprised you’re not joining them,” Louisa said, not taking her eyes off the earl’s daughter. “Her family is rich enough she wouldn’t be interested in you only for your title and money.”
“Ah, but for that, she’d have to be interested first.”
Emmeline raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I will not talk of embarrassments of last season,” he murmured, lips quirking in a smile. “Say, Cousin, would you still have room for me on your dance card?”
“Of course.” She raised her hand to offer him the card. She’d had a couple of gentlemen ask her for a dance—mostly because she was an unknown and they were curious—but she didn’t mind having the second half of the evening empty to search out her next clue.
