“Ye of little faith.” His friend handed his champagne glass to him. “I will not be turned down.”
Frits lifted the wine goblet. Had Turley not seen the mob of men that had been around the ladies when they’d arrived? “Good luck.”
By the time Turley made it to where the ladies’ chaperones were standing, the music stopped. The lady’s partner took himself off, and he made his bow and spoke to the lady. His body stiffened. It was not good news. Then he seemed to relax, raised the lady’s hand, and brought it to his lips. The interchange was interrupted by another gentleman, who then took Miss Featherton to the dance floor.
On the way back around the ballroom, Turley grabbed another glass of champagne, so Frits finished his glass and drank the one Turley had left with him and waited.
His friend ambled up and grinned. “The supper dance.”
“That’s a stroke of luck. I have the supper dance with Lady Adeline.” Then again, it was a bit strange that particular dance had been available. “It is surprising that she only had that set free.”
“What does it matter?” Turley shrugged. “I decided I wished to dance with her and now I will.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Still, Frits had been on the receiving end of enough cunning ladies to know that something was afoot. He kept his grin to himself, but looked forward to seeing how this would play out. Featherton ladies had a reputation for getting what they wanted.
As Frits had suspected would happen, Lady Worthington approached them from the side, and they didn’t see her until she was upon them. “Good evening, gentlemen. I realize you would prefer to hide on the side of the room, but I must impose upon you to dance with two young ladies.”
“Being able to attend your ball is worth sacrificing ourselves.” Frits had no choice but to give her a charming smile.
“I thought as much.” She took his arm. “Please do not use that look on either Miss Tice or Miss Martindale. You will not be happy with the results.”
Blast it. He hadn’t even realized he was using it.
Turley smirked, and her ladyship turned to him. “You had best be careful as well.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He strolled on her other side.
Tice and Martindale. The names sounded very familiar. “Have they not been out for several Seasons?”
“You are thinking of their older sisters.” Lady Worthington grinned. “I must tell you, they are exact copies.”
Now Frits remembered. They were at Lady Watford’s at-home. There were three young ladies, and for the life of him, he could not remember which was which. Not that it mattered.
“Perhaps behind the palm would have been a better place to hide,” Turley grumbled.
“I still would have found you.” They reached the young ladies, and Lady Worthington introduced them.
Frits made sure his smile was polite, but refrained from looking Miss Tice in the eye for more than a second, making sure he did not give her that look. Turley assumed an aloof, but polite demeanor. Still, when the set had ended, they were both relieved.
Making their way back to the place they’d claimed, Turley asked, “Do you think we’re safe now?”
“I believe so. Lady Worthington is not the type of female to impose.” Frits could not help but compare Miss Tice with Lady Adeline, and Miss Tice did not measure up. She tittered a great deal and had little conversation. It might have been better if her mother had waited another year to bring her out. Yet one thing puzzled him. “Did Miss Martindale ask if your main estate was close to mine?”
“She did.” Turley procured them two more glasses of champagne. “I thought she was just making conversation.” He handed a goblet to Frits. “Come to think of it,” Turley said slowly, as if remembering something from a long time ago, “I recall Elizabeth mentioning that the sisters were looking for gentlemen who held land close together.”
That must have been what Lady Worthington meant when she said the sisters were “copies.”
“You did tell her we did not?” That’s what he’d done. Although they each had significant estates whose borders marched together. One might even call them favored estates, even though they were not their main ones.
“Of course. It is the truth.” Turley wiped his brow. “That was a close escape.”
They still had one more set before the supper dance, and Frits scanned the room. His gaze passed a young matron, then went back to her. “Who is the lady down three sofas from us in the dark blue gown with a feather in her hair?”
“Lady Riverton.” Turley’s response was prompt. “Her husband was Lord Broadhurst’s heir. I met her in Paris.”
Frits had seen Anglesey with her at Almack’s. Thankfully, the man wasn’t here this evening. “What do you know of her?”
“From what Elizabeth said, she had an unhappy marriage. Her two boys live with Broadhurst, but she chooses not to.”
