“Not a spinster any longer.” Lady Gertrude’s eyes shone. “I just heard the news. How lucky to have found a love match!”
If only the rest of the beau monde would view it the same way.
“My sister wasn’t a spinster,” Alexander protested. “She was a... late bloomer.”
“Then Cynthia Louise isn’t a spinster either,” Lady Gertrude said in satisfaction. “She’s a flower, just like Belle.”
Very neatly done. He couldn’t argue without undermining his own assertion.
“Whose lieutenant are you?” he asked suspiciously.
“Cynthia Louise’s.” Lady Gertrude lowered her voice. “Don’t tell her. She doesn’t know.”
“Why does she need one?” he asked. “She seems quite capable.”
Lady Gertrude’s eyes were almost pitying. “Everyoneneedssomeone. The people who think they don’t are the ones who need someone the most.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be shy?” he muttered.
“I usually am,” she agreed, “but you asked me about Cynthia Louise, who is my favorite person in the world. I can’t wait to tell her you think she’s a flower.”
“I didn’t say that,” he said quickly. “Don’t tell her.”
Miss Finch had orchestrated this waltz for Alexander to come to know her cousin, and instead he’d turned the topic to Miss Finch.
“Tell me about you,” he said to Lady Gertrude.
Her expression shuttered and she stared over his shoulder without speaking.
“Your cousin wants us to talk,” he reminded her. “Aboutyou.”
She dragged her gaze back to his and visibly sucked in a restorative breath.
“Five feet tall, eight stone, youngest of three daughters to Lord and Lady Eddlestone, fluent in French, middling at mathematics, well versed in the running of a household, skilled at the pianoforte, reasonably talented with a needle, shockingly bad at watercolor, excellent at memorizing timetables and lists, and unapologetically partial to tragic operas with sad tenor solos.”
He blinked. “It sounds like you memorized a spy’s intelligence report... on yourself.”
She nodded. “Cynthia Louise’s idea. She said if I ever didn’t know what to say, I could always use one of those things. Since this is an interview, I decided to use them all at once.”
“It’s not an interview,” he said. “It’s a waltz.”
“It’s an interview whilst waltzing,” she amended. “How efficient of you! It must help with the hunt. You can quiz our brains while inspecting our looks up close and making certain we shan’t embarrass you on the dance floor.”
“That’s not what I...”
Very well, fair enough.
Though such cold-bloodedness did not paint Alexander in the most favorable light.
“It’s like any given Wednesday at Almack’s,” he tried to explain. “But smaller.”
She nodded. “I appreciate that. It’s much more relaxing. We’ve only to be terrified of you, rather than of a hundred gentlemen and half a dozen patronesses.”
He glimpsed Miss Finch out of the corner of his eye. It was impossible to imagine her terrified of anything.
She was not dancing. That would have limited her to one swain. Instead, she held court between the biscuit table and the mulled wine. She was surrounded by a dozen locals who hung onto her every word, all of them snort-laughing together at some jest that involved comical facial expressions and wild gestures.
It was not at all the manner in which a lady was supposed to comport herself.
