Yet there was no denying her allure.
The debutantes under this roof might have come here in hopes of a dukedom, but the local gentlemen were in this ballroom to be near the effervescent Miss Finch.
“Do you want to dance with her?” Lady Gertrude asked.
“Not at all,” Alexander fibbed.
He could not dance with her. To do so would spark gossip, which was something he assiduously avoided. Alexander had spent his life striving to live up to societal expectations. Miss Finch didn’t bother pretending for a single moment.
Dancing with her was completely out of the question.
Completely.
“This year, I’ll only dance with young ladies I’m considering as potential brides,” he explained.
“Did you dance with her last year?” Lady Gertrude asked. “Or ever?”
No, he had not.
Even when not actively pursuing a bride, Alexander was mindful of his reputation. Cynthia playing at “lieutenant” for a fortnight skirted respectability closely enough.
He was not the sort of gentleman who told loud jests with big gestures and comical expressions, or snort-laughed with pretty spinsters next to the refreshment table.
But he suspected Lady Gertrude knew all of that.
She was remarkably astute.
“How old are you?” he grumbled.
“Eighteen years, one month, three days,” she answered. “I’ll add ‘exact age’ to the list for the next time I’m interviewed by a bride-hunting bachelor.”
“If I choose you, there won’t be a next time,” he pointed out.
“It’s still a good list. Cynthia Louise has one for everyone at the party.”
He blinked. “She does?”
“Cynthia Louise knows everything,” Lady Gertrude said. “She’s the one who taught me to create mental lists. She says it helps with counting cards when gambling.”
“Counting cards,” Alexander said faintly. “When gambling.”
“We practicedvingt-et-unduring the carriage journey.” Lady Gertrude frowned. “I’m dreadful at gambling. I should add that to the list.”
“Don’t add it to the list,” he said quickly. “Leave some mystery.”
Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re just as clever as Cynthia Louise.”
Two days ago, Alexander might have believed that to be true. “She says she’ll help me select my perfect match before the Twelfth Night ball.”
“Of course she did.” Lady Gertrude beamed at him. “That’s what she said she was going to do.”
“Are her claims always true?”
Lady Gertrude nodded. “But never how you think. If she says, ‘Shall we go out for ices?’” it won’t be Gunter’s. She probably means to hike a fjord with a knapsack full of lemons in order to grate the virgin ice herself and make her own batch of lemon ice whilst sliding down a snow-covered mountain on skis.”
The idea was preposterous.
Alexander could absolutely imagine Miss Finch doing it.
