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‘Perhaps there is a genuine fondness between them.’ Elise glanced at the couple, noticing they appeared to be chatting amiably.
‘Hah!’ Verity snorted quietly. ‘He has a habit of ogling me that makes me think he is not as besotted with my sister as he’d like us all to believe.’
Elise knew the fellow had an unsettling habit of sidling up and standing far too close for comfort while ogling her bosom.
On their arrival earlier Verity had immediately whispered an apology to Elise because they were to be burdened with Mr Whittiker’s presence. She’d explained that he’d called on Fiona yesterday and, discovering that young ladies were expected on the morrow, had prised an invitation from Mrs Chapman to join them at teatime to welcome the Dewey sisters to London.
‘Mr Whittiker has offered to accompany us to Vauxhall on Friday. We’ll have a nice time, won’t we?’ Having noticed her younger daughter and Elise were deep in private conversation, Maude Chapman had loudly addressed the pair in an attempt to draw them into discussing the week’s social agenda.
Maude was always glad to offer hospitality to her daughters’ friends. Her husband was not a tight-fist, but he was careful with his money. Yet Maude had noticed that when the Dewey sisters came to stay Anthony’s generosity seemed to improve. She took no offence at her portly spouse’s silly attempts to impress the pretty girls, for everybody benefited from it.
‘But Elise and I have something else planned for Friday.’ It was the only excuse Verity could dream up on the spur of the moment.
Elise didn’t relish spending an evening with James Whittiker either. But a trip to such a popular venue might turn up introductions to a suitable gentleman who might take a fancy to Beatrice. Her sister had also pounced on the opportunity and she gave Elise an energetic nod.
‘It would be nice to go, Verity. I’ve heard Vauxhall is an enchanting place,’ Elise enthused, appeasing her friend with a subtle wink that promised a private explanation would soon be forthcoming.
* * *
‘Please do a recce for me, Alex. It won’t take you more than a few minutes. I’ll take care of Celia while you’re gone.’ Hugh’s eyes darted from his friend’s dark profile to settle apprehensively on the petite brunette dangling from one of his arms. He knew every fellow in the vicinity had her lush body under covert observation and would gladly swap places with him. But Hugh was under no illusions as to what he was taking on. Keeping such a fiery temptress entertained whilst his charismatic friend was running his errand was going to be no easy task. The prospect of fending off her gallants until Alex returned to claim her was alarming.
Celia Chase’s full red lips were aslant, displaying her boredom, because her lover was dividing his time between her and Hugh. One of her slender white fingers began twirling an ebony ringlet, then her exaggerated sighing could be heard as she glanced about.
Viscount Blackthorne turned from his mistress to his friend, a low curse in his throat. Hugh had been hovering at his shoulder and muttering in his ear for some five minutes.
‘There’s no time to lose,’ Hugh insisted, noticing he finally had Alex’s full attention.
Suddenly Alex propelled him away from their group so they might speak privately.
‘I’m due to meet Lady Lonesome at nine o’clock and it’s almost that now.’ Hugh plucked out his watch to check the time.
‘For God’s sake, you’ve got eyes in your head,’ Alex ground out in irritation. ‘If you’re determined to carry on with this lunacy, you can see for yourself if she’s a fright.’
‘Well, yes, I can do that,’ Hugh admitted readily. ‘But I’m not a good judge of character where women are concerned...as you well know.’ The corners of his mouth drooped in self-mockery. ‘Lady Lonesome might be a bewitching beauty, up to no good. I’ll get taken in as I did with Sophia and end up in a worse mess than I am in already. If she’s got a sob story prepared, I’m done for. You know I have a soft heart.’
‘Soft head, more like,’ Alex snapped, jerking his eyes heavenward. But he couldn’t argue with his friend’s self-confessed incompetence with the fairer sex. A good few gentleman who’d had previous dealings with Sophia Sweetman had told Hugh that she was a mercenary madam out for all she could get. He’d not heeded warnings and had acceded to her demand to set her up in style, not casting her off until he’d been almost down to his last shilling.
