He winked at his sister and pointed to the gown. “Please do not ever wear this, sweetheart.”
She flounced about, her skirts up, her hands full of the hideous gray-pink silk. “Is it that awful?”
“It makes you look like a pot of stewed rhubarb.”
The girl, one of the prettiest diamonds of this or any Season, flapped her arms at her sides in despair. “What am I to do? I insisted on it. Mama hated it, too, and now I am”—she crinkled her nose—“rhubarb.”
“Send it back to the modiste. Tell her I hated the fabric.” He knew the dressmaker very well. He and she had enjoyed two weeks together last autumn, and when he broke it off, he gave her enough money in gratitude to refurbish her showroom. The woman had been an enthusiastic bed partner, but she’d haggled over his “donation” like a dog with a bone. “She will understand. Why not suggest she offer it as a finished piece to some poor girl who needs a dress quickly?”
Fee frowned. “I fear Madame Suzette is mercenary.”
He cocked a brow. His sister could tell a charlatan a mile away. “She may well be.”That gown won’t be the first thing for which she’s bilked me.“Take it back. Do it. No man will look at you in that.”
She took a big breath, regret in her pretty purple eyes. “Perhaps a man should look beyond the ribbons and bows.”
He nailed her with his gaze. “Smart men do.”
“I’d like one of those.”
“I’d like one of those for you. The best sort.”God knows, not all your sisters chose a man with brains.“But if you wear that, my fetching sister, no one will ask you to dance. I thought that was your major complaint for your friend there, what is her name? Jezebel?”
“Evan! You know it’s Jasmine.”
“Yes, I do know.” The girl was a jungle cat clawing at any man who was polite to her and deigned to sign her dance card. “You pressed me to take her to the floor to make her evening. I did. Now”—he waved a hand at her funereal pink gown with the very low décolletage—”you might even give that to her. It will improve her chances. I guarantee it.”
She plunked her hands on her hips. “Because of the color?”
He tipped his head. “Well…”
“The bodice!”
He mashed his lips together.
“I knew it! Jasmine can show her ‘glorious globes,’ but I can’t?”
“Wherever did you get ‘glorious you-know-whats’? Never mind. I do not want to learn. But Jezebel needs help to find her man. You know it. I do too.”
Fee lowered her head, her gaze hot with rebuke and laughter. “A bit of skin is her game, eh? What do you want to wager?”
“Ten quid.” This youngest sister was a card sharp.
“Sure of yourself, aren’t you, brother?”
He pushed his glasses down over his nose and peered at her.
She huffed. “Very well! Ten it is.”
He went back to his recent notes from the prime minister.
“Will you attend tonight’s ball at the Chelmsfords’?”
“I am debating it. I’m tired. That garden party yesterday and dinner party at the Carlisles’ two nights ago. I have work to do as well, you know. The prime minister relies on me. I am not just a pretty face.”
“Gah! You are too handsome, Ev. Click your fingers and the ladies come.”
He grew concerned that Fee knew this, lest it indicate he thought poorly of women in general. Shielding his intimate activities from his loving mother and five smart sisters had been his perennial task for many years. Lately, what with his current restraint, it was a relief not to have to be on point about it. Still, the past was often a concern. “Who told you that?”
“Society. And I did not have to ask. I merely watch and listen. You are, my dear brother,desired.” She waggled her brows.
