“Very sorry.”
“Miss Preston,” Lord Rigsby said, his voice high and nasally. “How do you do this evening? You look quite well. Very well, indeed.”
Lily realized she hadn’t heard the man speak but two words when someone had introduced them weeks earlier. What she hadn’t recognized then was that his voice sounded precisely like an underinflated set of bagpipes wheezing to a rest. Now she could do little but stare at him, wide-eyed.
Beatrice stepped smoothly in front of Lily and made a little shooing wave behind her back. “Why, I’m very well indeed. How kind of you to inquire about my health. I was feeling rather peaked a few days ago, but now I’m fully mended.”
Lord Rigsby’s wide eyes flitted over Beatrice’s shoulder to Lily briefly; his mouth opened.
“Don’t be daft, Beatrice,” Margaret said, bustling forward and shunting Lily completely from the group. “Lord Rigsby was speaking to me, were you not? After all, it’s widely known that I’m the most literary of our sisters, and Lord Rigsby strikes me as a literary man. Lord Rigsby, did you know that I’ve read most of theEncyclopaedia Britannica? Well, that’s to say I’ve read most of three of the twenty volumes, but I do have plans to finish the rest eventually.”
“I enjoy sailing, Lord Rigsby,” Beatrice butted in, smiling widely. “Would you like to know the difference between a frigate and a sloop?”
Lily was edging backward toward the nearest pillar. If she could get out of his line of sight…
“What are you ladies up to now?” Bradford murmured to Lily.
She turned to him with a little gasp, equal parts surprised and relieved at his presence. “I’m trying to escape at the moment, actually.”
He deftly slid her arm into his and hustled her in the opposite direction. “To the punch table, then.”
Lily smiled and kept pace with him. “I wasn’t sure you’d be attending tonight.”
“It’s true—all those years away from London society have come with the rather unforeseen consequence of society forgetting my very existence. Thankfully, there’s a rumor going around that has increased my invitations four-fold overnight.”
“What’s the rumor?”
“That I’m a single gentleman of comfortable fortune.”
Lily laughed. “Who’s been passing about such scurrilous stories?”
“Whoever they are, you should thank them, or I wouldn’t have been in place to escort you away from Lord Rigsby.”
“My sisters had already thrown themselves on that particular sword.”
“There’s no greater show of love than true sacrifice.” His nose wrinkled as he glanced behind them. “Your sister Beatrice must love you very much indeed.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s now dancing with the fellow.”
“Is she really?” Lily looked over her shoulder.
Sure enough, Beatrice and Lord Rigsby were dancing—a waltz, no less. By the expressions on their faces, it was hard to ascertain who was more displeased with the arrangement. Though perhaps it was Beatrice, as Lord Rigsby’s upper lip always had that slight curl of disgust.
“Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain,” Bradford murmured, prodding Lily into motion again. “Let’s get you that punch at the very least.”
She smiled at him. “I suppose I must have done something right if my sisters are willing to come to my defense at such great personal cost.”
“They’re protective of you, that’s for certain.”
“I wouldn’t sayprotective.”
“You didn’t witness the inquisition I was treated to en route to the theater a few weeks ago,” he grumbled.
“Pardon?” she said, tilting her head in curiosity.
“Nevermind. Here we are—the punch table, as requested.”
