Theo, struck by the dawning horror of a man undone by his own poor judgement, wondered precisely how one extricated oneself from an engagement one had not offered – to a childhood friend he had only momentarily considered kissing, and only out of impulse. An impulse born, no doubt, of prolonged proximity, ill-advised familiarity, and the most unfortunate fact that Hetty Tolliver had, for reasons unknown to man or Providence, chosen that exact moment to look maddeningly kissable.
Not that Theo was attracted to her – certainly not. Heaven forbid. They had climbed trees together, for pity’s sake. One could hardly go about marrying a girl with whom one had once stolen apples and leapt from the hayloft. It would be madness… absolute madness.
He was clung to the hope that Hetty might summon some devious and brilliant strategy to undo the merry havoc her mother had so gleefully set in motion. Her face, however, remained buried in her gloved hands – a most unpromising sign, for it had always been Hetty who possessed the lion’s share of cunning. She had always been the architect of their mischief and mayhem, while he had contentedly followed her lead.
Yes, if anyone could extricate them from matrimonial entanglement before it reached the altar, it was Hetty Tolliver – but at present she was pink-cheeked and quite possibly praying for the ground to open and swallow them both whole. Which, he suspected with growing dread, meant that the prospect of marriage might be far more real than either of them would dare to admit.
At that moment, Lottie strode in, pulling off her gloves and tossing them unceremoniously at a footstool. She glanced around the room, taking in Theo’s stricken expression, Hetty’s buried face, Nell’s gleeful commentary, and Georgie’s sighing delight – and then said calmly, “Who kissed whom?”
“No one kissed anyone,” Hetty snapped, emerging at last from behind her gloves and glaring murderously at all present.
“It was only very near,” Nell supplied.
Lady Tolliver, who had resumed directing invisible orchestras with her fan, clapped her hands again. “Charlotte, dearest, be a love andfetch my embroidery case from the parlour. I shall need to begin monogramming handkerchiefs at once. A union such as this demands personal touches.”
“There is no union,” said Theo, unable to prevent it escaping aloud.
Lady Tolliver gave him a fond smile, as though he were a lamb bleating against inevitability. “Nonsense, Lord Langley. It is far too late for modesty.”
Theo looked to Hetty, and to his great relief, her expression has shifted. Calculation was dawning in those clever hazel eyes. She inhaled, poised to speak, when the door opened once more.
A footman entered, carrying a silver salver with a bottle of champagne and crystal flutes, just as Lottie stepped backwards to retreat, colliding directly with his elbow.Theo watched it all happen in terrible, glistening detail: the tray lurched, the bottle tilted and, though the footman tried valiantly to steady himself, the contents of his tray cascaded forwards in the drawing room. Flutes shattered, and a golden spray of effervescence arched through the air. What Theo did not see coming was Nell, who had launched herself to the left to avoid the falling champagne flutes, striking Theo full in the side. He staggered, caught off balance by a combination of surprise and slippery footing, and before a single soul could intervene, he fell bodily into Hetty’s lap.
There was a great rustling of fabric and a strangled cry from Hetty as she was suddenly bowled backwards upon the chaise. Theo was sprawled most indecorously across her knees, soaked in champagne.
As silence settled, Lady Tolliver made a sound not unlike a dying pheasant, and Lottie choked on a laugh before attempting – very poorly – to disguise it as a cough.
Theo, whose pride had suffered even more than his coat, attempted to right himself without causing further damage. “Forgive me, Miss Tolliver. I quite lost my footing – ”
“Evidently,” Hetty replied from below him. “You are sitting on me, my lord.”
It was at precisely that moment, of course, that Lord Tolliver entered. “Good heavens,” he announced, surveying the scene. “What on earth have I missed?”His cravat was listing to starboard and his spectacles perched precariously atop his balding head. “I heard the word champagne,” he added, taking in the mess, “and I do hope that means one of you has finally agreed to marry Georgiana. Though between us,” he added in a murmur, “I rather feared she might require bribery.”
“Papa!” Georgie shrieked, torn between affront and amusement. “I have not even had a Season yet!”
Lord Tolliver paid her no heed whatsoever, drawing his spectacles down over his eyes so that he might gaze upon Theo – who, it must be said, was still very much seated on his daughter’s lap. “Ah. You. Theodore Winslow. That explains it.”
Theo, acutely aware of the strangeness of the moment, and the champagne slowly soaking into the upholstery beneath them, scrambled quickly to his feet.
“Ow!” Hetty hissed under her breath. “Watch your knee, you great buffoon.”
Theo managed a stiff bow to Lord Tolliver, though his mind had entirely absconded with his ability to form coherent speech. “My, uh… apologies, sir,” he said, straightening with all the stiffness of a man clinging to his last shred of gentlemanly bearing. “I lost my footing. The tray – there was some confusion – your daughter’s lap – unintentional, and uh… entirely my fault.”
“Hmm,” Lord Tolliver said, looking him up and down with open curiosity. “You appear to be leaking.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well,” he said, quite unbothered, “I presume congratulations are in order, then, Mr Winslow?”
Hetty made a strangled sound.
“Or rather – Lord Langley! Ah yes, I have been mistitling you,” Lord Tolliver added, peering at him with a tilt of the head. “I still cannot think of you as Langley. Your father was a fine man. Terrible shot.”
“I am… honoured to follow him, sir,” Theo managed.
“Quite,” said Lord Tolliver. “He once aimed for a hare and brought down the garden wall instead. But he did marry rather well, and so shall you, my dear boy! I am delighted – truly delighted – to have another fellow in the family. Me and Benedict are quite outnumbered. Not that I don’t utterly adore my girls, of course,” he added, waving a vague hand towards his wife and daughters. “But they do tend to travel in packs and speak in unison, and one does long for the occasional rational conversation about gun dogs or the state of Parliament without someone bursting into tears over a hemline.”
“Papa, we are not engaged!” Hetty snapped, rising from the chaise and immediately dabbing at her skirts with a crushed lacehandkerchief. “There was no proposal, no intention, and – may I remind everyone present – no kiss!”
