Page 8 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

“How was the dance?” she asked as Jillian and Amy approached.

“I’d rather not say,” Jillian replied stiffly. “So much for my father giving me time to try to find a husband on my own. He still continues to throw men in my direction.”

“At least he’s not forcing any engagements,” Amy offered.

Jillian’s shoulder slumped with her sigh. “Yet.” She looked back at the man she’d been dancing with as he strutted back to his cohorts. “If he was a bird, what sort do you think he would be?”

It was an odd question, but that was one of the many things that made Jillian so fun to be around. One never knew what might pop out of her mouth. Elizabeth considered the man as he stiffly nodded in greeting to an acquaintance, almost waddling as he passed through the crowd. “Certainly no falcon. Perhaps an owl?”

“I was going to say vulture,” Jillian mused, her eyes squinted in thought. “But I could see the resemblance to an owl.”

“Come now, don’t be unkind.” But even as Amy chastised them, she giggled behind her hand.

“Pray tell, what are we laughing at?”

Elizabeth turned toward the woman’s voice. “Lucy, we thought you’d never arrive.”

“Fashionably late,” Lucy said with a sweep of her green silk skirt. “And you’ll never believe who I saw when I came in.”

“Someone we want to see?” Jillian hedged.

Lucy grinned pointedly at Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s stomach went tight. “Lord Darington. You might want to set your lemonade aside. Remember⁠—?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth burst out. “Yes, I remember well enough.”

How could she possibly forget the time she’d spilled lemonade all over the poor earl. He’d been polite about the accident, but she’d been so flustered, she mopped up the spill on his cravat, and his jacket, down to breeches where…oh, God…

Fire blazed in her cheeks.

“You touched it,” Lucy whispered.

Amy and Jillian shared amused looks, even if they were considerate enough not to laugh.

Elizabeth quickly set aside her lemonade, which was whisked away by one of the servants.

“You did say you would allow him to court you,” Jillian said.

Elizabeth froze. Had she?

But then she recalled how Hannah, in her wedding bliss, had made them all draw bits of paper to see which of the wallflowers would break her vow and marry next. Elizabeth had drawn the heart, and there had been a discussion about Lord Darington.

Not that a man like him would ever want a thing to do with the likes of her. He was smooth, handsome, and sensual in a way that made her melt when his dark eyes met hers from across the room.

“He is not alone at the ball,” Lucy continued.

The heat of Elizabeth’s embarrassment quickly chilled. “Isn’t he?”

She wanted to ask who he was with, to look around and seek out what beauty hung on his arm.

But doing so would mean confessing how much she thought about him, which admittedly was far more than she ought to. And no one needed to know that but her.

“Who is he with?” Amy asked, flicking a glance at Elizabeth before turning her attention to Lucy.

“His grandmother.” Lucy leaned in close. “She stopped me when I came in and told me I was lovely, then asked if I’d met her grandson yet. She was doing it with all the young women. Apparently, Lord Darington is finally intending to find a bride this season to placate her.”

“At least women aren’t the only ones being forced into marriage,” Jillian said derisively.

“Ah, here she is now.” No sooner had Lucy announced the news than an older woman with a cane stopped before them. Her back was ramrod straight, her gray hair pulled into an elegant updo, and her eyes were dark and assessing, crinkling at the corners with her smile.