Page 28 of Evie and Louis: The Story so Far

Evie snorted, amused. “I always dance with Mr Greaves. He’s very nice.”

Louis muttered something she didn’t catch, but guided them back to where his brother and Eliza were standing. He fell into conversation with Nic as Eliza tugged her aside.

“Oh, Evie, do let me introduce you,” she said, smiling at her. “This is Mr Humphrey Price and Mr Jeffrey Hadley-Smythe. Gentlemen, this is my dear friend, Miss Evie Knight.”

A lively conversation ensued as Mr Price and Mr Hadley-Smythe were easy-going gentlemen and it appeared they had several acquaintances in common.

“Ashburton is here, isn’t he?” Evie said, finding they all knew the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu’s eldest son, the Earl of Ashburton. Ashburton had told Jules he was coming, so he must be among the throng. She suspected his parents must have forced him to attend, for he was not one for society, unlike his younger brother, Thomas.

“Yes. So’s his pa. Caused a stir as usual, with ladies swooning all around. The two of them together are more than some women can take,” Mr Price said dryly, before adding. “Though that fellow seems to cause as much stir all by himself. Who is he?”

His sour expression spoke volumes and Evie suspected more than a touch of the green-eyed monster. She did not need to turn her head to know he spoke of Louis César.

“The Comte de Villen,” she said with a smile, feeling a burst of pride in her friend.

“Oh, a Frenchie,” Mr Price said, somewhat disparagingly.

Evie scowled, irritated, and struggled to bite back an angry comment.

Mr Hadley-Smythe hurried to fill the gap, aware of Evie’s indignation. “Might you do me the honour of a dance, Miss Knight?” he asked. “There’s a waltz beginning if you’ve not already a partner?”

Evie looked up into his eager brown eyes. He had a friendly face and looked to be the kind of man who was willing to be pleased by everything. She decided she liked Mr Hadley-Smythe far more than his friend.

“I don’t, and I should like that very much,” she said, and took his arm.

Georgie watched Rochford and Evie walk out onto the floor and smiled. Evie was in high spirits this evening, though she seemed oblivious to the effect she had on people. Wherever she went, she left people laughing and in a far better mood than when she’d arrived. Even Rochford seemed to unravel under the warmth of that smile. Georgie hugged her arms about herself, pleased to see him enjoying himself. She wondered just how rare that was for him and hoped perhaps this evening would show him the world was not such an unfriendly place if he gave it a chance.

“My dance, I believe, Lady Georgina.”

Georgie turned to find herself face to face with the Comte de Villen. “Oh,” she said, immediately sent into a dither. “Oh, yes, it is. Of course.”

Georgie bit back a smile as she noticed the covetous looks on the faces of women around her, enjoying the moment. Unsurprisingly, the comte danced like a dream and Georgie relaxed, wondering at her good fortune in having danced with two such remarkable men, neither of whom made her feel like a family obligation.

“You have set tongues wagging, my lady,” he remarked, guiding her into an effortless turn.

“Have I?” she asked, daring to meet those extraordinary blue eyes.

“The Duke of Rochford never attends balls, is never seen in society, and he certainly never dances, yet this is the second event at which he has appeared, and he has danced with you at both.”

“He’s dancing with Evie now,” she pointed out, suddenly grateful for that fact.

The comte’s expression darkened. “So he is. He’s looking for a wife.”

“Who says so?” she demanded, startled.

He looked back at her. “I say so. It’s obvious.”

Georgie watched Evie and the duke, watched Evie say something and then laugh, throwing her head back. The duke’s lips twitched, and he smiled too. Something hot and unpleasant that felt horribly like jealousy squirmed in Georgie’s chest. Stop it, she scolded herself. Everyone loved Evie. He was not looking for a wife. Well, he might be, said a little voice in her head. Just because the idea of Georgie being his duchess made him furious, it didn’t mean he wasn’t looking for someone to do the job. Someone gentle and easy-going, who always smiled and never said hateful things to people.

Oh. Oh, no.

Georgie stepped on the comte’s toe.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said, mortified.

“My fault,” he said easily, though his expression was tense.

He too was watching Evie and Rochford, Georgie realised. Well, Evie was his friend. No doubt he worried for her. Everyone knew Rochford for his difficult personality and for being an ill-tempered wretch. Though Georgie was certain much of this was not only untrue, but unfair, he hardly did anything to mitigate the situation.