Page 45

Regina lowered her voice. “The heir refuses to bed anyone but married women! It’s only a matter of time before an angry husband challenges him to a duel, and since he’s an inebriate, he will surely lose. That means the second son will inherit the title and estate.”

“That’s terrible,” Livie said, feeling a little sick.

Regina shrugged. “It’s a new earldom, and not as desirable as Winchester’s, but it’s still an earldom.” She went up on her toes. “Drat, where has he gone? I thought he was walking in our direction.”

Livie had to slip away before she utterly lost her temper. “I see him to your right.”

“Where?” Regina swung in that direction, her padded rump swinging so freely that it bumped into Livie’s hip.

“Jump,” Livie suggested.

“Jump? I do believe you’ve lost your head, Petunia. No lady jumps.”

“True, not every lady is able to jump,” Livie replied sympathetically. “Could you hop?”

“Hop?”

“Another word for a chassé step.” Livie demonstrated. “Few people in society are capable of a proper chassé. Only those who are light on their feet can master it since both feet need to leave the ground. I’m not sure you can do it, given that bustle.”

“Your chassé has no elegance, Petunia. You look like a ginger beer bottle going pop.”

“Oh,” Livie said, schooling her voice to sound crestfallen. “Won’t you demonstrate?”

Regina sighed. “Put your feet together elegantly. Slide one leg forward, and keep your eyes up, facing your partner.”

“Of course,” Livie said.

Regina jumped.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JOSHUA OPENS THE BALL

Earlier that evening

“Shall I announce you by title or character?” the Duke of Trent’s butler inquired, as Joshua and Frederick paused before the entrance to the ballroom.

Frederick raised an eyebrow. “My character is frequently impugned by gossip columns, but I don’t care to have that broadcast.”

The butler ignored this frivolity. “Some guests have chosen to be announced in costume, as in the Sultan of Sultania.”

Joshua intervened. “Lord Frederick FitzRoy-Paget and Major Joshua FitzRoy.”

His brother elbowed him. “Lord Frederick FitzRoy-Paget and Major Joshua FitzRoy-Paget.”

The Trent butler squared himself to the ballroom and bellowed, “The Right Honorable Lord Frederick FitzRoy-Paget, and Major Joshua FitzRoy-Paget.”

The Duke and Duchess of Trent were waiting at the base of the steps to greet their guests. Joshua was itching to dash off and find Lady Macbeth, but he managed to school himself enough to accept their congratulations. His father had sent notice of his promotion to The Morning Post and hyphenated Joshua’s name to allude to the new earldom, without heed for his younger son’s dislike of public acclaim.

Joshua found his father’s nomenclature—Lord FitzRoy-Paget, Earl Paget—absurd.

The duchess was chattering to Frederick in her charming American accent, so Joshua tried to engage the duke, but the man was busy glowering behind his mask.

The fact that Frederick was flirting madly with his wife might explain His Grace’s foul mood.

Joshua kicked his brother in the ankle and bowed once again. “Your Graces.”

“You pulled me away just when I’d come up with a compliment that was guaranteed to infuriate the duke,” Frederick complained, after they’d moved a few steps away. “A charming reference to the duchess’s bosom. It would have made her giggle, which does marvelous things to her cleavage, in case you didn’t notice.”