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Marissa frowned, but managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. Barely.
Still, she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back her irritation for long, so the sound of the men walking down the corridor was a great relief. Nanette would be too busy flirting to bother with the women much longer.
Marissa bent to whisper quickly in Beth's ear. "I hope you are ready to dance while you're here. Mr. Dunwoody was quite interested in your arrival."
Her friend's checks flared pink. A good thing, as her face had been quite pale. Now she looked less like a girl who'd spent a year at her mother's bedside and more like a youthful maiden.
Marissa waited impatiently for Mr. Dunwoody to appear, but she soon forgot that she was waiting for him and began watching for Jude instead. Would he be a gentleman tonight or a ro
gue? Would he smile mysteriously from the corner, or would he steal her away and kiss her?
Both, hopefully.
The night suddenly felt so uncertain. Her pulse leapt in uneven surges.
"Miss York," a man said. She knew the voice was too tentative to be Jude, but she still hoped it was him as she turned. The sinking of her heart seemed melodramatic in the face of such mild disappointment, but she smiled when she thought of what Jude would say to that.
"Mr. Dunwoody! Here is Miss Samuel, just as I promised! Did you get a chance to speak with her before dinner?"
"I did not." He bowed low over Beth's hand. "Miss Samuel, it is such a pleasure to see you again. I hope your appearance means your mother has improved?"
"She is much better, sir. Thank you." They smiled at each other for a long, awkward moment before Nanette nudged her cousin's elbow.
"Oh," Beth breathed, her expression melting into a combination of embarrassment and dread. "This is Mr. Dunwoody. Mr. Dunwoody, this is my cousin Miss Nanette Samuel."
"A pleasure," she purred with a graceful inclination of her head.
Mr. Dunwoody laughed nervously as he bowed, and when he rose, his eyes stayed on Nanette. "I meant to... oh!" He turned halfway back toward Beth. "I meant to request the privilege of a dance with you this evening, Miss Samuel. And with your lovely cousin as well, if she would deign to dance with a stranger."
Nanette tittered and touched his arm, and Mr. Dunwoody's smile widened to a grin.
Marissa gritted her teeth, but she told herself it didn't matter. Mr. Dunwoody liked Beth, and though Nanette always did her best to draw attention from her cousin, she wouldn't succeed this time, surely. When he walked away, Nanette observed how handsome he was and asked after his prospects. Then she proceeded to tell Beth that a gentleman without a title might be a fine catch for someone like her, but Nanette intended to be Lady Something other when she married. "Still," she laughed, "Mr. Dunwoody certainly seems a fine prospect for a dance partner in the meantime."
Marissa interrupted with a pointed look at Beth. "Beth, I believe my mother wanted to speak with you about designing a headdress for tomorrow's play. You're so amazingly creative! You will excuse us, won't you, Nanette?"
She pulled her friend up and led her toward the far side of the room. "I don't know how you live with that woman," she whispered to Beth. "She's intolerable."
"She's not so bad. At least when I sit next to her, the gentlemen flock around."
"Mr. Dunwoody did not need her presence to entice him. And, as always, you sell yourself too cheaply. Why, Malcolm James was very close to making an offer during your first season."
"But he didn't." She shot Marissa a mischievous look. "It's all right. Nanette says I can be her companion if I never get an offer."
"She did not!"
"She did," Beth laughed.
Marissa stopped her for a quick hug. Beth was sweet and loyal, and if she didn't have the beauty of her cousin, she was very pretty at least. If only they did not have the exact same coloring . . .
Beth cleared her throat. "That Mr. Bertrand certainly seems fond of you. He watched you all through dinner."
"Did he?" She followed Beth's gaze to another corner of the room. She expected to find Jude watching her still, but he was looking down at the woman talking to him. Patience Wellingsly, the same woman who'd watched him so closely at dinner the night before.
"Doesn't he make you nervous? He looks like a ruffian."
Mrs. Wellingsly leaned into his arm, using the excuse of laughter to press herself close.
"Have you danced with him? I can't imagine he would recommend himself as a partner."
