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Lord Lansdowne was an old marquess in desperate need of an heir. He was probably eighty years old, with rotten teeth and a lecherous gaze.
Evie bit on her lip. “I do not know. But she did hint that he’s the kind of man… The kind of title I should aim for. She has lined up a couple of other suitors for me. But none of them look promising to me. I would have chosen none of them for myself.”
“And you would choose Lord Ashbury?”
Evie took a deep breath. “Lord Ashbury is not exactly my choice either. But at least I can be certain of Julie’s motives.”
“Hmm…” Sam pulled a thoughtful grimace. “Perhaps we should ask Lord Clydesdale to investigate the Montbrooks. There must be a reason Lady Montbrook is pushing you to such a nasty arrangement. Unless, of course, she just wants you to suffer. Or I can ask Gage, I am sure he will—”
“No.” Evie shook her head. “No need to involve your family, I shall talk with Julie. I am sure her husband will be more than happy to assist me.”
“Besides, it would be easier for Clydesdale being an heir to a dukedom,” Sam agreed.
“Well, enough about me,” Evie said, rearranging her skirts. “Before Lord Ashbury arrives, I need you to tell me something.”
“What?”
“Where did you disappear to last night?”
Sam groaned. “Please, please, please don’t remind me.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head onto her upturned palms.
“What happened?” Evie’s voice held a note of astonishment.
“I made a complete fool of myself in front of some unknown gentleman,” Sam said, her words muffled against her palms. “And I was so embarrassed that I convinced Isabel to leave right away. It was such a crush, I couldn’t find you quickly, and we had to make a hasty exit.”
“Well?” Evie prompted.
Sam uncovered her face and looked up at her friend. “I flashed my legs at a gentleman in an empty room.”
“What?” Evie nearly jumped off the settee.
Sam proceeded to tell the story in very excruciating and embarrassing detail. How her garter kept falling off and she was afraid her stocking would end up in a pool on the ballroom floor. How she entered a dark room and hiked up her skirts in order to retie her garter. How the rude stranger made fun of her and how childishly she behaved to cover up her embarrassment.
By the end of the story, both girls were choking with laughter.
“Well, to be fair,” Evie said between fits of laughter, “you do have beautiful calves.”
“Oh, please.” Sam was holding on to her abdomen, laughing. “It was the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. Thank the Lord it was dark enough that he probably didn’t even see my face.”
“What about you? Did you recognize him?”
“No, I mean, his voice did sound familiar, but I don’t think I’d recognize it out of one hundred others. Besides, I sincerely hope I shall never meet him again.”
She wiped her tears with a handkerchief. At that moment, Evie’s butler, Rogers, entered the room and announced with a flourish, “Lord Ashbury for Her Grace, the Duchess of Somerset.”
* * *
John entered a spacious drawing room decorated lavishly in golden hues and decided that he’d made a perfect choice in his bride. Saying the room was spacious didn’t do it justice. His townhouse’s entire ground floor would fit in this room. The furniture and walls were styled in the renaissance era, expensive paintings complementing the room. His gaze was instantly riveted to the two young ladies standing next to a settee in the middle of the room.
“Lord Ashbury.” His intended made several steps toward him.
He took her offered hand and bowed over it. “Your Grace.”
“Let me introduce you to my friend.” She gestured to a beautiful blonde girl. “Miss Samantha Lewis.”
John turned toward the lady and froze. He knew the young lady. She wasn’t surrounded by a halo this time, but her features were unmistakable. The same dainty nose covered with a few freckles, the same whisky-brown eyes. His gaze lingered on her full and plump lips for a moment before he forced his gaze to return to her eyes.
“Miss Lewis, a pleasure.” John bowed over her hand.
