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Evie pursed her lips, visibly trying to hold back a chuckle.
“If one wants to make a change, one needs to endure such difficulties as sweaty lords,” Gage said darkly.
“Can we please not talk about this at dinner?” Isabel said on a sigh.
“I am inclined to agree with Lord St. Clare,” Evie said. “The House of Lords is a frivolity I do not need. If one wants to make a change, one can sidestep the—she threw a glance at Isabel—stockyold lords and do things their own way.”
“Amen,” St. Clare agreed. “I am changing the lives of young women across London daily and nightly just—”
“Gabriel,” Lord Clydesdale growled in warning.
St. Clare waved his fork airily. “I digress.”
Sam gritted her teeth. This was all going wrong.
“It is ridiculous that ladies are not allowed a seat in the House of Lords. Queens have run countries for centuries, and yet ladies are not allowed to take part in decision-making processes,” Isabel chimed in.
Sam lowered her gaze when in reality she wanted to bang her head against the table. This wasn’t a conversation conducive to flirtation. And all through the argument, Adam and Evie hadn’t exchanged a word. They barely even looked at each other.
When the dinner came to an end and they all retired back to the drawing room, Sam expelled a breath. Surely, she could bring Evie and Adam together in an informal situation.
“How about some entertainment?” she exclaimed as everyone got comfortable in their seats. “Evie is excellent at the pianoforte. Won’t you play for us?”
Evie raised a brow at her but didn’t protest. “I would love to,” she said with a smile and stood.
“Adam, would you be so kind as to turn the pages for her?”
Adam nodded slowly and accompanied Evie to the pianoforte.
Isabel appeared at Sam’s elbow then and gently led her to the side of the room.
“Sammy,” she breathed. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” Sam tried to sound nonchalant.
“I mean,” Isabel’s lips twitched in laughter, “that even a simpleminded fool would realize that you are trying to push Evie and Adam together. Why?”
Sam let out an exasperated breath. “They would be perfect together, don’t you think? Adam and Evie: a match made in heaven.” She smiled tightly and Isabel just gave her a pitying look. “Ugh, all right, I admit, I haven’t thought this through, but I did think they would be perfect together!”
“Why? Because you wanted them to be?”
Sam cast a glance toward Evie, completely absorbed in a melody she was playing, and Adam, standing by her side like a statue, a bored expression on his face.
“Perhaps I miscalculated,” she admitted begrudgingly.
“Maybe a bit.”
Sam frowned. It was just one little setback. It didn’t mean she was wrong, did it?
* * *
Sam stood by the banister in Lady Royston’s ballroom two days later. After her scheme during the dinner had failed miserably, she hadn’t made further attempts to bring Adam and Evie together. She secretly hoped they would still come together. Perhaps if they shared a dance?
Sam craned her neck to see Adam dancing with one lady after another, anyone except Evie, and Evie… Well, she was dancing with Viscount St. Clare at the moment.
Sam was tempted to roll her eyes. St. Clare wouldn’t be the one to marry her. Why did Evie even agree to dance with a known rake, wasting time she could have used dancing with more viable partners?
Sam studied Evie’s flushed cheeks, the genuine smile on her lips, and decided perhaps she’d miscalculated when she came up with her ploy to put Evie and Adam together. They were total opposites. Adam was serious and grave, where Evie was lively and fun-loving. She loved to dance, to sing. Well, any activity involving music, really. Both Adam and Ashbury were absolutely wrong for her. She never lit up around them the way she did around St. Clare. Sam frowned at the thought. She was certain it was just his rakish charm, but surely the person she chose for her fiancé should be able to make her light up like this as well?
