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Opening her eyes once more, Alice glanced about, taking note of the game, the men cheering for the winners and jeering at the losers, and, in particular, the man sitting closest to her. He’d lifted his paper up, blocking her view of his face, the moment she’d strode over this way. He seemed most adamant in his desire tonotjoin in the conversation regarding Lady Nightingale or meet Mr. Allen.
Alice opened her mouth, thinking to ask him a direct question. Perhaps she could draw him out. She found herself curious about the man who’d, out of hand, dismissed a connection with the new wealthy widow of Carlaby.
But she hesitated. If he didn’t desire the connection, would it not draw more attention to herself if she pushed it? She may not have been found outyet, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t adequate reason to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Alice leaned back in her seat once more.
“Tell us.” Lord Sempill spoke in her direction. “Does your cousin prefer compliments regarding her attire or her complexion?”
Alice was momentarily unsure how to answer. But everyone was watching her again, waiting to hear what she might say. Did Lord Sempill think that the way to her heart was with therightcompliments? Did he truly see her as such a simpleton? Alice shifted in her seat. “I am sure all sincere compliments would be well-received.”
It was rather a letdown if he did see Lady Nightingale in so unenlightened a way. Alice had danced with him the other night and had left the assembly thinking well of Lord Sempill. He’d been all that was polite and attentive. Quite proper. But now, he was quickly falling in her esteem.
Well, such had been the entire point of this trip. If she was already seeing results, so much the better.
“What I want to know,” Lord Robins said, drawing his words out, “is why she goes by LadyNightingale. Her father was a Mr. Grant, or so my friend tells me”—he kicked at the man hiding behind his paper—“and her late husband was called Hoskins. So, where did Nightingale come from?”
Once more, all eyes turned to Alice.
“Lady Nightingale is a peeress in her own right.” It was strange explaining her own story as though it belonged to someone else. “She inherited the title through her mother, the late Countess Nightingale.”
“Acountess?” one of the men said. The other gentlemen grunted and looked at one another. Was it in awe? In surprise? Alice couldn’t fully tell. Perhaps a bit of both? It was far more common when a woman was made a peeress in her own right for her to be titled a baroness. But it certainly wasn’t unheard of to be titled a countess.
Alice, for her part, had always had mixed emotions regarding her mother’s, and now her own, title.
The man hiding behind the paper let out a disapproving guffaw, causing Alice to turn toward him and stopping her from being lost once again in her own conflicting emotions regarding the title she now held.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Alice asked, barely dropping her voice in time.
The man moved the paper away from his face, his gaze catching hers immediately. She knew those eyes. Where did she know them from?
The assembly the other night. She’d seen him there. He’d caught her eye, and she’d smiled at him. He never did ask her to dance, though. More still, in that brief moment, he hadn’t looked at her as he was now, with malice and prejudice.
A new heat stole up her cheeks. One she simultaneously wished she could brush away, while it also made her want to lean in closer. His light brown hair was cropped a bit shorter than was the style. Certainly shorter than her own. And he didn’t sport any long sideburns. The sight made her own fake sideburns suddenly itch against her cheeks. His jaw was angular and the way he filled out his jacket...good heavens, she could not be caught staring. Not when she wasMr. Allen.
There was no denying that this man was far too handsome for her good. Alice forced her eyes back up to his. She was a man just now, and as such, she knew she couldn’t be the first to turn away from a stare-down.
“Mr. Allen,” Lord Robins said lazily, which seemed to be the way he said everything, “may I make you known to my friend, Lord Brooks.”
Out of habit, Alice’s hand dropped to where her skirt usually would have been as if making to curtsy. Catching herself, Alice shifted in her seat to hide the movement and instead stuck her hand out for Lord Brooks to shake.
He eyed her for a moment longer, then turned away, and instead of shaking her hand, he folded his paper completely.
The cut was not lost on their audience and a soft murmur moved through the gentlemen. Alice’s jaw tightened, her nostrils flaring, and the hair on the back of her neck—short though it was—stood on end.
“I, for one,” Lord Brooks said, “am not surprised the lady in question chose to go by the higher title available to her.”
“She certainly isn’t the first to go by a higher title, no matter it wasn’t her husband’s.” Angry and incensed, Alice had to struggle more than usual to keep her voice low in her throat.
“No, she certainly isn’t,” Lord Brooks agreed, though his tone wasn’t any more friendly. “And she won’t be the last. All I’m saying is I’m not surprised that she, of all people, would choose to do so.”
“As it is perfectly ordinary for Lady Nightingale to assume her mother’s title, I would ask why you judge her so harshly for it.” Of all the things a woman was judged for, that seemed paltry in comparison.
Especially when considering what she was in the act of doing that very moment.
“You must forgive my friend his rudeness,” Lord Robins said, handing the dice off to another man. “He has apparently had dealings in the past with the late Mr. Grant, and it left a bit of a sour taste in his mouth.”
Lord Brooks turned his scowl toward his friend. “The man was a blackguard.”
A few of the gentlemen laughed, and Lord Sempill said, “You going to call him out for that, Mr. Allen?”
