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Beatrice laughed. “You don’t like balls. It’s all right, you can admit it.”
“I don’t like speaking to strangers, present company excluded. I’m no good with conversation. I’d rather be anywhere else, really.”
“I like you, Lady Philippa,” said Beatrice. “Isobel, do you have one of our cards?”
Isobel extracted a card from the small reticule she had looped around her wrist by a silken cord. “Come to the next meeting of our ladies society. You’d be most welcome.”
“Th-thank you. Though I don’t know how to knit.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Viola assured her.
Beatrice caught sight of Ford near the refreshment table. “Ladies, I think I’ll just go and have a glass of punch.”
Viola followed her gaze. “A long, tall glass.”
Beatrice hurried across the room, but people kept stopping her to offer insincere flattery. Luckily, she didn’t see her mother. That was a conversation she dreaded.
When she finally made it to the refreshments, Ford had disappeared again. Frustrated, she stood on her tiptoes, searching the room for a tricorn hat.
A head of blond curls suddenly blocked her vision. “Lady Beatrice,” Mayhew said, “I was told you would be garbed as Pysche. See? I’m your Cupid.”
He preened for her in his fawn-colored tights and white toga. “I have a quiver of arrows waiting to pierce your heart.”
“Mayhew,” she said icily.
“You look flushed. Why don’t we take some air.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the nearby balcony door.
Beatrice dug her heels against the waxed ballroom floor. “I don’t want to. I’m looking for a friend.”
“A brief conversation, my lady.” He caught hereye and raised one eyebrow. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
Beatrice’s heart sank. She’d always known she’d have to refuse Mayhew at some point. There was no use hiding from this onerous duty. “Very well. A brief conversation.”
He led her through the balcony doors. It was a cold evening and Beatrice shivered. “Very brief, Lord Mayhew.”
He dropped to one knee in front of her and attempted to take her hand, which she promptly snatched away. “Lady Beatrice, you must know what I’m about to ask you.”
“I have a sinking suspicion.”
“Our mothers have arrived at an understanding.”
“Have they?”
“And now it’s up to us to fulfill their fondest hopes and desires. I agree it will be an excellent match. I’m willing to overlook your eccentricities, and you’ll be gaining the most sought-after groom in all of London.”
Beatrice couldn’t stand the smug smile on his face. Her shoulders shook with rage. He actually thought he was doing her a favor.
“Lord Mayhew, let me be extremely clear. I would never marry you. Not in a million years.”
“Pardon me?” An expression of disbelief descended over his face. “I must not have heard you correctly.” He rose to his feet gracefully, towering over her while storm clouds gathered in his eyes.
Beatrice threw back her shoulders. “I know what you did to that barmaid, Mayhew. And I’m sureshe’s not the only innocent you’ve debauched and discarded.”
His face blanched. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I was told that you would accept my proposal of marriage.”
“You were told wrongly, then.”
“You won’t have a better offer.”
