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Lucasta was the only one who was really intending her faux accomplishment to snare her a husband. Gina wanted to avoid one tedious task, Sophie enjoyed the secrecy and naughtiness of the endeavor as much as anything, but Lucasta genuinely aimed to enhance her marriageability. However many times they said to Lucasta that she would find someone who loved her for herself, and her lack of looks or wealth were not a problem; she didn’t believe them. With some justification, to be fair. Sophie’s beauty was unconventional—curly strawberry-blonde hair with sparkling green eyes and pale skin that freckled if she went outside in March—but undeniable. And Gina’s fortune of fifty thousand pounds spoke for itself. By comparison, Lucasta’s ten thousand pounds of dowry and pretty but unremarkable looks were common on the marriage mart.
They chatted about their summer plans. Lucasta and Lady Sophie were both going to the country to escape the city heat. Gina was remaining in London, since her mother still hoped she might meet someone, and that was more likely in a populated area.
Eventually, their two hours of “tuition” were up, and Miss Chilson talked each of them through the next section they would be pretending to sew.
“Are you going to the Midsummer ball this evening?” Lady Sophie asked as they left. “I’ll be there.”
“Oh absolutely,” Gina replied. “I can’t wait.”
“You’re looking forward to it?” Lucasta raised one eyebrow skeptically.
“No.” Gina shook her head. “I expect about as much entertainment from the soiree as from a dinner of tripe and potatoes. But it has one good feature: it is the last event of the London season.”
That didn’t mean she got much of a break. Her mother was far too diligent. But there would be fewer members of the ton in town for Gina to be thrown at. So she expected some respite from social events, even if not from the relentless pursuit of accomplishments.
“Then we’ll all be together again in a few hours,” Lucasta said happily. “Perhaps we all find husbands.”
CHAPTER2
Emmett Stanton,heir to the Earl of Hapthorpe, was at the first ball in five years and it was as insipid as he remembered. If marriage to one of these suitable prospects was anything like this ball, he’d rather shoot himself.
He didn’t voice this opinion, however, since one of the boring young women was his best friend’s sister. And presumably, another of them was the future Countess of Hapthorpe, since as eldest son of a financially secure aristocratic family, he had one job. It seemed churlish to thwart fate, his parents’ desires, and his literal only role in life in favor of something so trivial as say, his happiness, by attempting to avoid marriage any more than he already had for a decade.
He gulped the lemonade, pretended he was having a good time, and tried not to imagine his impending married life. If only he could avoid marrying… But that was impossible, since he had no brothers. He wanted to focus on his business, not be beholden to a young lady whose greatest ambition was to simply marry.
“You know you said you’d dance with my sister?” Marmaduke—Duke—Bains nudged him and jerked his head toward a young woman facing away from them. She was medium height, and in a red gown that if she’d left it alone might have had a pretty elegance. Instead she was bedecked with two-thirds of the fripperies of London. She looked as though she’d gone to a haberdasher, thrown everything onto the floor, then rolled in it.
Oh no.
“This is her third season,” Emmett said vaguely, and Duke nodded. No wonder. Any man would look at her outfit and surmise she would decorate in the same style. No amount of dowry was worth his house constantly looking like a millinery had vomited over it. Even her dark hair, the same deep mahogany brown as Duke’s, was dripping with bows, feathers, pearls and pins.
“That’s right. Our parents are at a loss for why she hasn’t attracted a suitor yet.” Duke smirked.
“I can’t think…” Then she turned and he couldn’t think, because his heart had flipped. Duke’s little sister was stunning. Not conventionally beautiful, no. Her face wasn’t oval and soft, it was angular, all sharp cheekbones and determined jawline. Her mouth wasn’t a rosebud, it was a rose in full bloom, her lips so extravagantly rounded they could have been modeled on petals. Her hazel eyes sparkled with mischief for a second as she met her brother’s gaze, before they took on a suitably demure attitude.
“…Why …” he tailed off.
Duke had told him about his sister while they’d been at school and university together, but he couldn’t remember anything noteworthy. Ten years abroad did that, with only a short trip back five years ago. Duke must have mentioned something in his letters, but Emmett could not recall anything other than a vague sister object being discussed. Not this siren. Duke hadn’t told him his sister was the loveliest creature in the world.
“Neither can our parents.” Duke waved to his sister to approach. “They’ve stuffed her with accomplishments and now are wondering why she appears to be bloated with it.”
Geraldine Bain snagged the forearms of two other young women and towed them over to Duke. They curtsied together, as though they’d been trained to hunt as a pack. Like wolves dressed in muslin.
“Emmett, my sister, Miss Bains, and her friends…” He was at a loss for a second.
“Miss Lucasta Wallace and Lady Sophie,” Miss Bains finished for him.
“Would you like to dance, Miss Bains?” he said, and instantly cursed himself for a fool. There were social niceties to be adhered to. He couldn’t just drag Miss Bains to the dance floor and into his arms like he was an animal.
“Uh.” Duke turned pink.
Miss Bains slanted a look that was both smug and mischievous to her friends so quickly that when she turned a demure expression on him, he wondered if he’d imagined it. “You are too kind, Mr. Stanton,” she simpered.
“She’s not,” Duke muttered. “You’re going to die. Don’t do it. Quick, run.”
Emmett turned a bemused look on him. “What?”
“I would be delighted,” Miss Bains continued in sugary sweet tones that made him wonder what he was missing.
