how to like it.”
“George, you know perfectly well that liking anything isn’t the point of anyone’s education. It’s only that you must be proficient. A fondness for anything can be manufactured.”
“Or anyone ,” he said, checking his own hair in the mirror, imitating her. She hit him on the shoulder.
“Stop teasing me. This is the most important night of my life to date and I won’t tolerate being distracted. You will behave, won’t you?” Before he had a chance to answer, because she did assume he would agree with her and therefore obey, she said, “And watch Father, won’t you? You must make certain he does not talk business. And keeps his voice lowered. And doesn’t pull at his waistcoat.”
“Perhaps we should put him on a lead?” George said. “He found his way into a viscountcy but shan’t survive one evening as a host?”
Penelope, who loved a jest and a laugh as well as anyone, but not on the most important night of her life, gifted George with a cold look. “You know perfectly well I’m right. How will I ever become a duchess with a father who shouts his opinions?”
Because of course, that was the entire crux of this evening’s problem. Penelope had decided to marry a duke. Lady Amelia Caversham had made the same decision. The trouble was that Amelia had help in the form of Sophia Dalby and they would likely proceed with their pursuit tonight at her ball. And where did that leave her?
Without a duke, of course.
Penelope winced. Breaking habits was easier said than done. Marrying a duke would likely prove the same.
THE Prestwick town house, which everyone knew they were leasing as it had been in the Hyde family for a full twenty years, looked quite as respectable as it had when the Elliots were in residence. This spoke well of the Prestwicks, as everyone, at least those who had chosen to attend the Prestwick ball and so could discreetly observe the condition of the plasterwork and the skirting boards, had wondered how a viscount who had more money than pedigree would do in a first-rate house in Town. Viscount Prestwick appeared to be doing very well.
It was a bit of a denouement and the ball had not even properly begun.
It was in situations such as these that the ton of London looked to its reliable notables for entertainment. They were not to be disappointed.
Amelia had never felt so on display in her life. After two years of being virtually ignored during the Season, a situation she had loathed, she found she did not at all prefer being the center of attention. She was being stared at. She was being whispered about. She was being speculated upon.
She knew this as firmly as she knew her own name. She had done it herself, to others, and it had been wildly entertaining. It was no longer entertaining.
“Why, there is the Duke of Calbourne,” Sophia whispered from behind her fan. “It does show such fortitude that he should come, does it not, Lady Amelia?”
Amelia was jerked out of her contemplation instantly and, without intending to do so, found her gaze going to the Duke of Calbourne. He was, as always, difficult to miss as he was and ever would be the tallest man in any gathering. He did, however, look quite handsome in an excessively tall sort of fashion. He did not look pleased to be at the Prestwick ball, but that could have been because everyone was staring at him.
And then, as she was coming to expect, they stared at her.
It was most uncomfortable.
“I assume he was invited,” Amelia said to Sophia, a bit curtly. She wanted to turn her back on Calbourne, but it was possible he might see it as a slight. Of course, since she had done far worse than slight him at Dalby House, she didn’t suppose that anything else she did would matter now.
“But of course he was invited,” Sophia said. “I should be very surprised if everyone in Town was not invited here tonight. The Prestwicks do have so much to prove, do they not?”
Of course they did, but it
“George, you know perfectly well that liking anything isn’t the point of anyone’s education. It’s only that you must be proficient. A fondness for anything can be manufactured.”
“Or anyone ,” he said, checking his own hair in the mirror, imitating her. She hit him on the shoulder.
“Stop teasing me. This is the most important night of my life to date and I won’t tolerate being distracted. You will behave, won’t you?” Before he had a chance to answer, because she did assume he would agree with her and therefore obey, she said, “And watch Father, won’t you? You must make certain he does not talk business. And keeps his voice lowered. And doesn’t pull at his waistcoat.”
“Perhaps we should put him on a lead?” George said. “He found his way into a viscountcy but shan’t survive one evening as a host?”
Penelope, who loved a jest and a laugh as well as anyone, but not on the most important night of her life, gifted George with a cold look. “You know perfectly well I’m right. How will I ever become a duchess with a father who shouts his opinions?”
Because of course, that was the entire crux of this evening’s problem. Penelope had decided to marry a duke. Lady Amelia Caversham had made the same decision. The trouble was that Amelia had help in the form of Sophia Dalby and they would likely proceed with their pursuit tonight at her ball. And where did that leave her?
Without a duke, of course.
Penelope winced. Breaking habits was easier said than done. Marrying a duke would likely prove the same.
THE Prestwick town house, which everyone knew they were leasing as it had been in the Hyde family for a full twenty years, looked quite as respectable as it had when the Elliots were in residence. This spoke well of the Prestwicks, as everyone, at least those who had chosen to attend the Prestwick ball and so could discreetly observe the condition of the plasterwork and the skirting boards, had wondered how a viscount who had more money than pedigree would do in a first-rate house in Town. Viscount Prestwick appeared to be doing very well.
It was a bit of a denouement and the ball had not even properly begun.
It was in situations such as these that the ton of London looked to its reliable notables for entertainment. They were not to be disappointed.
Amelia had never felt so on display in her life. After two years of being virtually ignored during the Season, a situation she had loathed, she found she did not at all prefer being the center of attention. She was being stared at. She was being whispered about. She was being speculated upon.
She knew this as firmly as she knew her own name. She had done it herself, to others, and it had been wildly entertaining. It was no longer entertaining.
“Why, there is the Duke of Calbourne,” Sophia whispered from behind her fan. “It does show such fortitude that he should come, does it not, Lady Amelia?”
Amelia was jerked out of her contemplation instantly and, without intending to do so, found her gaze going to the Duke of Calbourne. He was, as always, difficult to miss as he was and ever would be the tallest man in any gathering. He did, however, look quite handsome in an excessively tall sort of fashion. He did not look pleased to be at the Prestwick ball, but that could have been because everyone was staring at him.
And then, as she was coming to expect, they stared at her.
It was most uncomfortable.
“I assume he was invited,” Amelia said to Sophia, a bit curtly. She wanted to turn her back on Calbourne, but it was possible he might see it as a slight. Of course, since she had done far worse than slight him at Dalby House, she didn’t suppose that anything else she did would matter now.
“But of course he was invited,” Sophia said. “I should be very surprised if everyone in Town was not invited here tonight. The Prestwicks do have so much to prove, do they not?”
Of course they did, but it
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