The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(22)
Mr. Brice was sporting a blue waistcoat today. Not dull gray like the one Mr. St. James was wearing at his side. “St. James,” she muttered to herself. He knew nothing of fashion, not like Mr. Brice. Everything about Brice was perfection. And he would be the perfect husband for her, if he would ever look in her direction again.
Just then Brice turned, apparently sensing her gaze on him.
One should be careful what one wished for. Now he was certainly noticing her existence, but there was no accompanying violin music like in her dreams of this moment. How odd. Where was musical accompaniment when it was needed? Why wasn’t he sweeping in her direction like the wind?
She needed something to do to look collected at such a pivotal moment. Remain calm and allow him to sweep in your direction, you ninny! Her fan! Thank heavens she remembered the piece she held in her numb fingers. She’d forgotten it entirely in her excitement.
Flicking the fan open, she nearly dropped it, to land in the grass at her feet. But just in time, she caught it in midair and gave it a wave. She was the picture of wifely elegance. She smiled and gave it one more wave.
“Must you carry a fan?” Victoria asked, leaning away from her. “Someone will no doubt lose an eye with all that flapping about. It’s as if we’re socializing with a flock of angry birds, and it’s windy enough as it is.”
“Roselyn told me I ought to practice after you ripped my last fan to shreds for apparent misuse,” she replied without looking in her sister’s direction. Eye contact with Mr. Brice was far more important than conversing with Victoria, although the man’s curiosity must have been satisfied just then, since he turned away mid-bat of her lashes. St. James, however, was watching her every move. Isabelle huffed and turned to face her sister. “Anyway, I thought today was the perfect occasion to heed Roselyn’s advice.”
“Really, Roselyn?” Victoria mumbled. “You know she requires no encouragement.”
“I said she should practice,” Roselyn hedged with a shrug of her shoulders, her dark brows drawing together in concern. “I suppose I should have included in the privacy of her home to my instructions, but it’s no matter. I think she’s quite getting the measure of it now.”
Isabelle glanced over her shoulder to see if Mr. Brice was looking her way and noticing her skilled fan work but saw only St. James’s eyes on her. What did he know about fans? Not a thing. Although he had been interested in her locket last night. There may be hope for him yet.
She turned back to the ladies in front of her with a flourish of her fan that almost hit Victoria in the nose and made Evangeline draw back a fraction to avoid contact. “Thank you, Roselyn, for your kind words. I’m following your example.”
“And a fine example that is this season,” Roselyn said with a laugh. Tiny ringlets of dark hair had escaped on this breezy day and circled her rosy cheeks. But it wasn’t the constant struggle with her hair to which Roselyn was referring now. Their friend had spent the first few minutes of the garden party telling them of her first, somewhat-disappointing attempt at spying on the new Lord Ayton. Roselyn’s original plan to wear black and stick to the shadows had somehow changed yesterday to dressing in a footman’s clothing and attending a pugilism exhibition at Gentleman Jackson’s. It sounded like quite the adventure, though Isabelle was certain there were details of the day her friend was omitting. It still struck Isabelle as odd that Roselyn would put such effort into spying on a man she claimed to despise. She would have to pry for more information later.
“Better than Evie’s example,” Victoria said.
“I’m not certain what you’re implying, Victoria,” Evangeline retorted, but Isabelle noticed her blush as she returned her gaze to the gathering around them. The shadow of the Marksby’s stately graystone house kept Isabelle and her group in the shadiest corner of the lawn, but no shadow was strong enough to hide Evangeline’s rare look of guilt.
“I don’t imply. I state fact. Were you not on a clandestine ride through the park with a mysterious gentleman only hours ago? And now that your mother is about, you appear to be carved of stone. Would you like me to distract Lady Rightworth so that you might breathe? You haven’t inhaled in at least ten minutes in an effort to hold that pose.”
“I’m quite comfortable,” Evangeline said with her chin raised against the wind.
“Did anyone else notice that Evie didn’t refute the claim that her ride in the park was clandestine?” Victoria asked as she took a sip of her drink, which was no doubt hiding something stronger than lemonade.
“It was all quite aboveboard,” Evangeline said, still unmoving from her pose. “He collected me in that red phaeton that belongs to—”
“Mr. Brice!” Isabelle cut in with her eyes wide on her cousin. “How did he manage such a thing?”
“The gentleman who escorted me is acquainted to some degree with Mr. Brice.”
“Are we to discover this gentleman’s name or simply guess at it?” Roselyn asked.
“I could venture a guess,” Victoria said with a smirk from behind her glass. “If any of you would like to take a wager…”
Isabelle swatted her fan at Victoria’s arm at the mention of gambling. “Never mind that. What was it like to sit atop such a fashionable conveyance?”
“Never mind you. Don’t hit me with that thing,” Victoria challenged as she rubbed her forearm.