The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(6)

Isabelle looked out across the swirls of brightly colored gowns as ladies danced in time to the music. Some lady here would tame St. James, force him to be fashionable and offer a heartfelt smile when called upon to do so. And his wife and Isabelle would someday laugh over how her friendship with the man had begun.

“You have that amused look on your face that you get when you talk of love, paintings, and flowers,” Victoria said as she grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing footman.

“My talk of love and flowers is delightful,” Isabelle returned, nudging her sister in the arm and causing her champagne to slosh about.

Victoria scoffed as she drank half the glass to prevent a spill. “Where have you been? You disappeared from our conversation midsentence a half hour ago. Have you been stalking Mr. Brice again?”

“Of course not.” Isabelle wouldn’t call it stalking; it was really more research, if anything.

She bit her lip as she considered her sister. Isabelle and Victoria were identical twins, true, yet when Isabelle looked at her sister, she didn’t see the similarities between them in the same way other people seemed to. She only saw Victoria. And her sister was quite Isabelle’s opposite in every way possible. Isabelle noticed Victoria’s too-pink cheeks from the drinks she was downing, the look of boredom in her eyes, and the hint of rouge she’d put on her lips, even though Victoria would deny it if asked.

“Yellow,” Isabelle announced. “I do enjoy the cheerful nature of yellow. Or pink. Pink is a happy color too. Did you notice the color of Roselyn’s gown earlier? It suits her, and it’s a perfect representation of the color at its best. But yellow is ideal for adding a bit of sunshine to the evening.”

“What?” Victoria turned from watching the quadrille to look at her in complete bewilderment. “I know we’re supposed to have some type of bond as twin sisters, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You were disappointed that I didn’t finish my thoughts earlier about the fashionable colors for gowns this season. I thought I would continue. Yellow…” She trailed off in confusion.

“Never mind that. I’m only glad you returned. Roselyn has wandered away somewhere, and Evangeline is nowhere to be found. That Lord Winfield of Evangeline’s asked me to dance. It was dreadful. Do you know he doesn’t enjoy visits to Tattersall’s? What sort of gentleman doesn’t enjoy speculating over the next great race horse? I don’t know how Evie can abide a moment in that man’s company.”

“I don’t believe Evie has any great love for Lord Winfield. Or race horses, for that matter.”

“Great love or not, I can’t make conversation with a gentleman who thinks rides in the park can be daring. Rides in the park! She’s our cousin. We have to save her from such a dull marriage.”

“Are they to be married now?” Isabelle drew back in shock. She’d been sure Evangeline’s head had been turned by some mystery gentleman at the Dillsworths’ ball only recently.

“Isn’t marriage the very blasted reason all of us are here? All of you, anyway,” Victoria corrected. “Since I have no plan to marry.”

“Victoria, how many glasses of champagne have you had tonight?” Isabelle asked, though she could guess at the answer, and it was many.

“How many servings of cake did you eat to soil your gown to that degree?” Victoria countered.

“Two, but they were necessary,” she offered with a smile. “I needed eye holes.”

“I should ask, but since I’m certain it involves spying on a man you hardly know, I won’t.”

“I know him,” Isabelle muttered, now searching for the footman with the champagne for her own consumption.

“Isabelle,” Victoria said with a sigh, “when playing cards, no matter how you wish to have all the kings in the deck, you must play the ones in your own hand.”

“I don’t need all the kings,” she countered, turning back to face her sister. “You make me sound like such the social climber. I don’t care about ranking in society. Brice isn’t even titled. I only want love.”

“Then find a gentleman who is actually present this evening and wishes to dance with you,” Victoria pleaded with a sympathetic smile before turning to survey the room. “What about that one over there?”

“With the faded cravat and receding hairline?”

“Heavens no. Do you think I hate you?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Isabelle muttered.

“Don’t. I only want your happiness, and that gentleman there looks to be well suited for you.” Her sister tipped her chin in the direction of a man to the left of the first.

“Victoria, is he even old enough to be allowed here? That is the sort of gentleman you think I’m suited for?” Isabelle hit her sister in the arm with her fan.

The gentleman in question could barely be of age. If Victoria had ever read the page of Isabelle’s old diary about gentlemen’s bums, she wouldn’t think such a spindly youth would do for her at all. Isabelle unfurled her fan to hide her blush.

“That man over there seems to be staring in this direction a great deal,” Victoria mused, her eyes flashing toward the shadowed corner of the room.

“Who?” Isabelle searched the room but saw no one looking their way.