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Authors: Rules of Engagement
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men and women lounged upon them, chatting casually.
Grace was awestruck. “You see, Eliza, this is what life has in store for us. We have only to find suitable husbands.”
Eliza stared pointedly at her sister. “Grace, you are so naïve.” She was about to explain herself when, through the crowd, she caught sight of Lord Somerton and his uncle, William Pender, standing before the hearth. An unexpected thrill cut through her middle.
“Somerton.”
Grace followed Eliza’s gaze. “So it is,” she said in a rather bored tone. “And his uncle, Pender, too.”
Eliza’s cheeks drew up with her smile. Thank God, she was saved. At once, she started through the swarm of exquisitely dressed bodies on her way to Magnus.
But Grace’s arm slid around her waist and held her in place. “Eliza, you cannot race across the drawing room to a bachelor. It simply isn’t done.”
Eliza blinked back at her sister. “Then how, pray, am I to speak with him? Shall I shout from here?”
Her sister glowered at her. “Of course not. We’ll walk
together,
mingling as we go. No one can fault you then.”
Eliza fired a breath through her nostrils. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your chances for a good match.”
Grace, who was already scanning the field for her own prospects, paid Eliza’s comment no mind, and the two set off through the vibrant room together.
As they strolled casually between the pillow mounds, Eliza held Magnus firm in her gaze, wishing she could see with whom he and Pender were conversing. But it was just too crowded. Still, she could make out Magnus’s dark blue cutaway coat, crisp white waistcoat and fawn breeches. By Jupiter, he looked dashing.
A gentle warmth crept into her cheeks as her gaze drank him in, greedily swallowing every detail.
While they continued their walk through Society’s finest, Eliza began to notice more than one lady frown at her as she passed. Criminy, they were looking at her as if she had stepped in … wait a minute. Had she? Pausing, Eliza surreptitiously peered down at the sole of one slipper, then the other. They were clean. She glanced down at her gown next, but there was not so much as a wrinkle to mar her appearance. Why were they looking at her that way?
Then, she heard a snippet of conversation that made everything clear as Austrian crystal.
“No, ‘tis true, I tell you. They were together at the Greymont’s ball,” a stout woman said to her escort. “I own, as unseemly as we may all think it, Misfit Merriweather
is
the apple of the earl’s eye.”
How Eliza wanted to laugh. If they only knew the truth.
Then as a clutch of ladies moved aside, Eliza saw something that stilled her step.
“Is something wrong?” Grace huddled against her as a horde of party guests surged by them.
“No, of course not.” But there was something wrong. Something most unexpected. Magnus was speaking with another woman.
Though the woman’s back was turned to her, Eliza could see that she was every bit as lovely as Magnus was handsome, with a graceful, swanlike stance and deep emerald gown. Twinkling blue brilliants adorned her copper hair, which tumbled down the back of her pale neck in soft curls.
But the presence of this woman was not what troubled Eliza so. It was Magnus’s reaction to her. Why, his eyes appeared lit from within as he spoke with the lady.
Heavens! What would her aunts think if they saw Lord Somerton fawning over another? Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad. Their ruse was already on weak footing.
Catching her image in the hazy mirror beyond, Eliza raised her hand to her own unadorned, ordinary brown hair. She glanced down and grimaced at her simple pale blue gown.
With an audible breath, Grace interrupted Eliza’s assessment of her own lacking appearance. “I cannot believe it. Lord Somerton is flirting with that—that
woman.”
“No, he isn’t,” Eliza replied, trying with all her heart to appear unaffected. “He is … simply being
Grace was awestruck. “You see, Eliza, this is what life has in store for us. We have only to find suitable husbands.”
Eliza stared pointedly at her sister. “Grace, you are so naïve.” She was about to explain herself when, through the crowd, she caught sight of Lord Somerton and his uncle, William Pender, standing before the hearth. An unexpected thrill cut through her middle.
“Somerton.”
Grace followed Eliza’s gaze. “So it is,” she said in a rather bored tone. “And his uncle, Pender, too.”
Eliza’s cheeks drew up with her smile. Thank God, she was saved. At once, she started through the swarm of exquisitely dressed bodies on her way to Magnus.
But Grace’s arm slid around her waist and held her in place. “Eliza, you cannot race across the drawing room to a bachelor. It simply isn’t done.”
Eliza blinked back at her sister. “Then how, pray, am I to speak with him? Shall I shout from here?”
Her sister glowered at her. “Of course not. We’ll walk
together,
mingling as we go. No one can fault you then.”
Eliza fired a breath through her nostrils. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your chances for a good match.”
Grace, who was already scanning the field for her own prospects, paid Eliza’s comment no mind, and the two set off through the vibrant room together.
As they strolled casually between the pillow mounds, Eliza held Magnus firm in her gaze, wishing she could see with whom he and Pender were conversing. But it was just too crowded. Still, she could make out Magnus’s dark blue cutaway coat, crisp white waistcoat and fawn breeches. By Jupiter, he looked dashing.
A gentle warmth crept into her cheeks as her gaze drank him in, greedily swallowing every detail.
While they continued their walk through Society’s finest, Eliza began to notice more than one lady frown at her as she passed. Criminy, they were looking at her as if she had stepped in … wait a minute. Had she? Pausing, Eliza surreptitiously peered down at the sole of one slipper, then the other. They were clean. She glanced down at her gown next, but there was not so much as a wrinkle to mar her appearance. Why were they looking at her that way?
Then, she heard a snippet of conversation that made everything clear as Austrian crystal.
“No, ‘tis true, I tell you. They were together at the Greymont’s ball,” a stout woman said to her escort. “I own, as unseemly as we may all think it, Misfit Merriweather
is
the apple of the earl’s eye.”
How Eliza wanted to laugh. If they only knew the truth.
Then as a clutch of ladies moved aside, Eliza saw something that stilled her step.
“Is something wrong?” Grace huddled against her as a horde of party guests surged by them.
“No, of course not.” But there was something wrong. Something most unexpected. Magnus was speaking with another woman.
Though the woman’s back was turned to her, Eliza could see that she was every bit as lovely as Magnus was handsome, with a graceful, swanlike stance and deep emerald gown. Twinkling blue brilliants adorned her copper hair, which tumbled down the back of her pale neck in soft curls.
But the presence of this woman was not what troubled Eliza so. It was Magnus’s reaction to her. Why, his eyes appeared lit from within as he spoke with the lady.
Heavens! What would her aunts think if they saw Lord Somerton fawning over another? Oh, this was bad. Very, very bad. Their ruse was already on weak footing.
Catching her image in the hazy mirror beyond, Eliza raised her hand to her own unadorned, ordinary brown hair. She glanced down and grimaced at her simple pale blue gown.
With an audible breath, Grace interrupted Eliza’s assessment of her own lacking appearance. “I cannot believe it. Lord Somerton is flirting with that—that
woman.”
“No, he isn’t,” Eliza replied, trying with all her heart to appear unaffected. “He is … simply being
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