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Authors: Rules of Engagement
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polite. This is a party after all.”
How she wished her words were true.
It bothered her to see him with another. Not because she was jealous. Certainly not.
She was just… disappointed. He should be taking their
arrangement
more seriously. Did he not realize he was jeopardizing everything?
Grace narrowed her eyes at the earl. “He obviously does not realize you are in attendance. I shall tell him you are here,” she said, pumping her arms as she charged forward.
Eliza reached out to stop her sister, but her fingers only caught the air.
“Wait!” The word was barely out of Eliza’s mouth, when the toe of Grace’s left slipper caught the edge of the carpet and she tumbled, belly first, onto a mound of golden pillows.
Her sister’s eyes rounded in mortification, but within a blink, Grace had jerked herself into a sitting position. There, she came nose to nose with a concerned young man kneeling beside her. Grace raised her eyes to peer up at him. A slow smile spread across her lips.
Eliza rushed forward to help, but her sister’s coy expression told her nothing was amiss, despite the fact that she was now rubbing her ankle.
The wrong ankle.
“Are you all right?” Eliza knelt to her side.
Her sister smiled blandly. “I think so, though I seemed to have turned my ankle.” She batted her thick lashes at the young gentleman, who offered her a supportive arm as she leaned back against the pillows.
“I shall inform our aunts.” Eliza stood and smoothed the front of her gown.
“No need.” Grace was simply glowing in the light of the young man’s attention. “I believe I just need to sit
here
and rest for a bit. Go on, Eliza. Find Lord Somerton. I am sure that—” She gestured to the gentleman hoping, obviously, to coax an introduction.
“Uh … forgive me. Dabney, Mister George Dabney, at your service.” He was a barrel-chested gentleman, the sort more suited to hunting pheasant in the country than attending an elegant party in London.
His hair was a pale blond, nearly the exact shade as Grace’s, which contrasted greatly with his huge chocolate-colored eyes. Or, perhaps his eyes only seemed overlarge, for they were dark with excitement and firmly affixed on Grace. “I will see to your needs, Madam—”
“Miss”
Grace corrected. Then, as if upon hearing the boom of her own voice, she colored and lowered her tone. “That is … Miss Grace Merriweather.”
“In that case, it would be my distinct pleasure.” Dabney remained at Grace’s side on one knee, but for the briefest of moments, turned his head as though he was looking for someone. Then his searching stilled.
Eliza rode his gaze across the room to where Lord Somerton and his lady friend stood. Was it possible he was acquainted with Magnus … or perhaps the young lady?
“You are too kind, Mr. Dabney.” Grace looked up. “You see, Eliza, I shall be fine. Mr. Dabney will watch over me. Won’t you, kind sir?”
Dabney whipped his head around to face Grace. “Of course.” He fashioned a broad smile, but once again, his gaze flitted across the room.
Eliza studied her sister, fighting the upward drag of her own lips.
Feigning injury.
Pretending inferiority.
Mayhap she underestimated the logic behind her aunts’ Rule. For in her sister’s case, its application elicited the desired effect. Grace had snared a potential suitor’s attention.
Aunt Letitia, who’d obviously observed the whole commotion, bustled forward. She greeted Mr. Dabney most enthusiastically and made sure Grace had survived her fall before turning her consideration on Eliza.
“Come with me, Lizzy,” her aunt whispered, her command hissing like lard in a hot skillet. “There is naught you can do here and if I am not mistaken, I believe I see Lord Somerton standing near the hearth—and he is
not
alone.”
“Oh, I know,” Eliza began, gesturing emphatically in Magnus’s direction. “His uncle, Mr. Pender is …” But as she jerked her head around and
How she wished her words were true.
It bothered her to see him with another. Not because she was jealous. Certainly not.
She was just… disappointed. He should be taking their
arrangement
more seriously. Did he not realize he was jeopardizing everything?
Grace narrowed her eyes at the earl. “He obviously does not realize you are in attendance. I shall tell him you are here,” she said, pumping her arms as she charged forward.
Eliza reached out to stop her sister, but her fingers only caught the air.
“Wait!” The word was barely out of Eliza’s mouth, when the toe of Grace’s left slipper caught the edge of the carpet and she tumbled, belly first, onto a mound of golden pillows.
Her sister’s eyes rounded in mortification, but within a blink, Grace had jerked herself into a sitting position. There, she came nose to nose with a concerned young man kneeling beside her. Grace raised her eyes to peer up at him. A slow smile spread across her lips.
Eliza rushed forward to help, but her sister’s coy expression told her nothing was amiss, despite the fact that she was now rubbing her ankle.
The wrong ankle.
“Are you all right?” Eliza knelt to her side.
Her sister smiled blandly. “I think so, though I seemed to have turned my ankle.” She batted her thick lashes at the young gentleman, who offered her a supportive arm as she leaned back against the pillows.
“I shall inform our aunts.” Eliza stood and smoothed the front of her gown.
“No need.” Grace was simply glowing in the light of the young man’s attention. “I believe I just need to sit
here
and rest for a bit. Go on, Eliza. Find Lord Somerton. I am sure that—” She gestured to the gentleman hoping, obviously, to coax an introduction.
“Uh … forgive me. Dabney, Mister George Dabney, at your service.” He was a barrel-chested gentleman, the sort more suited to hunting pheasant in the country than attending an elegant party in London.
His hair was a pale blond, nearly the exact shade as Grace’s, which contrasted greatly with his huge chocolate-colored eyes. Or, perhaps his eyes only seemed overlarge, for they were dark with excitement and firmly affixed on Grace. “I will see to your needs, Madam—”
“Miss”
Grace corrected. Then, as if upon hearing the boom of her own voice, she colored and lowered her tone. “That is … Miss Grace Merriweather.”
“In that case, it would be my distinct pleasure.” Dabney remained at Grace’s side on one knee, but for the briefest of moments, turned his head as though he was looking for someone. Then his searching stilled.
Eliza rode his gaze across the room to where Lord Somerton and his lady friend stood. Was it possible he was acquainted with Magnus … or perhaps the young lady?
“You are too kind, Mr. Dabney.” Grace looked up. “You see, Eliza, I shall be fine. Mr. Dabney will watch over me. Won’t you, kind sir?”
Dabney whipped his head around to face Grace. “Of course.” He fashioned a broad smile, but once again, his gaze flitted across the room.
Eliza studied her sister, fighting the upward drag of her own lips.
Feigning injury.
Pretending inferiority.
Mayhap she underestimated the logic behind her aunts’ Rule. For in her sister’s case, its application elicited the desired effect. Grace had snared a potential suitor’s attention.
Aunt Letitia, who’d obviously observed the whole commotion, bustled forward. She greeted Mr. Dabney most enthusiastically and made sure Grace had survived her fall before turning her consideration on Eliza.
“Come with me, Lizzy,” her aunt whispered, her command hissing like lard in a hot skillet. “There is naught you can do here and if I am not mistaken, I believe I see Lord Somerton standing near the hearth—and he is
not
alone.”
“Oh, I know,” Eliza began, gesturing emphatically in Magnus’s direction. “His uncle, Mr. Pender is …” But as she jerked her head around and
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