“Lord Darington, truly?” Hannah whispered.
But then, Lord Brightstone crossed the room as the crowd began to move into the supper rooms. Heat sizzled in her veins.
“Lord Brightstone,” Elizabeth whispered back. “Truly?”
Hannah nudged her friend with her elbow good-naturedly, and Elizabeth laughed. Both women had been caught eyeing men of interest.
“He seems very sweet,” Amy chimed in, evidently having overheard.
“Lord Darington?” Hannah asked with an innocent air.
The four of them laughed once more.
“A man that sinful would be better with the likes of Lucy.” Jillian tossed her hair over her shoulder, having only half the mass of dark waves bound up. It wasn’t in style, but Jillian was never one to conform to fashion.
“Even Lord Darington wouldn’t know what to do with Lucy,” Hannah retorted and they all giggled once more.
Amy led them toward the supper rooms, the green brocade gown she wore brushing the floor as she did so. “I meant Lord Brightstone.”
Hannah scrunched her face, wishing they would let the topic drop.
Jillian glanced toward the earl of their discussion, and her expression became pensive in a way that made Hannah’s nerves fray. Her friend always saw far too much.
“Oh, look, tea and cake,” Hannah said as they entered the room.
“They always have tea and cake,” Elizabeth retorted dryly. “I think you’re trying to change the subject.”
They each took a thinly sliced piece of buttered bread, and Hannah bit into her snack to fill her mouth before having to answer.
She didn’t want her friends to encourage her toward Lord Brightstone. Keeping her heart guarded around him was already difficult enough without their cajoling and prodding. Without them trying to instill false hopes in a place that ought not to foster any.
They meant well, of course. However, after the pain of Lord Ranford’s disinterest, Hannah could not stand the idea of suffering through another failed romance.
No, it was better for things to remain strictly instructional with Lord Brightstone.
By some strange pull of fate, she glanced about the room and caught sight of the earl standing only three people away from her. The beat of her heart snagged.
He was even more handsome up close. Even more than several nights ago at Lord Ranford’s ball. His blue eyes found hers, and a thrill tingled through her.
“Hannah, are you well?” Amy’s hand on her arm recalled Hannah back to her friends.
“Oh, yes.” She shook her head at herself. “I’m simply marveling at how thin this bread is. Really, it’s fascinating, don’t you think? It can scarce hold the spread of butter over it.”
Elizabeth’s brows pinched, and her mouth opened in a partial question, confirming that Hannah’s behavior was…well…strange.
She shoved a bit of food in her mouth to silence her frenzied chatter.
“Hannah is not well,” Jillian murmured.
Hannah smiled around her bite of bread and shrugged. The swallow that followed, however, was unsuccessful going down as the dry lump lodged itself in her throat.
“Here, let me help.” Elizabeth fetched a cup of lemonade and handed it to Hannah.
Thankfully, the tart, watered-down drink was enough to force the clump of bread down Hannah’s throat.
“Goodness, that could have been dreadful.” She smiled gratefully at Elizabeth. “I don’t understand why they make the bread thin if it’s to be so very dry. Surely, I’m not the only one who has choked on it.” She chuckled in a self-deprecating form, even as she internally chastised herself for the idle, anxious chatter. “At least there is some cake to be had. I could—”
An icy glare from Lady Arksford halted Hannah’s nervous babble. The older woman was a close acquaintance of one of the patronesses of Almack’s and might well be holding Hannah’s voucher to the coveted establishment to a proverbial flame.
It wasn’t the first time Lady Arksford had been offended by Hannah. At least this time, the older woman hadn’t publicly reprimanded her as had been done last season at a dinner party. The countess’s rebuke for Hannah to be quiet had been sharp as a whistle, cutting through the busy room so that everyone stopped speaking for the briefest of moments to look at Hannah.
Even now, her body burned with mortification at the memory, and she went silent at once.
“Don’t mind her,” Jillian said fiercely in Hannah’s ear. “People are afraid of those who are different from them.”
No one knew the truth behind those words better than Jillian, who was as unique a person as they came. It was one of the many things they all adored about her.
Hannah grasped her friend’s hand in gratitude.
“Oh,” Elizabeth moaned miserably.
The buttered side of the bread had tumbled onto her lovely pink gown, leaving a greasy splotch on the fine carnation-colored silk of her bodice.
A handkerchief appeared out of nowhere, held out by a gentleman in a fine, perfectly fitted suit with neatly combed blond hair.
Hannah’s heart nearly tumbled out of her chest.
Lord Brightstone.
Though his hand was extended to Elizabeth, it was Hannah’s gaze he held. “Miss Bexley.” His jaw was freshly shaven and smooth and his waistcoat was a deep navy that was agreeable with the blue of his eyes.
“Oh, Lord Brightstone, I’m so pleased you could make it.” The tension strung over Hannah’s nerves jittered suddenly to life until it seemed as though her insides were vibrating. “I noticed you hadn’t arrived at half-past ten and worried.” Horror descended upon her like a splash of ice water as she realized she’d confessed to noticing his comings and goings. “I mean to say that I expected you and didn’t happen to see you about…” she stammered.
Amy gently cleared her throat, bringing the embarrassing gush of words to a halt as Hannah realized she had yet to introduce the earl to her friends.
“Forgive me. Ladies, this is the Earl of Brightstone.” Hannah indicated Jillian first. “This is Lady Jillian.” Next, she motioned to Elizabeth, then Amy. “And Lady Elizabeth and Miss Honeyfield. We usually have Miss Lucy Beauchamp in attendance with us as well.”
“She was unable to make it,” Lady Jillian supplied with a graceful curtsey.
Lady Elizabeth paused mid-wipe at her butter-smeared bodice and smiled shyly. Whatever her efforts were, they were in vain. The stain of grease seemed to be spreading rather than wiping away.
Lord Brightstone bowed regally to Hannah’s friends. “Well met.” To Hannah, he said, “Shall we take a turn about the room?”
“Perhaps a dance would be in order.” Jillian’s suggestion was softly given but loud enough to have been heard by all of them.
Unfortunately.
Hannah speared her friend with a hard, pointed look.
“Lord Brightstone doesn’t care to dance,” Hannah supplied.
“No,” Lord Brightstone said thoughtfully. “But perhaps now would be a decent time to refresh myself.”
Startled, Hannah blinked up at him.
He winked at her.
Blast him for being such a quick study.
He offered her his arm as people began to relocate to the ballroom. She accepted and slid her cold hand into the heat at the crook of his elbow. He was warm and strong, and she hated how much she wished she could relish that moment.