Lucien remained quiet in an attempt to leave room for Ranford to volunteer more information without being pressed.
“We have been friends long enough that I am surprised you have not noticed,” Ranford replied.
“I appear to be rather daft when it comes to my interactions with others,” Lucien answered ruefully, chagrined that the point was once more proven with a good friend.
Ranford chuckled. “Your head is always lodged in a book and turned up toward the sky in thought. Anyway, it is of no matter. It isn’t something I generally mention to others. Only those I am closest to.”
He glanced around, and Lucien realized he was about to be entrusted with a very guarded secret. Leaning forward in his seat, Lucien turned his ear toward his friend so Ranford would not need to speak loudly.
“I do not prefer the gentler sex in that manner,” Ranford confessed. His brow furrowed with confirmation of Lucien’s understanding.
After all Lucien’s studies in Greek and Roman mythology, it was easy to precisely deduce what Ranford was getting at. Lucien nodded in understanding.
“But if I did…” Ranford tilted his head. “Miss Bexley would not have remained single past the end of last season. Though I know she declares her intention to remain unwed, I warrant others would see her as an agreeable potential wife. Maybe someone who will appeal to her as well.”
“You mean I should leave her be so she can be pursued by others,” Lucien summed up.
Ranford shrugged in apologetic confirmation.
“Her father said the same, and that is what I intend to do.” Lucien drank from the glass, a greater sip than he was used to and had to swallow hard to keep from sputtering.
“How do you feel about her?” Ranford asked suddenly.
Lucien did cough then. “Well, it doesn’t seem to matter when the lady is uninterested in me. I’m afraid any chance I might have had with her, I’ve thoroughly botched.”
Ranford tapped a finger on his glass. “I disagree. I’ve seen how she watches you.”
Lucien shook his head. “I assure you she wants nothing to do with me.”
His friend grinned at him. “Perhaps we will sit back and see how fate plays your hand. In the meantime, come to Vauxhall with me this Thursday. Madame Saqui is supposed to perform. I’ve had the pleasure of watching her tightrope dance once before, and she is exquisite.”
“We’ll be swarmed with debutantes,” Lucien warned his friend. “And I have it on good authority my mother will also be in attendance.”
Ranford smiled. “And I assure you, we will sit in a separate box than Lady Brightstone, affording you privacy for bride hunting.”
It would do Lucien some good to get Hannah out of his thoughts. His numerous missteps with her were well beyond salvageable. First the kiss, then the poorly timed request to allow her to court him. Surely, she was not the only woman in all of London who could fascinate him with her open conversation and quick wit.
Lucien nodded. “Thursday it is.”
Ranford tapped his glass with Lucien’s, and the plan was formally made.
12
Vauxhall was an experience not to be missed. Hannah dined on paper-thin ham, watched the heart-stopping performance of Madame Saqui precariously teetering on a nearly invisible wire and thrilled at the array of colored lights as the garden lit up like magic.
“I’d like to propose a toast.” Hannah held up a glass of wine, its warmth flowing pleasantly through her veins on the chilly evening.
Her friends lifted their glasses and turned their attention toward her.
“To our friendship,” Hannah concluded.
The women all clinked their delicate stemware together and drank.
“I’m curious,” Hannah said as though musing an idea that had suddenly come to her. “How do you all feel about the vow we made back at Lady Finch’s?”
“The one to never wed?” Lucy asked with a smirk. “Suits me well enough. I’m not the marrying sort.”
“It would be a relief to be free so long as my father would allow it.” Jillian sighed heavily. “Which I do not see being possible. But if I can manage, the pact still holds fast for me.”
“I haven’t thought of our vow in years.” Elizabeth frowned slightly. “I’m not sure. I confess that the idea of a manor in the country has always been appealing, but also…”
“Romance,” Lucy sighed dramatically.
They all laughed good-naturedly, and Elizabeth flushed a delicate shade of pink.
“One never knows when a gentleman might sweep a lady off her feet,” Elizabeth protested.
“It isn’t so much a husband necessarily that I want, or even love, but children…” Amy smiled softly.
“You can’t have one without the other,” Hannah said lightly.
Lucy stuck her finger in the air. “Well…”
“Lucy,” Amy gasped as she swiftly looked about to ensure no one had overheard, and they all laughed again.
But even as Hannah joined in their shared mirth, there was a tug of disappointment in her friends’ responses regarding the pact. She had put far too much stake into the simple agreement.
Amy was right. They had been practically girls when they signed it, with no idea who they were then or what life would bring their way.
While Hannah’s prediction had been correct about her own future, her friends might fare far differently than what they anticipated when they signed the book. At this point, she might very well become a spinster in a large country manor all by herself.
The thought was not pleasant.
A clatter of commotion came from the right side of the stage, where several women shifted through the crowd toward a gentleman. Hannah’s stomach sank. Not just any gentleman…Lord Brightstone.
He was regal in a navy wool jacket with gold buttons and long tails, set nicely with a pair of buckskin breeches that admittedly hugged his finely sculpted legs in all the right places. His top hat was perched perfectly over freshly cut blond waves, and he fished something from the pocket of his light blue waistcoat.
Ah, yes, a pocket watch.
He had followed her suggestions and was successful because of it.
No, that was unfair, she had to admit grudgingly. He wasn’t simply successful for having listened to a bit of fashion advice. He was successful because he wore those clothes so bloody well. His looser garments before did nothing to show off the expanse of his broad shoulders or the neatness of his waist and narrow hips.
He truly was a handsome man.
Now every woman in London knew it. She’d heard what they said about him, what was written in the scandal sheets. How he listened to women in a world where men talked over them, that he was a great conversationalist who always knew how to unlock a woman’s deepest secrets.
That last bit had Hannah snorting at breakfast that morning and earned her a sharp look from her mother. But truly, the only thing he did to “unlock a woman’s deepest secrets” was to use Hannah’s suggestion of asking the questions and letting the woman fill in the gaps of silence while they danced. She’d heard enough women speaking of their time on the dance floor with him to know how often he implemented her recommendations.
But those women didn’t see beyond the clothes or the title and wealth to the shy man she knew. They didn’t appreciate how he could gaze up at the sky and know the stars and each story behind them.