Alice felt her cheeks warm. Princess Charlotte had scandalized some and thrilled others when she’d adopted the wearing of drawers. Most ladies wore them these days, but not the old-fashioned types, or those whose parents were rigid moralists, like Papa. The church considered the wearing of drawers by ladies as scandalous and immoral, drawers being items of clothes designed for men.
Then there were people like Thaddeus, who subscribed to the medical opinion that drawers overheated ladies’ female parts and thus made it more difficult for them to conceive.
Alice had worn her first-ever pair of drawers to Thaddeus’s funeral.
“I have no idea,” she murmured. Deciding this conversation was heading into awkward areas—she still didn’t know what he was wearing under his tunic and wasn’t going to ask, and she wouldn’t put it past him to ask whether she was wearing drawers or not—Alice glanced around in search of some distraction.
“Fretting about young Cassandra?” he asked. “That has to be a first.”
“What is?” She constantly worried about Lucy.
“Cleopatra playing chaperone to a priestess of Apollo.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, that young lady is more than capable of looking after herself.”
“That’s not the point,” she began.
“Looks like she’s occupied with young Thornton.” He nodded to one of the balconies at the back of the room, where Lucy and Gerald were standing, face-to-face, radiating tension. As they watched, Lucy flung up her hands and stormed off, leaving Gerald staring after, frustration evident in every line of his body.
“Oh dear, I’d better go and—”
A large hand closed around her forearm. “No, leave them to it. They’ve been circling around each other forever. Best let them get it out in the open.”
“Forever?”
He shrugged. “It feels like that anyway. Now come, let me procure you some refreshment, and then we shall dance.”
“Shall we?” she said dryly.
“Shall we not, my queen? And why would that be? Have I stepped on your toes in some way? Do you fear my tunic flying up? Worried about my dangly bits?” How she knew he was quirking an amused eyebrow at her under his golden helmet she couldn’t say, but she was sure he was. His dangly bits indeed.
She wished she knew how to flirt back at him and maintain a witty, lighthearted conversation, but instead all she could do was blush and feel hot and flustered. But was determined not to show it. “A lady likes to be asked.”
“Of course.” He swept her an instant bow. “My dear Queen Cleopatra, would you grant a humble soldier a dance?”
She looked around. “I might. Where is he?”
He snorted. “Minx. Very well then, will you grant me a dance?”
“Yes. Which dance would you pref—”
“The first waltz. And the second.”
“But—”
“I would take every dance, except there is some stupid rule about limiting oneself to two dances with one lady.”
Alice decided not to argue.
* * *
* * *
Lucy prowled through the crowd furiously, peering between the clumps of gorgeously attired people, looking for the culprit. Hah! There he was, the arrogant beast, in his sinfully tight black breeches and his glittery matador’s coat, thinking he looked so fine, surrounded by ladies all cooing and gushing. She marched up and poked him in the shoulder—hard. “How dare you drive away my partners!”
Lord Thornton turned, rubbing his shoulder. “I didn’t!”
Aware of his circle of admirers avidly listening, she allowed him to steer her a short distance away.
“You didn’t, eh? Then why did Mr. Frinton and Mr. Grimswade both come to me in the last half hour and withdraw from the dances they had reserved?”
He shrugged. “How would I know?”
“Liar!” she snapped. “They both told me it was at your request—as my guardian’s nearest male relative!”
He didn’t answer, didn’t even look the slightest bit guilty.
She poked him again, this time on the bead-and-sequin-covered chest. Matador indeed! She could happily throw him under a bull right now. “Understand me, Lord Thornroach, you have no authority over me. None whatsoever, and if you ever try to arrange my dances or any other aspect of my life again—”
“What else was I to do? You refused me even one dance earlier.”
“As is my right!”
“I only took your waltzes.”
Such smugness. She wanted to hit him. “They were my waltzes to give!”
He shrugged again. “You don’t have permission to waltz yet.”
“So? I planned to sit them out with the partners of my choice.”
He snorted. “You planned to sit one out with Corney Frinton and what—talk?”
“Mr. Frinton can talk. Sometimes. Anyway, what business is it of yours how we pass the time? I’d rather sit in total silence with Mr. Frinton than with an arrogant lord who thinks he knows everything.”
He cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. “And what did you plan to do with Tarquin Grimswade? Listen to his poetry? I can assure you, it’s utter drivel.”
“You introduced me to both those gentlemen as potential husbands. So what has changed? Or is it just a case of dog in the manger?” Hah! He looked uncomfortable at that little gibe. The hypocrite.
“I simply wanted to talk to you. I’ve been trying to talk to you since that drive in the park, but you’ve been avoiding me—”
“I can’t imagine why, when you’re such delightful company.”
“And then tonight, when you refused me even one dance—” He broke off as the opening bars of a waltz sounded. “Let’s go outside,” he said, “where I can say my piece, you can berate me in relative privacy, and then we’ll be done.”
Cupping his hand around her elbow, he escorted her across the railed terrace and down into the courtyard. Wought iron chairs and tables were arranged around the perimeter, large potted palms and other plants had been clustered to give privacy to the tables, and multicolored lanterns were hung here and there, giving the scene a softly foreign appearance. Everyone had made their way inside for the much-anticipated first waltz of the evening. The courtyard was deserted.
“Well?” She turned and faced him, her arms folded across her chest. “What is it you are burning to tell me? More disgraceful family secrets you have unearthed about me? More slanders against my character? More baseless accusations about how I’m plotting with my father to ruin Alice?”