“The foreman?”
“I’m not entirely sure of his position,” Evelyn admitted. “But this is his design.”
“I shall make a note of it. Not that Mama would ever approve. She’s quite set on my using Mr. Inglethorpe. He once made a skirt that broke away when she was thrown. She claims she’d have been dragged to death otherwise. In truth, it was just shoddy craftsmanship. But Mama believes what she wishes.”
“I’ve not seen your mother since last she called.”
“Haven’t you? I know she’s been back to Russell Square to see your uncle. The two of them are as thick as thieves planning the ball.”
Evelyn gave Lady Anne a startled look. “What has my uncle to do with it?”
“Mama often solicits his input in the final weeks. There’s no one she trusts more with occult matters. Excepting Dmitri, of course. He always takes a hand in planning Mama’s entertainments.” Lady Anne smiled, adding, “A noncorporeal hand.”
Evelyn found nothing humorous about the situation “But the ball isn’t anything of that nature, surely? I was under the impression it was a normal affair. A grand affair. One where a lady might meet suitable gentlemen during the season.”
“Yes, quite. That reminds me,” Lady Anne said suddenly, “have you ordered a gown yet?”
“Not yet. But if the—”
“Mama says I’m to accompany you to Madame Elise’s salon tomorrow. She can run up something within a week if she’s paid well enough, and you couldn’t ask for anything better outside of Paris.”
Evelyn exhaled. “That’s all very well, but I hadn’t reckoned this was going to be an occult ball. If the only men in attendance are spiritualists—”
“You needn’t worry on that score,” Lady Anne said. “There will be society gentlemen aplenty. It’s a great whizz for some of them. And more are sure to attend now they’ve spied you. Only look at how Mr. Fillgrave is eyeing you. Or is it your stallion he’s admiring? Take care he doesn’t steal him out from under you. He has two Spanish mares he’s looking to breed.”
Evelyn turned her head sharply. “Which one is Mr. Fillgrave?”
“For pity’s sake, don’t be obvious. One mustn’t be seen to show any interest in their impertinence.” Lady Anne slowed Saffron. “He’s there by the lamppost. The po-faced gentleman with the brown muttonchop side-whiskers.”
Evelyn brought Hephaestus down to a walk, matching Saffron’s long stride. She chanced a sidelong glance at Mr. Fillgrave’s face as they passed him. His countenance wasn’t very inspiring. “Is he considered a great catch?”
“Some might say so. Though not as great as Lord Milburn.”
“Who—”
“The thin fellow on the rangy gray gelding. He’s staring at you quite blatantly.”
Evelyn pretended not to notice as she and Lady Anne rode by.
“He’s another you should beware of,” Lady Anne said. “He treats his horses abominably.”
Evelyn was beginning to suspect that Lady Anne’s knowledge of gentlemen tended more toward their stables than their suitability as husbands. “One wonders how he treats young ladies.”
“Equally abominably. He’s of that school of gentlemen who believe a teasing remark more effective than a compliment.”
“There’s a whole school of them?”
“If there is, Mr. Hartford is the proprietor of it.” Lady Anne pointed her whip in the direction of an approaching gentleman driving a high-sprung sporting gig. Dressed in plaid trousers and a cloth sack coat, he was tall and well-made. Dashing, even, with a devilish quirk to his mouth. “That’s him there. The swine.”
Catching sight of Lady Anne, Mr. Hartford tipped his hat to her. “Greetings, fair Fury.”
“Ignore him, Miss Maltravers,” Lady Anne said. “There’s nothing more trying than a rattle who imagines himself a wit.”
Mr. Hartford only grinned. His gaze moved from Lady Anne to Evelyn. “Miss Maltravers is it? A horsewoman, too, I see.”
Evelyn inclined her head as they passed him, uncertain whether a snub was entirely called for. She didn’t know him, after all, and it was rather early to burn her bridges.
“Good day, ma’am,” he called after her with exaggerated civility. “And to you, my lady. Give my regards to your sisters.”
“Infuriating beast,” Lady Anne muttered the moment they were out of earshot. “And no, I haven’t any sisters. He’s talking about Miss Wychwood and Miss Hobhouse. It was he who began all that foolishness about calling us the three Furies.”
“Perhaps he thinks he’s being funny?”
“You give him too much credit. He’s the most provoking man I’ve ever met. Always nettling a person with his japes and gibes. Always assuming he knows what’s best for them.”
Evelyn cast Lady Anne a speculative glance. “It sounds as though you know him rather well.”
“I know enough. He’s too puffed up with consequence for his own good. Most of the younger gentlemen are during the season. They’d far rather ogle the Pretty Horsebreakers than pay court to respectable young ladies.” Lady Anne’s features tightened. “And there they are, like clockwork, drat them. Putting us all in the shade.”
Evelyn couldn’t help but look at them herself as she rode past. There were only two Horsebreakers today—a dark-haired courtesan and a brassy blond. One was perched atop a gleaming chestnut, the other mounted on a dappled gray. Both women wore formfitting black riding habits that emphasized their tightly corseted waists.
Had Mr. Malik designed them? Evelyn didn’t think so. Though the women’s riding costumes served to emphasize their assets, there was nothing truly special about them. They didn’t possess the elegant sensuality of Evelyn’s own habit, nor that elusive Parisian flair.
“I wish they’d refrain from riding at this hour,” Lady Anne said crossly.
“You don’t approve of them?”
“I don’t approve of any females who diminish my friends’ already-dwindling chances of matrimony.”
Evelyn gave her a curious look. “What about your own chances?”
Anne shrugged. “Given the choice, I’d be content to remain a spinster.”
“But you’re taking part in the season, aren’t you?”
“What else am I to do? Mama and I live in London nearly all the year round. I’d die of boredom if I didn’t move about in society.” She frowned. “No. It’s Miss Wychwood and Miss Hobhouse’s chances I worry for. They must find husbands this year. Yet how can they distinguish themselves with the Horsebreakers swanning about? See how the gentlemen stare at them? Like dogs outside a butcher’s shop.”