It was a miracle, really, that Dorcas and Portia had been raised by an orphaned child who had absolutely no idea what she was doing. They were outspoken and imaginative and confident and kind. The sort of young women who would present their wonderful, imperfect, true selves without hesitation, and accept nothing less than a matching puzzle piece in return. It did not matter what sort of picture the box thought they should be, but rather how well their odd-shaped piece meshed with the odd-shaped piece courting them.
Allegra could not possibly have been prouder.
She was hiding an indulgent smile behind a third canapé when she felt a small shift in the atmosphere of the room. A sharp breeze, a whiff of saltwater, the booming of loaded cannons. Or perhaps that was her heart rattling her ribs at the sight of her favorite Not-Pirate swaggering rakishly into the ballroom.
John looked brilliant, as always. Every inch the dandy, but with an edge of danger. As though the sharp folds of his cravat had indeed been used to kill a man on three different continents, and the sword stick in his hand only one of forty-three razor-sharp blades hidden upon his person.
He paid no attention to anyone else in the ballroom, and instead strode straight up to Allegra to make a deep bow.
“May I have this dance?”
“One moment. I’m very busy.” She held up her canapé.
He stared at it. “What, might I ask, is that?”
“A canapé. It’s my third.”
“And you’re still alive to tell the tale? God save us all. I cannot possibly whisk you onto the dance floor when my services are so obviously needed elsewhere.”
She took a bite. “I tried to offer your culinary skills to a man in need.”
He looked horrified. “Can you not recognize a jest when you hear one?”
“The canapés meet your approval?”
“The canapés should be dumped in the sea. But I will not be the one making new ones. Not until I’ve a kitchen of my own. I barely survived the last two times—”
“You acquitted yourself brilliantly. Dorcas and Portia are still talking about each of those courses in tones of nostalgic rapture. When they return to the Cotswolds and people ask what the best part about Brighton was, every item on their list will be a dish you cooked.”
“Will they return to the Cotswolds?”
Allegra swung her gaze back to the dance floor, where both cousins were glowing in the arms of their smitten swains. “I wouldn’t be surprised if both of those gentlemen present themselves in the morning to beg uncle for Dorcas and Portia’s hands in marriage.”
“Then I look forward to felicitating them on their good news.”
She winced. “Dorcas’s gentleman is the younger son of a lord, and may meet Uncle’s approval. Portia’s sailor, on the other hand… Uncle upbraided us both on the way over. We’re to do better.”
John staggered backwards, clutching his chest in full Captain L’Amour outrage. “Do better than a sailor?”
“It cannot be done,” she assured him. “Anyone with sense can see that. Just look at how happy they are.”
The country-dance came to a close, but her cousins lingered beneath the adoring gazes of their beaux.
“Might I have the next dance?” John asked. “If you’re quite finished consuming a substandard mockery of proper puff pastries?”
“I could be convinced to pause for a few moments.” She curved her hand on his arm and turned toward the dance floor.
Uncle Townsend and Mrs. Oswald were just arriving.
“Shall I play a reel?” asked Miss Enid from behind the pianoforte.
“You shall dance,” Mrs. Oswald said firmly. “All young ladies must dance tonight.”
“We cannot all at once.” Miss Enid stared at the dance floor wistfully. “One of us must stay behind to play the pianoforte.”
“Nonsense,” said Uncle Townsend. “Allegra isn’t doing anything. She’ll play for the rest of the night.”
Allegra pressed her lips together in a tight smile. At least he hadn’t said she wasn’t a young lady.
Maybe he thought some truths were self-evident.
John didn’t release her arm. “I have just asked Miss Allegra to dance.”
“Enid would love to dance with you.” Mrs. Oswald nudged her daughter from the pianoforte and pushed her toward John. “She is very in demand this season,” she added meaningfully. “It is an honor to have the opportunity to dance with her at all.”
Miss Enid blushed up at John. The size of her dowry was no secret.
The fact that John hadn’t immediately genuflected to her in a flutter of rose petals probably made him seem a refreshing change from the avaricious fortune-hunters eager to increase their coffers.
“It’s all right,” Allegra said. “I’ll play.”
“It’s not all right,” John said. “Your uncle didn’t ask before offering you up like a spare handkerchief. He cannot put you to work for someone else as though you were his servant.”
This was not the time or the place where Allegra wished to confess that that was exactly what her uncle had the power to do. Until her thirtieth birthday a month from now, maintaining Uncle’s good humor was the only way to ensure she would not be tossed out into the street.
Uncle Townsend already looked apoplectic at John daring to suggest Allegra needn’t immediately acquiesce to her uncle’s every whim. There was little left to take away from her, but Allegra did not want her uncle to try.
She slipped her hand from John’s arm and tilted his elbow toward Miss Enid. “Dance. I’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, John led Miss Enid onto the parquet. Mrs. Oswald followed, taking the arm of an older guest.
“Classics,” Uncle Townsend warned Allegra. “Don’t you dare embarrass me.”
She nodded and began a common reel. Dancers immediately took to the floor.
“That man of yours is no gentleman,” Uncle Townsend added. “Don’t think for a second he’s interested in you. It’s your dowry that has attracted him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He left your side for the skirt with the larger dowry, didn’t he?”
“You told him to.”
“A man in love would not have listened. As I told you, there’s no such thing as a love match. One has to be practical.”
“Then I can see why you’re after Mrs. Oswald. But what earthly reason has she to marry you?”
Uncle Townsend’s face mottled. “Of all the ungrateful—”
“Father!” Portia bounded over and looped her arm through her father’s. “Come and dance this reel with me.”
Allegra sent her a grateful look, which was matched by an apologetic one. She shook her head. It was not Portia’s fault that her father felt Allegra to be of no more consequence than a handkerchief. Or an hourglass. Abandoned on the shelf, except when it suited him to turn her upside-down for an hour or two.
Her gaze sought and found John on the parquet.
Was he after her dowry? Was that the reason he’d requested a copy of the contract? To see for himself whether she was worth the bother of courting?
It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. She was not marrying him or anyone, regardless of motives.