Rafe nudged him. “Whatever you’re thinking about, forget it, my friend. Lucien won’t fight you with his fists if you compromise his beloved baby sister. They would likely only find pieces of you in the Thames. Best not to risk it over a bluestocking.”
“So, who am I to choose, then? I don’t see anyone left,” Brodie grumbled.
“Perhaps it’s time to quit this place. We made a good show here. We pleased the master of ceremonies and have been on our best behavior, more or less. It’s time to go to places more suited to our interests, wouldn’t you say?”
Brodie felt like smiling again. “I would indeed.”
“Are you any good at cards?” Rafe asked as they left.
“Quite good,” Brodie assured him.
“Excellent. I know just the place.”
Lydia was in the middle of one of the few dances she’d been asked for when she saw the handsome Scotsman and Rafe Lennox leave the assembly room. Disappointment stirred within her as the tall, dark-haired Brodie Kincade left her sight.
Lysandra joined her as the dance ended. “Are you all right?” Her face was flushed after that last quadrille.
“Yes.” Lydia was not as exhausted from the dance as her friend. She adored dancing, and while she was rarely asked to dance at occasions like this, she danced at home whenever she was alone. While Portia was out paying calls, Lydia chose to enjoy that time either reading, gardening, or dancing.
“It seems your great-aunt has taken your sister home.” Lysandra nodded toward the entryway, where they had last seen Portia and Cornelia.
“That’s one small mercy.” Lydia felt callous for saying that, but she had so few moments to enjoy herself in public without worrying about Portia and what fresh trouble she would stir up.
“Come and say hello to Lawrence and Zehra,” Lysandra suggested.
As they made their way through the packed room, Lydia was relieved to be lost amongst the crowd for a spell. Being responsible for watching over her little sister meant there was always a chance she would end up at the center of attention, and not in a good way. It was a relief to be merely among the throng and not have to worry what Portia was up to.
“Lawrence, Zehra.” Lysandra greeted her older brother and his new wife. Lawrence turned his attention to Lydia. “I’ve brought Lydia over, as promised,” said Lysandra.
“Miss Hunt, a pleasure to see you again.” Lawrence was a handsome red-haired devil and quite charming when he wasn’t brooding. Since he’d married Zehra, he’d been brooding less and beaming more. The man was clearly infatuated with his wife, but that didn’t stop him from being courteous. Lawrence bowed over Lydia’s hand.
She smiled. “It is my pleasure as well, Mr. Russell.”
He turned his attention to the woman at his side. “Please allow me to introduce you to my wife, Zehra. Zehra, this is Miss Lydia Hunt.”
Lydia smiled warmly at the dark-haired, olive-skinned woman. She was exquisitely beautiful. It was no wonder that the last time she had met Lawrence he’d been preoccupied, because he’d already met his beloved Zehra. There was quite a story behind it as Lysandra had informed her. Zehra had been captured in her father’s homeland of Persia by a rival tribe and sold into slavery, only to be secretly bought by Lawrence. Zehra was in fact a Persian princess and a granddaughter to an English peer. Once Lawrence had freed Zehra, he had kept her at his home, in secret, until he could stop a Persian slave trader who had wished her harm.
“It is wonderful to meet you, Miss Hunt.” Zehra curtsied, and Lydia did the same.
“Am I to understand we have rescued you from a bit of unpleasantness?” Lawrence asked.
“You have indeed, and I am most grateful. My sister, Portia, was quite determined to make a spectacle of herself. Our chaperone, Mrs. Wilcox, was quite upset. You spared me a long coach ride home, having to witness their duel of words.”
“Ah, I understand. Quite glad to be of service.” Lawrence shared a grin with his wife. “Well, we are ready to leave when you are. Or we can remain a bit longer.”
“I am ready,” Lydia assured him. In truth, she was tired enough to go home, knowing the moment her head hit her pillow she would be asleep. In London, balls could go into the early morning, when dawn turned everything a pale gray before the sun crested the horizon. But in Bath, balls ended promptly at eleven, and it was nearly eleven now.
“Then, shall we?” Lawrence waved a hand. The trio of ladies fell in line behind him, and they walked outside together, where Lawrence summoned their coach home. During the ride to Lydia’s residence, the women exchanged news of their mutual friends.
“We shall be attending the Pump Room tomorrow, if you would like to join our party,” Zehra offered.
“I would like that very much,” said Lydia.
“Wonderful. We will meet tomorrow after lunch, around two o’clock.”
Lydia thanked Zehra again for the invitation before she exited the coach at her townhouse in Royal Crescent. “And thank you for the escort home, Mr. Russell.” Lydia waved goodbye from the top step of the elegant home her father had recently purchased as their new residence.
Portia had convinced their father that Bath was the best place to find a husband, and so he had quickly purchased a home on the most fashionable street in Bath, the illustrious Royal Crescent. Lydia did enjoy living in the most elegant part of the city, but Bath was not as popular as it had once been. It seemed most of the younger crowd frequented other places, such as London or seaside resorts like Brighton. However, a wealth of older families still resided in Bath, and Portia was insistent she would find a handsome young man with a title and money here. Lydia knew that to find all three qualities of looks, good fortune, and a title wasn’t easy, but she could not convince her sister otherwise.
As she entered their townhouse, their butler, Mr. Annis, met her at the door.
“Did you have a good evening, Miss Hunt?”
“I did.” She’d certainly had fun with Lysandra, even if she hadn’t been asked to dance as much as she would have liked.
Annis smiled warmly at her. “I’m glad to hear it. Mrs. Kloester has a glass of milk and a few biscuits for you in your room. We anticipated your arrival after Miss Portia arrived home.”
“Thank you, Annis. Was Portia still upset? I hope she and Mrs. Wilcox did not quarrel too much during the ride home.”
“Er, no. Quite the opposite, really. Miss Portia seemed rather pleased about something. She went to bed humming.”
“Humming?” Lydia sensed impending doom, though she could not guess as to what form it would take. Her sister was up to something.
“If you need anything at all, I shall be awake another hour,” the butler said.
“No, go on to bed, Annis.” She started toward the stairs, then paused. “Annis? Is my father home, or did he go to his club this evening?”
“He’s home, Miss Hunt. In his study, I believe.”
Lydia changed course and headed for her father’s study. The door was ajar, but she knocked anyway.
“Papa?”
“Yes, my child?”
Lydia nudged the door open and slipped inside. Jackson Hunt was reading a book in one hand and holding a glass of scotch in the other. Her father was tall and fit and still quite attractive for a man in his early fifties. He had a ready wit and indulgent kindness that people often mistook for weakness, but he was in fact a shrewd businessman. With a tidy fortune and a country estate in Surrey, the Hunt family was well off enough that most society doors opened to them. Especially the homes where unmarried young men had caught a glimpse of Portia.