“They’re just now beginning to form for the quadrille,” the earl observed.
Lady Glynis pulled her aside briefly to whisper in her ear. “Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton has a large fortune and dozens of properties. He’d be a brilliant match.”
Ana glanced back at the duke as the earl led her to the dance floor. It would be difficult to remember the sequence of steps and make polite conversation with her partner, as well as take mental notes for her novel, but she’d manage.
Halfway through the dance she realized she needn’t have worried. Her partner required no conversational response other than a nod of the head every now and then. Every time they met in the dance, he advanced a bit further along the scintillating topic ofhis personal snuffbox collection, sprinkled with equally stirring observations on the weather (which, he posited, might indeed become more rainy than not at a date not too far in the future).
He may have a vast fortune and many grand estates, but his conversation was as sparkling as a bowl of porridge. Ana suppressed a yawn as he droned on and on. The duke had followed her command and left her alone. He’d left the ballroom entirely. Where had he gone? There were sure to be dark billiard rooms for the gentlemen to gather in, where they could hide and drink brandy. She mused appreciatively on that delicious beverage, the spicy caramel warmth of it sliding down her throat. She was developing quite a taste for the stuff.
“Do you like brandy, my lord?”
“Rarely touch the tipple.” He looked as if he found the question shocking. “Find it makes my mind dull.”
She pondered this skeptically. How could his mind possibly become any duller? Mutinously she raised her chin. “I do like a glass of brandy of an evening.”
The look he gave her was one of surprised disdain. “Ladies don’t drink brandy. They sip sherry, or a ratafia.”
“This lady does.”
“How unfortunate.”
She wasn’t likely to write a character like Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton—he’d bore a reader to tears. She must find someone more exciting to dance and flirt with.
She caught sight of a gentleman with a veritable thicket of chestnut curls atop a square-jawed visage. Had she seen him at the Thunderbolt Club? He was holding a crowd of young females captive with an obviously stirring tale that required many broadgestures, the better to display his well-muscled arms in their well-cut jacket sleeves. “Who’s that gentleman there, who is causing such a commotion among the ladies?”
“That’s Sir Michael Somersby. He’s accounted to be quite the rake.”
Perfect! Her very first rake. She must find a way to dance with him, if only to see what seductive techniques he employed.
“I do hope you’re not thinking of dancing with him,” the earl said disapprovingly. “His reputation is dreadful and may well taint yours.”
“If he asks me, I must dance.”
“No, then you feign an ankle injury, or a fainting spell, or a trip to the retiring room, or anything that will keep you away from him.”
Ana wished she’d thought of feigning an ankle injury to keep from dancing with Lord Snuff Boxington.
The interminable dance finally concluded and Ana curtsied, eager to escape.
Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton was similarly disenchanted. She had obviously not fit his idea of a safe, suitable dancing partner. He left with the briefest of bows and she sighed with impatience and relief. Now to find a dangerous rake to dance with.
“How did it go?” Lady Glynis appeared at her side with alarming speed. “What did you speak of?”
“I could scarcely get a word in, but Lord Chetwynd-Ellerton spoke of the merits of ivory versus metal for housing his tobacco leaves at the greatest of length.”
“And you didn’t say anything to discourage him? I thought I detected a cold note as he made his bow.”
“I don’t think so.”
Lady Glynis regarded her suspiciously. “You’re shockingly frank of conversation. I do hope you said nothing to offend him. He’s really the best match you could hope for.”
“Analise, can that really be you?”
Ana turned to find Lady Lydia Seddington, her former nemesis at Miss Pincheon’s finishing school. “Lady Lydia.” Blast. She should have known her former schoolmates might be here. Lady Lydia and her group of fashionably garbed friends flocked to Ana’s side.
Lady Glynis, seeing her charge swallowed up by a group of unobjectionable young ladies of noble birth, decided to take the opportunity to go and speak with Lady Chetwynd-Ellerton.
“What happened to you?” Lady Lydia asked. “Why did you disappear from school so suddenly?”