“Come on Bodi,” Joan’s quiet voice stirred something in her. “You don’t have to make the first move.”
Boudicca scoffed. “If I don’t make the first move, trust me, nothing is going to happen. I’ve been on the shelf for a few years now. I’d have to tackle a duke to be seen at this point.”
Her sisters chuckled. “No tackling will be necessary. I’m sure if you drop your fan at just the right moment, a gentlemanly duke will pick it up for you.”
“Or tip your foil at him, trapping him in a corner. That would surely get you enough gossip to start your fencing school for girls,” Zenobia whirled her finger in the air like a small blade.
“I’m not ready for that yet.” Boudicca tightened her smile, not wanting to let on how much she wished she was there. Ready to open her school for girls.
Thankfully, to distract her, the ridiculous flirtation brought to mind the duke and his handkerchief on the ground. She still couldn’t believe he had asked her to clean it up. He had crashed into her after all. She was lucky she was still on her feet. Whathad he been doing walking backward like that anyway? She shook her head at the vexatious man.
“What about the Duke of Baskim?” Joan asked innocently. “You two were talking. What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” And nothing ever would.
“Did he ask you to dance?” Nobi piped up.
“No, of course not.”
“There’s noof course notabout it. He could have asked you to dance.” Mimi was practically hopping back and forth on her feet in front of Boudicca in excitement.
“Well, he didn’t.”
“He could have,” Mimi returned.
“Not in any known universe—”
“Well, what if he did? What would you say?”
Three sets of eyes were on Boudicca awaiting her answer. She couldn’t very well say that she would sabotage the dare. She had to give them hope.
“If”—she held up her index finger—“If heeverasked me to dance…I would say yes.”
The three sisters squealed. A whisper squeal.
Of course he would never ask, so there was no concern that she was giving them false hope.
Chapter Three
Wesley liked food.Perhaps slightly more than the average person. Perhaps not more than the average man though. He didn’t have any peculiar preferences. Sure, he liked beef over chicken. A rare cooked beef over one well done. And just the right lobster could top that. He always ate the food in front of him and always ate dessert. Ever since he was a small child, he had been that way. Various textures didn’t faze him. Though he knew some people who couldn’t stand the silky-smooth texture of tripe, it didn’t bother him. Anything, if cooked well, could taste quite delicious.
But if there was one thing he despised swallowing, it was his own pride.
So it was taking him a little longer than he would have liked to choke it down. Leaning against the wall, taking a sip from his champagne, he knew his next move. Walk over to the bumpable spinster. Bumpable. That was surely not a word. What did it even mean in this scenario? Hehadbeen the one to bump into her, so perhaps she was bumpable. Or had she bumped into him? Had Samuel known it? Expected it? Planned it, even? He wouldn’t put it past him, though he wasn’t sure how Samuel could have orchestrated it all so smoothly.
Wesley grumbled. It was probably all a ploy, but now that he was in it, he wanted to win. In all his years, he would have never expected Samuel to wager what he had.
Now all Wesley had to do was propose. Of course, he would only propose trusting she would say no.
He reviewed his plan. Walk over to her. Ask her to dance. It was so simple. She couldn’t say no. Not only because he was a duke (because really, what kind of woman would say no to a duke?) but also because it violated the highest regarded value of theton: etiquette. If a man asked a woman to dance, she had to accept unless she was otherwise engaged in a dance or if she was injured. He had wondered a time or two at the veracity of an opportune megrim or turned ankle. But the clear-eyed, bumpable spinster (one had to think she was a spinster by her maturity) appeared to be in good health. From his short encounter with her.
Inwardly he groaned so loud he had to grip his glass a little bit tighter to keep everything inside. Though not prone to irrational actions as such, he was not impervious to them either.
As he observed the woman, he saw her surrounded by three other women. All of whom appeared to be younger than her. They were likely her sisters. Two blondes, two brunettes. From his distance it was hard to tell much more than that, but even from yards away he could see a family resemblance in their facial structure and figures.
All he could think was that hopefully this spinster was not prone to fits. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was a woman given to hysterics. And as long as she wasn’t mousy, he could have a conversation with her and it wouldn’t be unbearable to make good on this bet.
Oh, and another thing, she had better not be a bluestocking. All he needed was for a woman to talk his ears off, spouting some unfounded political ideals. She also better not bore him to death about fashion. Hang it all, the list could go on…he had better just meet the cursed gel and get it over with.
