“And where is our new viscount?” Lord Iddesleigh said, looking around the room. “I haven’t missed him, have I? I daresay I’m the only friend he’s got. Besides our own Miss Woodchurch, that is.”
“I’m not his friend,” Hattie pleaded.
“He’s not come yet, Beck,” Lady Aleksander said, ignoring Hattie. As was Lord Iddesleigh. “You may trust that you won’t miss his entrance—every woman in this room will be attracted to him like flies to cake.”
“He’s probably waiting in the crush outside,” Lady Iddesleigh said. “It was terrible, really.”
“Miss Woodchurch,” Lord Iddesleigh said. “Regale us with how you find your position with his lordship. He’s not very forthcoming, is he?”
Of all the things she’d imagined for this evening, this had not been it. She looked around for Daniel. For Flora. Anyone to save her from this.
“She’s given him a book to read,” Lady Aleksander offered.
The Iddesleighs looked at her with shock. Hattie shrugged sheepishly. “He likes to read.”
“Interesting,”Lord Iddesleigh said. “One never knows what might arise in the administration of an estate. But, Miss Woodchurch, no one cares about his reading habits. What we want to know is, what does our young bachelor think of the prospects he is to meet tonight?”
The question mortified Hattie—her cheeks flooded with heat. “I beg your pardon, my lord, I wouldneverinquire about such a thing.”
“Never?” he asked.
“Beck, darling!” his wife exclaimed. “Don’t tease her. Look, you’re making her skin mottle. She’s surely been sworn to secrecy! And here you have Lila, who has arranged for introductions to be made this evening. Why don’t you inquire of her who that is?”
“Everyone is here to meet him,” Lady Aleksander said breezily. “But in particular, Miss Christiana Porter—”
“There you are, an easy favorite,” Lady Iddesleigh said.
“Miss Dahlia Cupperson—”
“Rich,” Lord Iddesleigh mused.
“And Miss Flora Raney,” Lady Aleksander finished.
Lord and Lady Iddesleigh looked at each other. Lady Iddesleigh shrugged a little and Lord Iddesleigh said, “My wife thinks our Tilly should be considered if that’s the best you’ve got. But I think she is—”
“There he is now!” Lady Aleksander suddenly sang out, ending any further conversation about Mathilda Hawke as a potential bride for the viscount, and all four of them turned at once toward the entrance.
There was a commotion at the entrance to the salon, as people closed ranks around the Forsythes and their special guest. It was a moment or two before Lord Abbott stepped into view, and when he did, it felt to Hattie as if the air changed, and her heart began to sputter along. He always looked quite handsome to her, but tonight, he looked divine. His hair was neatly combed, his beard closely trimmed. His suit of clothing—black, with a gold brocade waistcoat—was tailored to perfection against his frame. On his chest, he wore a red badge that dripped a gold star, which, she surmised, was a symbol of the Santiavan duchy.
She realized that someone in the crowd was speaking Spanish, and Abbott responded in kind, his voice deep and soothing, his Spanish sounding a bit like a song. In the next breath, in response to a question put to him by someone else, he effortlessly shifted to English. He said only a few words, but he clearly said enough. People were smiling and nodding along as if he was delivering a sermon of good cheer.
Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe proudly escorted him around the room, almost as if they were showing off a new horse to their friends. Trot this way and make an introduction. Trot that way and make another.
Lord Abbott strolled along, his hands at his back, nodding and responding as he greeted the other guests. Hattie glanced over her shoulder to where Flora and Daniel had been standing. Daniel had disappeared—probably in search of another drink—but Flora was in the same spot, now in the company of her parents. Even from here, she looked pale.
“Excuse me,” Hattie said, and slipped away from the Iddesleighs and Lady Aleksander. No one noticed her departure. Lord Iddesleigh was complaining that the Forsythes seemed to be showing some favoritism in their introductions.
Hattie moved through the crowd to Flora’s side and touched her arm, startling her. “Hattie!” she cried. “Thank goodness you are here. Your brother said you hadn’t come.”
“What?” Hattie almost rolled her eyes. “Pay him no mind, Flora. You shouldn’t even talk to him, really.” She paused. “How is it that you’ve made his acquaintance?”
“I don’t recall.” Flora suddenly gripped Hattie’s hand. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful. More beautiful than anyone here.” It was true—Flora looked like a princess in her pale gold gown with a cascade of red blooms down the bustled train.
Flora smiled, but her gaze trailed anxiously in the direction of the viscount. She did not comment on Hattie’s appearance. She didn’t tease her about how she’d had to squeeze into her gown or admire the new headdress Hattie had bought. Hattie didn’t take it personally—she understood how anxious her friend was about meeting the viscount.
Flora leaned close and whispered, “Christiana has been at the door all night, just so she’d be the first to be introduced.”
