“Goodness. Very well then, but you can still make love your dream.”
Leonora shrugged. “I don’t know. Love is a consequence not a dream.”
“A consequence of what, exactly?”
“Finding your soulmate.” Leonora grinned at her friend. “You should know better than I do about that.”
Harriet matched her smile. “So find your soulmate.”
Leonora wanted to scoff. “If only it were that easy.”
“Perhaps you make it harder by flirting with rogues. What if you worked your wiles on a different sort of gentleman? You know, like agentleman.”
“Rakes are gentlemen,” Leonora defended. They were more fun, and in a way, safe. “They’re justwildgentlemen.”
“I cannot understand your fascination with them.”
“What can I say? There is just something about teasing a man who so clearly wants something you know he could never have.”
“How diabolical,” Harriet said dryly. “In any event,” she continued, “if you won’t change the tune, you could change the dance floor. You can always try dancing in different settings. Such as the garden. A dirt road. Places like that.”
Leonora nodded thoughtfully.Not a bad idea. But... “Whether on a dance floor, dirt road, or a garden, it’s still a dance. It’s still a tune.” Thesamedance. Thesametune. “Unless I find myself a dreamlike man like you found in Leeds.”
Harriet’s gaze flicked fondly to her husband in conversation with the Duke of Calstone and back again. “Perhaps you shall when you stop flirting with rakes you have no intention to reform.”
“But I can’t help myself,” Leonora said, then laughed. “I’m drawn to them like a bird to the sky.”
Harriet rolled her eyes heavenward.
“Go on and say it,” Leonora murmured. “I am hopeless, I know.”
“Youarehopeless. But at least you are aware of the fact.” Harriet tapped a finger on her chin. “What you need is a new sort of wild man who can help you experience dancing or whatnot in a refreshed way.”
A new sort of wild man? Other than rakes? What sort of wild wouldthatbe? “You mean like a country man?”
Harriet pointed to the Duke of Calstone. “Like him.”
Leonora followed her friend’s gaze to the man next to Leeds. “The duke? What’s so wild about him other than his wildly coveted title?”
“He is thegoodsort of wild,” Harriet pointed out. “Not rakish at all.”
“Good sort of wild?” Whatever sort of wild he may be, it didn’t call to her in the slightest. Nothing about him seemed destined to result in a moment to rule all moments. Nor did he appear to be the sort that might lead to the stirring of a dream—not in her, at least. “Anyway, he is not my type.”
“Rakesare your type, then?”
Leonora grinned at her friend. “Hopeless, I tell you.”
Harriet snorted. “This is not about what your type is and what it is not. This is about a new experience. He might be the tune you are looking for.”
“Fine, shall I just dance with him, then?” Leonora offered, then teased, “It seems awfully lackluster, though, just dancing with a duke. How about I steal a kiss from him?”
Harriet laughed. “I’m sure you shall shock the trousers from his body.”
“Why? Is he a prude?” That would be a rather intriguing prospect.
“Your tone is terrifying, you know.” Her friend shook her head. “You are aware that you are going from one extreme to another. From chasing after rakes to being fascinated by the thought of a prude.”
“The middle is exceedingly boring, don’t you agree?”
