Page 18 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“Old Brightstone”—the nickname was one he’d acquired back in his school days when the others teased him for being the oldest young man among them, set in his ways and stubborn as anyone’s stodgy uncle.

“Perhaps he’s trying to put more effort into securing himself a wife,” Darington suggested with a flash of his roguish grin. “As we all should.” The airy expression on his handsome face suggested he was not at all chagrined at his own lack of effort.

He stood a head taller than Ranford and Lucien, his deep brown eyes nearly black as they scanned the room for his next conquest, his dark hair slightly mussed in a manner women found attractive. Or so Stevens, Lucien’s valet, had stated.

Lord Darington was a man who required no improvement on any part of his person to acquire a wife, should he desire to have one. But then, he had always been handsome and charming, knowing exactly what to say at the right time. Even his scandalous behavior was tempered by enough civility and flattery to draw everyone to his side, rather than repelling them.

Lucien, for all his learning and reading, had never been adept at composing the proper reply. At least not promptly. Indeed, he was prone to overthinking to a fault, too careful with his words until the moment slipped by, along with his opportunity to reply. That or, when expediency was necessary, he said precisely the wrong thing.

Darington’s gaze settled on one of the women gathered around Miss Bexley, and his eyes lit with interest before a woman in jewel-purple silk flounced into his line of sight. “If you’ll excuse me,” he muttered. “I’m in need of refreshment.”

Lord Ranford shook his head at Darington’s abrupt departure. “Are you truly venturing out into the unknown of relinquished bachelorhood?”

Lucien sighed. “I’m being reminded of my duties often.”

Ranford gave a slow nod of understanding. “I am being granted a reprieve of guilt for this year after successfully helping Julia debut last season. It shan’t last long, so I’ll enjoy it as I can. But you…” He gestured to Lucien’s attire. “A dashing man such as yourself ought to have your pick of ladies in a room such as this, especially since you’ve commanded such attention. Every single woman in here is on the hunt to win at the marriage mart.”

A laugh emanated from the place in the room where Miss Bexley still spoke with her friends.

Lucien must have turned his attention to them, for Ranford looked in their direction and arched a brow. “Well, at least most of the ladies. That lot seems to have no interest in marriage.” A smile curled his lips. “Fascinating lot though they may be.”

It did not escape Lucien’s notice that Ranford regarded Miss Bexley specifically as he said this.

The women were still huddled together, giggling and whispering, oblivious to every man who strode by, no matter his wealth, name, title or even the cut of his jacket.

It seemed an odd thing for a group of women so beautiful and spirited to be disinclined to wed. Suddenly, he envied the women’s ability to choose their role in life.

After all, women could become spinsters. But men of the nobility…the weight of their birthright rested on their shoulders.

There was no denying it—Lucien would have to wed.

4

Hannah was nearly bursting with delight to be in the company of her beloved friends once more. Perhaps it was best they were not near her in York, or she might never return to London. They were the only thing she ever anticipated about the season.

“Someone is looking at you,” Elizabeth whispered to her. The periwinkle gown she wore sparkled with beads and made her pale blue gaze stand out against her creamy complexion and chestnut hair. Her gaze slid to the side to demonstrate the direction Hannah should glance.

Hannah’s cheeks went hot. There was not merely one someone looking at her, but two.

Lord Ranford, who she had so foolishly lost her head over previously, and Lord Brightstone. The smart cut of his jacket and fitted attire indicated he had taken her advice. As did his shorn hair, no longer falling messy over his brow but carefully combed back and to the side.

Without the distraction of his tresses, his face was hard angles in unexpected ways that were well-suited for him. His high cheekbones and perfect nose complimented his firm mouth. But it was not his hair alone that now revealed his attractive features.

Lord Brightstone cut a fine figure of a man with broad, square shoulders and a narrow waist and hips with calves that didn’t need even a hint of padding.

“You’re staring.” Lucy turned to glimpse behind her, but Hannah grasped her shoulders to still her lest she called even more attention to the gentlemen of their attention.

“It isn’t what you think,” Hannah gasped.

“Did something happen with Lord Ranford?” Amy asked, her voice soft and maternal.

“No,” Jillian replied, her focus going first to Lord Brightstone, then to Hannah in that overly perceptive way she had. “I don’t think it was with Lord Ranford.”

Hannah set her hands on her hips in exasperation. “How could you possibly know that?” Then she huffed out a sigh. “Very well, it was Lord Brightstone, who has been a neighbor of mine for the entirety of my life, as you well know. And something did happen, but it was too mortifying even to share.”

“Did you trip in front of him?” Elizabeth asked sympathetically.

“Did you accidentally walk in on him with one of the servants in the stables?” Lucy’s hazel eyes danced with wicked excitement.