Page 19 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“Lucy,” Amy admonished.

But Lucy only laughed at the rebuke and splashed a bit of something amber-colored into her lemonade from a flask at her side. Her tight curls had already begun to relax, her glossy dark hair too silky and straight to ever remain curled. No doubt it bothered her maid more than Lucy, who never paid fashion much mind.

“In a manner of speaking, Elizabeth is correct,” Hannah said quickly and regaled them with the miserable story. She left out the part about Lord Brightstone seeking her counsel on dress, however. That was not her secret to share.

“Oh, Hannah, that must have been dreadfully embarrassing.” Amy put a hand on her arm in a motherly fashion, her warm brown gaze soft in a frame of light blonde ringlets.

“It was.” Hannah snapped open her fan, revealing a painting of pink and buttercup yellow roses within, and waved it toward her burning face. “I’m grateful he was so kind about it and had his own man repair the fence, so I didn’t have to tell my father.”

“That was indeed very kind of him,” Amy agreed, a little smile lifted her cherub lips.

Jillian’s eyes flashed, and Hannah knew she had an idea. Which was not always a good thing. “You should ask him to dance,” Jillian insisted.

“Ladies don’t ask men to dance,” Elizabeth said, aghast.

Lucy tossed a limp curl over her shoulder. “They should.”

“Then you do it.” Jillian folded her arms over the bodice of her cranberry velvet gown at the dare, a telltale smile hovering at her lips that suggested she knew very well that Lucy was all bluster with such a threat.

Lucy cast a cursory glance about the room. “Alas, there isn’t a man worth the effort here.” Her brow lifted as she returned her stare pointedly to Jillian. “Not even the Duke of Dudley.”

“The Duke of Dudley?” Elizabeth looked between them. “Why is she staring at you like that, Jillian?”

Jillian’s jaw flexed forward with a stubborn resentment they all recognized by now.

“You’re about to be betrothed again,” Hannah gasped.

“Not if I can help it.” Jillian plucked the lemonade from Lucy’s hand and took a long sip.

“Hey.” Lucy reached for the glass, but Jillian pulled it back from her grasp.

“Do you even have a choice?” Amy’s lips clamped down on a frown.

“Am I supposed to?” The bitterness in Jillian’s tone suggested she felt otherwise.

Lucy swiped for the lemonade once more. This time, Elizabeth intervened and plucked it from Jillian’s gloved hand.

“Lady Elizabeth,” a man’s voice said from beside Hannah.

Elizabeth spun around in surprise, sloshing liquid from the glass and onto the waistcoat and breeches of Lord Darington, the most eligible bachelor of the season for the last three seasons.

“Oh.” Elizabeth tugged a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed first at his waistcoat, then trailed the spilled liquid down to his breeches. After a series of quick wipes at his crotch, she realized what she was doing and froze in horror.

“Elizabeth,” Amy hissed, grabbing her arm back.

Darington grinned, then sniffed the air. “Is that brandy I smell?”

Poor Elizabeth’s eyes went wide as dinner plates.

“I have to go to the retiring room.” Amy tugged Elizabeth with her. “Will you join me, Lady Elizabeth?”

“Y…yes,” Elizabeth stammered as she was tugged away.

Lord Darington regarded Lucy, then Jillian, then Hannah as the awkwardness of the scene sank in like lead. “I suppose I had best go clean up.”

Hannah nodded, rendered mute by the cascade of horrid events.

Lucy’s raised brows indicated her shock after his departure. “Did she just touch his...”