Page 51 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“I’m the woman men know will help when asked.” Hannah’s words resounded in Lucien’s mind.

“Have you ever considered courting Miss Bexley?” Lucien asked.

Ranford held his glass between his two hands, staring for a long moment into its contents. “No,” he answered slowly, and his gaze shifted to Lucien, his eyes narrowing somewhat. “Though my disinterest is through no fault of Miss Bexley.”

Lucien remained quiet in an attempt to leave room for Ranford to volunteer more information without being pressed.

“We have been friends long enough that I am surprised you have not noticed,” Ranford replied.

“I appear to be rather daft when it comes to my interactions with others,” Lucien answered ruefully, chagrined that the point was once more proven with a good friend.

Ranford chuckled. “Your head is always lodged in a book and turned up toward the sky in thought. Anyway, it is of no matter. It isn’t something I generally mention to others. Only those I am closest to.”

He glanced around, and Lucien realized he was about to be entrusted with a very guarded secret. Leaning forward in his seat, Lucien turned his ear toward his friend so Ranford would not need to speak loudly.

“I do not prefer the gentler sex in that manner,” Ranford confessed. His brow furrowed with confirmation of Lucien’s understanding.

After all Lucien’s studies in Greek and Roman mythology, it was easy to precisely deduce what Ranford was getting at. Lucien nodded in understanding.

“But if I did…” Ranford tilted his head. “Miss Bexley would not have remained single past the end of last season. Though I know she declares her intention to remain unwed, I warrant others would see her as an agreeable potential wife. Maybe someone who will appeal to her as well.”

“You mean I should leave her be so she can be pursued by others,” Lucien summed up.

Ranford shrugged in apologetic confirmation.

“Her father said the same, and that is what I intend to do.” Lucien drank from the glass, a greater sip than he was used to and had to swallow hard to keep from sputtering.

“How do you feel about her?” Ranford asked suddenly.

Lucien did cough then. “Well, it doesn’t seem to matter when the lady is uninterested in me. I’m afraid any chance I might have had with her, I’ve thoroughly botched.”

Ranford tapped a finger on his glass. “I disagree. I’ve seen how she watches you.”

Lucien shook his head. “I assure you she wants nothing to do with me.”

His friend grinned at him. “Perhaps we will sit back and see how fate plays your hand. In the meantime, come to Vauxhall with me this Thursday. Madame Saqui is supposed to perform. I’ve had the pleasure of watching her tightrope dance once before, and she is exquisite.”

“We’ll be swarmed with debutantes,” Lucien warned his friend. “And I have it on good authority my mother will also be in attendance.”

Ranford smiled. “And I assure you, we will sit in a separate box than Lady Brightstone, affording you privacy for bride hunting.”

It would do Lucien some good to get Hannah out of his thoughts. His numerous missteps with her were well beyond salvageable. First the kiss, then the poorly timed request to allow her to court him. Surely, she was not the only woman in all of London who could fascinate him with her open conversation and quick wit.

Lucien nodded. “Thursday it is.”

Ranford tapped his glass with Lucien’s, and the plan was formally made.

12

Vauxhall was an experience not to be missed. Hannah dined on paper-thin ham, watched the heart-stopping performance of Madame Saqui precariously teetering on a nearly invisible wire and thrilled at the array of colored lights as the garden lit up like magic.

“I’d like to propose a toast.” Hannah held up a glass of wine, its warmth flowing pleasantly through her veins on the chilly evening.

Her friends lifted their glasses and turned their attention toward her.

“To our friendship,” Hannah concluded.

The women all clinked their delicate stemware together and drank.