Page 60 of To Steal a Kiss

“Well, he is very handsome,” Matilda allowed, tugging Bonnie from the centre of the ballroom as the dancers gathered for the first set. “So, I shall see what I can do.”

“Oh, lovely!” Bonnie exclaimed, grinning. “You’re such a good sport, Matilda,” she said, before adding with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you could persuade him to offer for me too?” she added, with a gloomier tone.

Matilda bit her lip. “I think that may a bit beyond me,” she admitted.

Bonnie made a face and turned in a circle as they walked, looking around and batting a large ostrich feather out of her way as a dowager lady’s rather large coiffure impeded her view.

“Bonnie!” Matilda exclaimed, and hurried her on before the woman could cause a scene. Bonnie flounced after her without so much as batting an eyelid.

“If I don’t get a proposal soon, or at least the sniff of one—”

“Gordon Anderson?” Matilda guessed with a sympathetic smile.

Bonnie nodded and made a gagging face which made Matilda snort after all. “Gordon Anderson,” she agreed with a heavy sigh. “He of the reek of the cowshed, the temper of a starving ferret, and the manners of a ram.”

Matilda covered her mouth with her hand to hold back her laughter. Bonnie’s descriptions of Gordon Anderson were so outrageous and dreadful that all the Peculiar Ladies had confessed to a longing to see the man in person. They must see such a monster of human creation with their own eyes.

Bonnie made her hands into fists and placed them on her hips, sticking out her chest in the way a wild highlander might and affected a very thick Scottish accent. “I’ll tan yer bum if ye don’t keep a civil tongue in that empty head of yours, Bonnie Campbell.”

Matilda’s mouth dropped open, as did a dozen or more people about them who’d witnessed her little impression. Matilda flushed and grabbed her by the wrist, hauling her out of the main room and into the corridor.

“Bonnie,” she said, torn between scolding her and laughing her head off. “He never really said that?” she asked instead, a little disbelieving.

“Oh, aye, he did. Word for word,” she said with a huff, her own accent slipping through with her anxiety.

Unlike Kitty, who had been known to accentuate her own Irish brogue in polite company, Bonnie had gone to some lengths to eradicate hers to give herself the best chance of catching an English husband. Though she’d not curb her tongue nor her appetite for life, she’d made concessions. They all made concessions.

“He’s a bully and a great lummocking heathen,” she said, uncharacteristically gloomy. “I must find a husband before Morven forces me to marry him. We’ll murder each other before the honeymoon otherwise,” she added with a dark tone.

“Well, that would never do,” Matilda said. “I’ll see who I can introduce you to this evening.”

Both women paused as Kitty came flying around the corner, red-faced and breathless, and ground to a halt.

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Bonnie and Matilda said in unison, exchanging suspicious glances.

“Whatever are you doing?” Bonnie asked, scrunching up her nose as she looked Kitty over. “You look like you’ve been running for miles.”

“Oh,” Kitty said again, flushing a little harder and trying to smooth down her dress and tidy her hair. “Nothing,” she said, before adding with a touch too much nonchalance. “Did you see a man come this way? A tall fellow, hair like a copper pot?”

“Kitty,” Matilda said, narrowing her eyes at the young woman and feeling rather like a mother hen. “What the devil are you up to?”

“Nothing!” Kitty said, folding her arms and huffing. “Only I was certain he came this way. I didn’t imagine it, or him. I’m sure I didn’t.”

“Well, he didn’t, so you must have,” Bonnie said, moving to take Kitty’s arm. “Perhaps he’s gone for refreshments. I say, speaking of, I’m famished, aren’t you? Shall we check? Come along, Tilda.”

Matilda’s stomach rebelled at the thought of food or facing the crush of the refreshments room.

“No, thank you. You two run along and do try to stay out of trouble. I’ll go back to the ballroom.”

“Yes, Mama,” Bonnie said in a singsong voice, before ducking a curtsey and then running away with Kitty, the two of them snorting with laughter.

Matilda shook her head with chagrin and decided she felt about a hundred years old. At twenty-five, she was the oldest of the Peculiar Ladies. A spinster. The title rankled. Perhaps it was better to be scandalous than dusty and forgotten at the back of the shelf. The girls’ laughter echoed down the hall, and she smiled. Had she ever been that full of fun and laughter? She couldn’t remember it.

With a sigh, she hurried back to the ballroom, unwilling to be discovered alone and set more tongues wagging. She was within mere inches of her goal and about to step through the door, when it opened from the other side and the Marquess of Montagu appeared.

Good God, she was doomed.