Page 7 of Just a Little Daring

“Dreadfully sorry,” the man said, his face flaming scarlet. “Someone pushed me, and it was you or the lady dripping diamonds, and I figured you were the safer bet all things considered.”

Louis let out a huff of laughter, unable to fault his reasoning. The stern-looking matron standing to Louis’ left—and indeed dripping diamonds—would undoubtedly have given the poor fool a fine set down.

“No harm done,” Louis replied.

The man beamed at him. He was a stout fellow, of average height and with a plain but friendly face framed by wavy chestnut hair: the kind of nondescript, average English gentleman that would pass unnoticed at a grand affair like this. Well dressed, if not exactly elegant, he had an affable air about him, and he was staring at Louis with undisguised interest.

“You’re that comte fellow, aren’t you? Villen. That’s it, I think? Barnaby Godwin,” he said, grinning and holding out his hand. “Pleased to crash into you.”

“A pleasure,” Louis replied, rather wishing the fellow would go away and find whatever party it was he’d come with. He’d just caught sight of Evie for the first time that night, dancing with bloody Hadley-Smythe, and he was not in the mood for polite chitchat.

“Knew it had to be you. Couldn’t be two fellows with a face like that in one place. The handsomest man on three continents, is what the ladies say. Did you know?”

“No,” Louis replied, endeavouring not to sound impatient.

“Oh, yes. They’re all talking about you. Taking bets on who’ll be your next mistress, or who’ll you’ll wed. Do you know they keep a book? Must say I was a bit shocked. Just like at White’s! You don’t think of ladies doing such things, do you? Well, I don’t, leastways, but then I’m not very clever with females. Always get my tongue in a knot. Invariably say something stupid. Still, I don’t suppose you need say much, with a face like that, I mean. Wish I could borrow it,” he mused.

Louis tried counting to ten.

“Ah, there’s Miss Knight. Dancing with Cyril, ain’t she? Mr Hadley-Smythe, I mean. Now, she’s a jolly female. I like her a good deal. She’s kind, too. Never makes a fellow feel a fool, but always smiles and seems pleased to see you, and she laughs at my jokes, even when they’re not funny. My jokes are never very funny,” he said wistfully. “Always forget the punchline.”

“She is kind,” Louis said, the words out before he could think better of them.

Mr Godwin nodded, perking up now Louis was taking part in the conversation. “I know! The kind of gal that makes one feel better, even if you didn’t realise you were blue devilled. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Louis said with a sigh. “I know just what you mean.” He shot Mr Godwin a sideways glance, wondering if he too had designs on Evie.

“Reckon Cyril is after courting her. Don’t you?”

“Certainly. Aren’t you?” Louis asked, though he wondered why he would punish himself with the discovery of another man after his Evie.

“Me?” the fellow said, wide-eyed. “Oh, no. I mean, she’s splendid, don’t get me wrong, but she don’t look at me that way. I know I’m no oil painting, but a fellow likes to be wanted all the same, don’t he? No, I shall find a lady one day who looks at me like I’ve hung the moon, or I’ll stay a bachelor, I reckon. No point in settling for less, to my mind.”

Louis brightened and felt a rush of fellow feeling towards the loquacious young man. “None at all,” he agreed. “I think you are very wise.”

“Crikey,” said Mr Godwin, his mouth quirking with amusement. “I’d be careful saying things like that out loud. People will think you’re queer in your attic.”

Louis laughed and then turned his gaze back to the crowd, seeking out Evie once more. “Do you think Mr Hadley-Smythe in with a chance?” he asked, telling himself he was a fool but unable to stop all the same.

“Perhaps. Though she could do better if you ask me,” Godwin said frankly.

Louis decided he liked Barnaby Godwin.

“Monsieur Godwin, would you care to seek some refreshment? I appear to be out of champagne.”

To Louis’ amusement, Mr Godwin looked at him rather like he’d just been invited to drink ambrosia on Mount Olympus. “Oh, I say. That’s dashed decent of you. I should like that, only do call me Barnaby. I mean, if you’d like to, that is?”

“Certainly, Barnaby, and I am Louis César,” Louis added, feeling magnanimous. Barnaby looked like he might burst with pride and just stood there gaping, with his mouth opening and closing. Louis patted the fellow on the back and guided him toward the refreshments room, praying he’d find a waiter en route to save him the bother. He needed a drink.

“Where is he?” Evie whispered to Viv as the two of them strolled arm-in-arm around the enormous ballroom.

“Over there, to the right of the Russian minister and Baroness Brunow.”

Evie craned her neck to no avail until an elderly lady in a revolting puce gown moved and revealed Mr August Lane-Fox speaking to the Earl of Vane. “Oh, yes, I see him now. Yes, he is handsome, I agree. They both are, actually,” she added, observing the two men together.

“Vane is too much an enigma. One never knows what he’s thinking. I find Mr Lane-Fox more appealing. He is refreshingly honest, for one. Perhaps a touch too honest for my vanity. I find him very handsome indeed, though perhaps not when compared to Monsieur le Comte,” Viv said, tilting her head to regard the two men critically.

“No one is as handsome as Louis,” Evie said with a laugh. “He’s an anomaly. We cannot hold mere mortals up for comparison. It’s unfair.”