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“Lily.”
“Fine.” She schooled her expression into something more neutral, though I could see the effort it took. “But if someone starts discussing the historical context of the current political climate, I'm not responsible for what happens.”
“If someone discusses politics,” I said carefully, “you smile politely and defer to the men in the room. As we practiced.”
That earned me a look that could have melted steel.
“Right. Because heaven forbid a woman have opinions about anything more complex than embroidery.”
“Not because you're a woman. Because you're supposed to be a country cousin with limited education and no dangerous ideas about social reform.”
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. “Unremarkable. Forgettable. I remember.”
“Except you're on my arm, which makes you neither.” Her fingers dug into my arm. “My father will want to know who you are. Where you're from.”
“Your father.” Her voice was carefully neutral. “Will he be here tonight?”
“He's already here somewhere.” I scanned the room but didn't see him yet. “Which means we have perhaps thirty minutes to establish you as my utterly boring, perfectly appropriate companion before he decides to interrogate you himself.”
“Boring and appropriate.” Her mouth twisted. “That's going to be a challenge.”
“For you? Undoubtedly.” Despite it all, I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
“Well then.” She lifted her chin, that stubborn tilt I was beginning to recognize. “Let's go be devastatingly boring together.”
Adeline spotted us first, an amused smirk curving her lips as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with their presence.”
Garrick glanced up, his gaze flickering between me and Lily. “You look lovely, Miss Whitmore.”
Lily inclined her head. “Thank you.”
Adeline gestured toward an empty chair. “Sit. You're making us look bad, standing there all regal.”
Lily took the seat across from Adeline. I settled beside her, resting an arm over the back of my chair.
“Enjoying yourselves?” I asked.
Adeline shrugged, taking a slow sip from her glass. “It was dull until now.”
I let the conversation drift, half-listening to Garrick's commentary on the other guests while watching Lily from the corner of my eye. She was taking everything in—the music, the dancers, the clusters of conversation—with that same quiet intensity she'd had in the Bodleian.
After a few minutes, I leaned closer. “A dance, Lily.”
She stiffened slightly. “I'd rather not.”
“That wasn't a request.”
Her jaw tightened, but before she could respond, another voice cut in.
“May I have this dance?”
A man stepped up beside her—tall, well-dressed, blond hair neatly combed back. His attention was solely on Lily, his hand extended.
Lily turned to him with a pleasant smile. “Of course.”
She took his hand without hesitation, rising from her chair with practiced grace. I leaned back, keeping my expression neutral as I watched her let another man lead her onto the dance floor.
Garrick let out a low whistle beside me. “That's got to sting.”
