Had Basil not been quite so irritated at Isabella's casual leave-taking and a little stunned by her cousin's good looks, he might have noticed his friend's condition sooner. As it was, the viscountess made several attempts to return to discussion of the greys, and several times elicited only stuttering and confused replies from Freddie, before Basil noted anything amiss. He then calmly took over the conversation, brought it to a graceful close, and took his friend and himself away.
"It really is too bad of you, I must say," Basil remarked as they made their way to their club.
"Eh?" Lord Tuttlehope awoke from his stupor with a start.
"I said, it really is too bad of you."
"What is? Were you speaking, Trev?" Freddie shook his head. "Must have been woolgathering. Too bad— what?"
Basil clapped his friend on the shoulder and laughed. Freddie endured this for a moment, then responded, with some annoyance, "I say, Trev, fellow deserves to know what the joke is."
"Ah, my friend, I fear the joke is on me. I had new hopes. For a vision entered my life, complete with fortune, but younger, prettier, and, I think, far more susceptible than the icy Miss Latham. But what do you think? I look over and see that my bosom bow is struck on the spot, instantly besotted. Did you ever hear of worse luck?"
***
"Oh, Bella, what lovely gentlemen. I've never seen such cravats. Are they in love with you?"
"The gentlemen or the cravats?" Isabella asked, laughing.
Alicia's wardrobe for the Season covered every stick of furniture in her room: walking dresses, pelisses, gowns, slippers, shawls. All had been inspected, tried on, exclaimed over, and the two women now sat on the bed, resting from their exertions.
"But are they? They're so handsome." Alicia sighed. "And so beautifully dressed."
"Yes, they're impeccable," replied her cousin. "And not, you goose, in love with me. Why, I'm quite an elderly lady. Your ancient companion, remember."
"Fah." The blonde curls shook a negative. "The only reason you're not married is that you've been buried in the country all this time taking care of us and helping Papa. I knew the minute you came to London you'd have dozens of beaux. Even Papa said so—when Mama was not about. Polly said at least a dozen came today. Even the Earl of Hartleigh." She pronounced this last with some awe.
Isabella's heart gave a little flutter, but she took a deep breath and told her cousin, "That is only etiquette, my dear."
This was not sufficient explanation, for her cousin must hear all the particulars of the Duchess of Chilworth's ball.
"And the dark-haired one, who looked so shy?" Alicia asked, shyly enough herself, when her cousin had finished detailing the previous evening.
"Where Mr. Trevelyan goes, there goes Lord Tuttlehope. I assure you he hasn't the remotest interest in me."
"Oh." Alicia became thoughtful. If Lord Tuttlehope could have seen the tiny wrinkle between her brows or the charming way she chewed delicately on her lower lip, his fate would have been sealed.
But fortunately for that bewildered lord, there was only Isabella to see. She was curious about this interest in Basil's loyal companion, but had no opportunity to question her cousin, for Veronica entered then, demanding to see all the new finery. The wardrobe was displayed again, and Isabella soon left the two girls to their fantasies.
As the younger girls waited in happy anticipation of their special day—practising the most killing ways of plying their fans, inventing witty retorts to imagined compliments, investigating the festive arrangements, and generally getting in the way of the servants, by whom they were frequently in danger of being trodden underfoot—Isabella continued to make the rounds with her aunt.
She went again to Almack's, where she found herself at the center of a small but enthusiastic circle of admirers. This was in marked contrast to her previous experience within those hallowed halls, when only the patronesses' benevolent tyranny had saved her from sitting out the entire evening. Then she had been matched up with bored but polite gentlemen who did their duty, suppressed their yawns, and then went on to more attractive game. Now, however, she was stalked not only by the persistent Basil, but also by a select group of other gentlemen with pockets to let.
In the course of her engagements, she had regularly found Lord Hartleigh gazing down at her in that tight, courteous, yet somehow disapproving way of his. He would never spend more than a few minutes with her—perhaps a single dance, or some polite social chatter. And then he would be gone. She noticed that he divided his attention among half a dozen young ladies, all of whom had similar credentials: good looks and breeding. Their bloodlines were no doubt as impeccable as those of his horses, and she wondered sardonically if he were evaluating them in the same way he would his cattle. So far, Lady Honoria Crofton-Ash seemed to have the advantage of her competitors, for he had danced twice with her this evening and brought her a lemonade. Isabella shrugged.
The Marriage Mart was no different from Tattersall's. She only hoped that this cold and calculating business would not hurt Alicia. More than once she'd pictured her young cousin being snubbed by some overly fastidious member of the ton. More than once she had shook her head over her Aunt Pamela's obsession with status.
Well, it was too late now. Alicia would be thrust into Society, whether Society liked it or not, and she would have to endure the snubs and the slights. But Alicia was resilient. And intelligent. Perhaps less naive than she seemed—for she had an uncanny knack of knowing when Lord Tuttlehope was visiting, and would manage to be seen. Perhaps she would simply pass by the door, conversing with her cousin o
r her Abigail. Or perhaps she would stop in for a moment with an innocent question. These glimpses of the young lady seemed to leave Lord Tuttlehope in a state of stupefaction. He was inevitably tongue-tied if Alicia spoke one word to him.
Isabella smiled. There was evidence of mutual interest. If only Lord Tuttlehope's presence did not automatically signal that of his ever-present companion. Isabella awoke from her musings as Basil's shadow fell upon her. He had come to claim his dance. Ah, well. One must make the best of it, for Alicia's sake. If Basil persisted in trailing herself, then Lord Tuttlehope would not be far behind.
"Is it as dull as all that?" Basil asked as they took their places in the set.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Dull, Miss Latham. Though all at Almack's must feel it—at least those of any sensibility—you are the only woman here who clearly appears to wish she were elsewhere. In fact, so determined are you to be elsewhere that you travel here in spirit. It must be very dull indeed."
Firmly, Isabella brought her mind back from Alicia and her future to the present moment. "I assure you, sir, that this is all highly entertaining, and I was only tucking some observations into the back of my mind for later contemplation."
"Fortunate woman. I must do my contemplating now, and make the best of too few, too short hours," he murmured, as the requirements of the dance separated them.
She felt his eyes follow her as she moved away, and when, once or twice, she caught the intensity of his glance, she was forced to look away, suddenly feeling hot and angry. He had no business to stare after her in that way. It was most improper, and made her conspicuous.
When she rejoined him, she spoke out bluntly. "Mr. Trevelyan, it is most inconsiderate of you to stare at me in that hungry fashion. Lady Jersey is watching you and is bound to make a story of it."
"Hungry, Miss Latham?" he queried, raising an eyebrow. "Your language is certainly most...most refreshing," he added with a chuckle.