The trio stopped at the door to look around, and because they were strangers, everyone else paused to study them.
“Goodness, will you look at them?” Amy said, hand on her breast like some romantic heroine. “Have you ever seen such . . . shapely gentlemen? Is shapely the right word for it?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I think it is.”
All three had powerful forms under well-made suits; they possessed broad shoulders and took graceful steps. They . . . prowled, looking about with a hooded darkness in their gazes, which scoured every surface, every face. Elizabeth could not take her eyes from them. Mr. Brannock immediately went forward to meet them, shaking hands all around, and the room returned to a normal state of pleasantness, as if a cloud had passed by the sun.
“Who are they, do you think?” Amy asked.
“It’s your ball,” Elizabeth said. “Do you not know?”
“I’ll just go see, then.” She flounced up and made her way to where her mother sat with the matrons. Elizabeth felt herself shrinking in her seat, hoping that no one felt the chivalrous need to come and speak with her. She did not mind being a wallflower.
Fortunately, Amy flounced back soon enough. “I’ve gotten all the news of it from Mother. They are the Misters Wilde, brothers who’ve come into the neighborhood and have taken the lease at Lilies Park. Father met them in town and invited them, to introduce them to the neighborhood. It never hurts having more beaux among the number, yes? I imagine Father thinks to put them in my way.”
“Brothers? They don’t look anything alike.”
Indeed the tallest of the men was fair; the shortest had a brown complexion, calling to mind the West Indies sun; while the middle had dark hair and striking gray eyes.
Amy furrowed her brow, an expression her mother was always complaining of because it marred her features. “They don’t, do they? Ah well, who’s to say?”
The middle one, with the gray eyes, caught
her staring. She quickly looked away, but knew he still studied her—she felt a focused attention that put her in mind of a hawk.
“That one there has his eye on you, I wager,” Amy said, her smile mischievous.
With increasing dread, Elizabeth watched the Wilde brothers make bows to the host, who brightened after a moment’s conversation and turned toward her and Amy.
“Oh, you see?” Amy said brightly. Of course she was thrilled. New gentlemen meant new attention.
“Do stay close,” Elizabeth said, clutching her friend’s hand.
“Of course, but promise me that if he asks you for a dance, you will accept? It’s only a dance and perhaps you will like him. Not all men are Mr. Foresters.”
That was Amy—every gentleman deserved at least one dance.
Elizabeth looked up and met the gray-eyed gentleman’s gaze. This time, she could not look away, though she was sure she ought to. He held her fast, and her heart sped up, like that of a rabbit fleeing the hunt. He offered a polite nod of his head. She had forgotten to breathe.
He was intrigued by her—the same way she could identify arrogance and pity, she knew he was intrigued. But his interest would quickly fade once he actually spoke to her, surely. When she stumbled during their inevitable dance.
“Truly, he will not ask me for a dance,” she said to Amy. “Will he?”
“I am certain he means you no harm. Don’t be afraid.”
She steeled herself as if she were walking into battle. “Then I promise. Because you asked. I may even enjoy it.”
“With that one? Oh, please enjoy it!”
At last the gentlemen approached, and the ladies stood to make curtseys as Mr. Brannock presented them.
The tallest one was Vincent Wilde; the shorter, swarthy man was Francis Wilde; and the middle, dark-haired man was Edward Wilde. Amy’s father said, “This is my eldest daughter, Miss Brannock, and her good friend Miss Weston.”
“How do you do?” Amy said for them both.
Mr. Brannock said suggestively, “Do you think the music is very good? The quartet came highly recommended.”
“It’s very good,” Amy agreed.