The Unlikely Lady(27)

Lucy spoke first. “There you are, Janie. I’ve been searching for you. You wouldn’t believe how many handsome gentlemen are here this evening. I daresay Captain Swift, er, I mean Swifdon, has good-looking friends.”

Jane nearly snorted. “Indeed, I would not believe it, because I cannot see anything. I wouldn’t have made it at all if Daphne hadn’t helped me find you. They might as well all be trolls as far as I can tell.”

Cass laughed. “You poor dear.” She squeezed Jane’s hand and turned to Daphne.

“Tell me, and please be honest, how horrible is this red spot on my nose?” Cass asked her future sister-in-law.

“It’s barely noticeable,” Daphne replied.

“I doubt that. I fear we’ll be obliged to set another seat at the banquet table on the day of the wedding to accommodate it,” Cass said.

“It’s hardly that bad,” Jane replied. “I cannot even see it.”

“Yes, but you’re blind as a bat,” Cass replied. “And as to that, thank you for helping Jane find us, Daphne.”

“My pleasure,” Daphne replied. “Doesn’t she look like a dream? She even caught the eye of Lord Owen.” Daphne’s voice took on a subtle cajoling tone.

“Owen?” Cass replied. “You must be jesting.”

“I take great offense to that,” Jane replied. “I might not be able to see anything, but I can still hear you.”

“I beg your pardon,” Cass said, true regret in her voice. “I just cannot believe … Well, you do look entirely different from how you normally do, Jane. But Owen, he’s a—”

“No need to explain,” Jane replied. “I was hardly attempting to attract his attention. I was looking for you two and then teacake … in that order.”

Lucy’s tinkling laughter followed. “When I gave you that mask earlier, I completely forgot about your spectacles. Take it on my good authority that there are indeed a large number of good-looking gentlemen here. It’s really too bad you’re a confirmed spinster.” Lucy sighed as if she really did think it was too bad. “I’d be ever so much more efficient at finding you a husband than at convincing your parents you’re to remain unattached. Your mother is quite single-minded.”

“Don’t I know?” Jane replied. “Now, would one of you kindly point me in the direction of the refreshment table?”

“I shall do even better than that. I shall escort you there myself,” Lucy replied.

Jane supposed the flesh-colored blur that appeared at her side was Lucy’s arm, so she wound her hand over it and allowed her friend to escort her toward the teacake. Jane waved in Cass and Daphne’s general direction as she left them behind.

“Don’t get up to too much trouble,” Daphne called.

“Yes, and you may want to avoid Owen,” Cass added, with a laugh. “He can be quite charming when he sets his mind to it, or so I’m told.”

Lucy dragged Jane toward the refreshment table before stopping short. “Ooh, there’s Garrett. I wonder if he’ll recognize you.”





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Garrett should not have allowed Owen Monroe to talk him into a stiff bit of straight liquor. “To toast the happy couple,” Owen had said, and of course, one small drink had turned into two and two into three, and that in addition to the brandy he’d drunk earlier. Garrett was feeling very little pain. He detested small stiff drinks. Owen Monroe, however, never met a drink he didn’t like. Nor was there a bottle of liquor he wasn’t intimately acquainted with.

That’s what Garrett got for spending time in Owen’s company. He’d wanted to clear the air with Monroe after that hand of cards last autumn and forcing him to pretend his sister was not masquerading as a woman named Patience Bunbury at Lucy’s house party. Owen had insisted he was no longer angry with him. Garrett had won fair and square, after all, but Garrett suspected Owen was getting a bit of his own back by ensuring Garrett awoke tomorrow morning with a devil of a head.

Drinking was Owen’s forte. Garrett should have refused that last drink. Or three. He had to get away from the study and the drinking to clear his head a bit. Now here he was wearing a bloody emerald-green demimask along with his black evening attire and staggering into the Morelands’ ballroom.

He braced a hand against the wall and scanned the crowd. Bloody difficult to tell who was who with everyone wearing blasted masks. Thank Christ, Isabella had stopped him earlier and identified herself. She was wearing a ruby-red gown that was a bit too … distracting for his taste. He’d quickly excused himself without asking her to dance, which she was clearly hinting at, and made his way to the study where Monroe had got him in his drunken clutches. At least Garrett knew enough to stay away from the ruby-red gown he saw bobbing along the far side of the room, besieged by a contingent of hopeful male escorts.