“Thirkell, you know what happened the last time we went to one of the Ambersleighs’ do’s.” Lord Nevinstoke winced at the sound of a badly tuned piano from inside the town house. How had he let Thirkell talk him into this? “Can’t we go to Amy’s instead? She’s laid in some lovely French brandy, just for us.”
Thirkell rolled his eyes and shoved Nev up the steps. “After you’ve danced with my cousin, lent her some countenance, then we can go to Amy’s and get as drunk as you like.”
“But, Thirkell,” Percy said, “I don’t think we have any countenance to lend Harriet. We’re disreputable, remember? And as Nev has so accurately reminded us, the last time we attended one of Lady Ambersleigh’s little gatherings, the orchestra fled in hysterics.”
“Well, if she wouldn’t hire such bloody incompetent musicians,” Nev grumbled, “I wouldn’t have had to—”
“I’m sure she’s forgotten about that by now! Besides, Nev, your father’s an earl, and Percy here is—” Thirkell broke off.
“Yes?” Percy inquired poisonously. “What am I?”
“A very good dancer?” Nev suggested.
Thirkell shot him a grateful look. “Exactly what I was going to say. And we’re all bachelors. Lady Ambersleigh will be delighted.”
Lady Ambersleigh did not look delighted when the three young men were announced. Nev tried to avoid the eye of a young matron on whose new settee he had accidentally upended a punch bowl the month before, and that of an earl from whose son Percy had won almost two hundred pounds at piquet the week before, and that of a lady whom—oh, hell, he tried not to meet anyone’s eye.
“There.” Thirkell pointed to a mousy girl in the corner. “That’s my cousin Harriet. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
A few minutes later, Thirkell was dancing with his cousin, and Percy and Nev had engaged her for the following two sets.
“What say we investigate the buffet table?” Nev asked Percy. “I think I might have seen blackberry tarts.”
“You didn’t. Where would anyone get blackberries this early in the summer? Oh, look, it’s Louisa.”
The two young men were standing next to a line of wallflowers. Nev’s sister Louisa was not one of those unfortunate girls. Despite her undistinguished brown hair and blue eyes, so similar to his own coloring, she was laughing and flirting with six gentlemen at once on the other side of the room.
Nev was struck by a sudden troubling recollection. “Oh, seven hells! My mother isn’t here, is she? I was supposed to dine in Berkeley Square tonight.”
“I don’t see her anywhere,” Percy said, and abandoned his friend to his own devices. Nev was unsurprised to see him leading Louisa out onto the floor a minute or two later. After all, none of the other gentlemen present had made Louisa her first wooden sword. Besides, Louisa was a minx; it was like her to use an old friend to make her beaux jealous.
A violin screeched painfully. Behind him, someone groaned. Nev turned. A slender, dark-haired young lady tricked out in orange silk was grimacing and whispering in an older lady’s ear.
He liked orange, he liked slender girls, and he liked people who disliked bad music. Of course, it was improper to approach her without an introduction; and the older lady, swathed in appallingly purple satin, looked a bit of a mushroom. Nev didn’t let that stop him. Unused to worrying overmuch about the niceties at the best of times, the bottle of claret he had shared with his friends before coming to the ball made him even less worried now.
“Good evening,” he said to the girl. “It’s awful, isn’t it? I won’t ask you to dance to this, but perhaps you might take a turn about the room with me? The hors d’oeuvres looked lovely.”
Dark eyebrows arched. “Excuse me, sir, but I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.”
“How rude of me. I ought to have said straight off. Nathaniel Arthur Delaval Ambrey, Viscount Nevinstoke, at your service.” He seized the hand that was not resting on her mama’s waist and bowed over it with a flourish that usually made girls giggle.
She didn’t giggle, but a corner of her mouth quirked up. “I said properly introduced.”
“Oh, Penny, don’t be so stuffy,” her mama said. He was taken aback for a moment by her accent; it was pure Cockney.
It must have shown on his face, because Penny stiffened. “I’m not being stuffy, Mama. I’m merely trying to avoid complete impropriety. I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m afraid I must decline your offer.”