Page 9 of The Rake’s Convenient Bride

“Hello, Miss Beauchamp, lovely to see you again,” the dowager said. “Are these your friends?”

“Indeed,” Lucy offered. “Lady Darington, this is Lady Jillian, Miss Honeyfield, and Lady Elizabeth.” Lucy swept her hand over to Elizabeth with a flourish, making her stand out among the four of them.

“How lovely to meet you all.” Lady Darington cocked her head at the four of them. “My grandson is seeking a wife. Have you met the Earl of Darington yet?”

“Lady Elizabeth has,” Amy said unhelpfully.

Lucy nudged Elizabeth forward. “Quite a coincidence when our Elizabeth is next in line to marry.”

The dowager’s eyes sparked with interest. “I see.”

“Your grandson is a kind and charming man who I’m sure will find a wife befitting him,” Elizabeth stammered.

“Well, do ensure you stop by to bid him good evening,” Lady Darington said. “I’m sure he would love to dance with such a beautiful young woman.”

Elizabeth gave a stiff nod, then curtseyed as the dowager moved on to the next group of women.

“Darington must be mortified to have his grandmother going about like that,” Lucy said under her breath.

Jillian played with a dark tendril of her hair. “But it does give you a wonderful opportunity to possibly become better acquainted with him.”

Elizabeth shook her head and looked away, refusing to meet Lucy’s coy expression. “I don’t think so. He wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t what?” Amy asked, her lips turned down in a slight frown.

Elizabeth gave a mirthless chuckle. “Be remotely interested in me.”

“Elizabeth, you have so much to recommend you,” Amy began.

But Elizabeth didn’t want to hear platitudes. Lord Darington was a man with a reputation. He enjoyed beautiful women well and had entertained his fair share.

Elizabeth could be considered lovely with her blue eyes, fair skin, and soft brown hair, but she was no beauty. Certainly, she was no vixen to tempt the likes of Darington.

She didn’t want a shallow marriage based on looks and compatible lineage. She wanted a match based on love, on passion.

“You’re so kind,” Amy began listing Elizabeth’s attributes regardless. “Always thinking of others.”

Frustration knotted in Elizabeth’s chest.

“Please don’t,” she shook her head. She didn’t want to hear how nice she was, how patient, how loyal a friend. Desperate to be free from her friend’s words, she took a step back.

Her back hit something solid, which moved away at once, followed by a surprised grunt. She turned in time to see Lady Gentry, the ball’s hostess, stagger forward, spilling her lemonade onto the floor and splashing several hemlines. Servants rushed forward at once, armed with damp cloths.

“I…I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth stammered out.

Lady Gentry, who was often austere in the best of times, turned a cold gaze on her. “I’m sure it was an accident,” the older woman hissed.

Elizabeth nodded tightly and opened her mouth to apologize once more, but the woman was already turning away.

A hand rested on Elizabeth’s forearm. She looked up and found Amy at her side. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Hot tears of humiliation burned in Elizabeth’s eyes. Because knocking into Lady Gentry absolutely was her fault. She shook her head. “Forgive me, I need a moment to myself.”

Lucy regarded her from behind Amy, brows raised in silent question. Did Elizabeth want company?

Elizabeth shook her head and turned—carefully—from the ballroom, seeking out the retiring room. Several voices were audible from outside the door as she approached.

“And she bumped into Lady Gentry, causing her to spill her drink. Can you believe it?” The statement was punctuated with a cackle of laughter.