Sophie had absolutely no idea. For the life of her, she couldn’t recall ever having taken part in that particular ritual. Representative of British women? What on earth had she been thinking? In the last twelve years, she had known exactly four British women—three officers’ wives and Mrs. Summers. Sophie had to be the least qualified ambassador in…in the history of ambassadors. Not that she was willing to admit to it, of course.
“Oh, well…this and that,” she began, badly. “We talk of the weather…and our families, of course, and er…major events like births, deaths, and weddings.” That sounded mind-numbingly dull. “And politics, naturally, and…literature.” It was the best she could do.
“Ah, I know a great many gentlemen who shall be relieved to hear it. Most are convinced the ladies spend the time verbally dissecting every male at the party.”
As his guess was likely closer to the truth than her own, “Hmm,” was really the most eloquent response she could come up with.
“Next question, do you see that young woman over there in the pink gown?”
Sophie narrowed her eyes in search. “There are a great many pink gowns in this room to night. You’ll need to be more specific.”
“The blonde standing next to the lemonade table with the pearl necklace and—”
“Ah, yes, what of her?”
“She is the younger sister of an old school chum, and I happen to know that she is a girl of uncommon good sense and generally a splendid conversationalist. Yet when I stopped by their town house today, she spent no less than three-quarters of an hour discussing the very gown she is wearing to night. No other topic could interest her but the event at which we are now present. And she is even now making the most syrupy smile I have seen outside of a lunatic asylum. So, my question is this: how is it that an otherwise perfectly sensible young woman can be transformed into a deranged simpleton by the mere mention of a ball?”
Sophie thought about that for a moment. “I think, Your Grace…er, Alex, that you might take the time to look about the room and take note of the cut of the gowns the young women are wearing.”
Alex grinned mischievously at her. “I have been looking, Sophie. I have most definitely been looking.”
“Then you must have noticed that ball gowns are cut considerably lower and slimmer than day gowns. The answer to your question is…inadequate air supply.”
Alex laughed outright. “I believe there is something to that theory, but I’ll admit I only noticed the lower and quite neglected the slimmer.”
“I’m sure you did. Have you any other questions?”
“Just one. Will you attend the opera with me this Saturday?”
“I…that’s a personal question.”
“So it is,” Alex remarked, “but it stands.”
She floundered for a moment, looking about the room as if help might be on the way. “Well, I…well, I suppose I might be agreeable, if…if you’ll answer a question for me.”
“Ask away,” he invited, intrigued.
She cleared her throat nervously. “The thing is…well earlier, you said I…” She cleared her throat again. “Before, when we were…you mentioned…”
“Out with it.”
“Was I really in your lap?”
Alex was still laughing when he collected his coat to leave. He was to meet Whit at White’s in a half hour. All things considered, it was turning out to be a much more enjoyable evening than he had anticipated.
“Rockeforte!”
Alex felt his muscles tense unpleasantly at the sound of Loudor’s voice, but he hid his displeasure with a nod. “Loudor.”
“Didn’t expect to see you here. I wasn’t aware you were friends with the viscount.”
Alex began putting his arms through his coat. “I am not, but I’ve been hearing intriguing things about the man recently. I thought perhaps an association might be overdue.”
“Indeed! And what is your opinion now that you’ve had a chance to better your acquaintance?”
Alex would have bet that the viscount had broken all Ten Commandments at least once, and probably indulged in the seven deadly sins on a regular basis.
“I can understand why you count him as your friend.”
“Excellent, excellent,” Loudor declared, as if bestowing congratulations. “And you’re quite right, of course. He is a man of rare abilities.”
“Hmm,” was the best Alex could offer.
“Speaking of rarities, what do you make of my fair cousin?”
Alex followed Loudor’s gaze to rest on Sophie, standing at the far end of the room, and once more laughing with Mirabelle.
“She is a charming girl.” That, at least, was not a lie.
“She is, and not at all unpleasant to look at. Shame we’re so closely related, she’s the most refreshing views on marriage.”
“Is that so?” Alex heard the edge to his voice, but apparently Loudor did not because the man was still babbling like an idiot.