intellectual set. The duchess preferred to think they did not exist.
Richard sipped his drink in silence. His mother’s well-known prejudices did not require comment.
“I thought you would want to know. About Miss Thornton,” Will said, watching him.
“We will, of course, arrange travel for the woman, but Miss Thornton is her own concern,” Richard replied. He ought to feel relieved; it annoyed him that he didn’t.
“She will do what she pleases in any case,” he said. She’ll try. We will watch her while she does it.
Chapter 9
“No, no, no. This is one case where bigger is better.”
Lily listened to Catherine with sinking heart. In the weeks since the countess packed up Lily, her youngest child, the nursemaid and a train of luggage and swooped back to London to ensure that the Haut Ton knew Lilias Thornton to be her dearest of friends, Lily had learned better than to try to stop the woman’s enthusiasms.
“I fear Catherine is correct in this case, Lily,” Georgiana Mallet put in. Glenaire’s sister had joined them at Chadbourn house to plot the campaign hatched by Catherine to “Pop Lily off in style.” They sat around a gaming table covered with engraved invitations, lists, and scraps of notes.
“But we agreed I should set my sights a little lower than the upper ten thousand. I won’t need to attend this ball.”
“No dear,” Catherine told her, “ You set your sights there. We merely try to steer you toward success.”
“I don’t want or need a title,” Lily said hotly. “So, why do I need to attend the Duchess of Pembrook’s ball? It will be a stifling crush full of useless fribbles who wouldn’t have me, and darling young ladies eager to cut me.”
“Not all titled gentlemen are worthless,” Catherine corrected tartly.
Not all men are gentlemen either. Perhaps I should give up on marriage. Any serious suitor will have to be told I’m not untouched. The thought depressed her.
“Generally, you may be correct about that sort of thing—not titled gentlemen but certain types of events,” Georgiana said to Lily. “However—”
“Thank you,” Lily interrupted. “I thought we had agreed to small dinner parties, literary soirees, and musicales. I won’t go.”
“Yes, but we must start large,” Catherine insisted.
“First, because you must be noticed,” Georgiana said, “and as much as I myself loathe the bowing and backstabbing, the first great ball of the season will get you noticed.”
Lily grunted. She recalled Sahin’s thoughts on the English marriage mart. It’s a horse auction, and I’m treated like a second-rate mare.
“Secondly, you must cast your net wide. You can narrow your choices later,” Catherine said.
“And third?” Lily demanded.
“Third, you might just have fun. You seemed to enjoy yourself at Chadbourn Park,” Catherine said.
I did. Before Volkov caught me. Before Glenaire— She sighed. Before Glenaire. If I attend this ball, he will be there, looking down his nose for signs of misbehavior. Another thought caused her stomach to turn. What if Volkov attended? She had seen no sign of him since her return to London, but she could feel watching eyes.
“I won’t go,” Lily insisted. She picked up the next invitation on the “maybe” pile.
Catherine looked hurt, but she pulled the invitation back to the “no” pile.
“Lily, Catherine went to great trouble to get you that invitation,” Georgiana chided gently. “You must go.”
When you use that tone, you are every inch Glenaire’s sister. Glenaire! How can I face him? Lily had no answer to her own question, but she realized she had to face him, if only to seek news of her father. She looked from face to face, one set in determination, one hopeful. How can I repay their kindness with obstinacy? Her shoulders sagged.
“Pembrook’s ball it is,” she capitulated. “When is it?”
“Thursday next. You won’t be sorry. I have it on good authority the Ottoman delegates have
Richard sipped his drink in silence. His mother’s well-known prejudices did not require comment.
“I thought you would want to know. About Miss Thornton,” Will said, watching him.
“We will, of course, arrange travel for the woman, but Miss Thornton is her own concern,” Richard replied. He ought to feel relieved; it annoyed him that he didn’t.
“She will do what she pleases in any case,” he said. She’ll try. We will watch her while she does it.
Chapter 9
“No, no, no. This is one case where bigger is better.”
Lily listened to Catherine with sinking heart. In the weeks since the countess packed up Lily, her youngest child, the nursemaid and a train of luggage and swooped back to London to ensure that the Haut Ton knew Lilias Thornton to be her dearest of friends, Lily had learned better than to try to stop the woman’s enthusiasms.
“I fear Catherine is correct in this case, Lily,” Georgiana Mallet put in. Glenaire’s sister had joined them at Chadbourn house to plot the campaign hatched by Catherine to “Pop Lily off in style.” They sat around a gaming table covered with engraved invitations, lists, and scraps of notes.
“But we agreed I should set my sights a little lower than the upper ten thousand. I won’t need to attend this ball.”
“No dear,” Catherine told her, “ You set your sights there. We merely try to steer you toward success.”
“I don’t want or need a title,” Lily said hotly. “So, why do I need to attend the Duchess of Pembrook’s ball? It will be a stifling crush full of useless fribbles who wouldn’t have me, and darling young ladies eager to cut me.”
“Not all titled gentlemen are worthless,” Catherine corrected tartly.
Not all men are gentlemen either. Perhaps I should give up on marriage. Any serious suitor will have to be told I’m not untouched. The thought depressed her.
“Generally, you may be correct about that sort of thing—not titled gentlemen but certain types of events,” Georgiana said to Lily. “However—”
“Thank you,” Lily interrupted. “I thought we had agreed to small dinner parties, literary soirees, and musicales. I won’t go.”
“Yes, but we must start large,” Catherine insisted.
“First, because you must be noticed,” Georgiana said, “and as much as I myself loathe the bowing and backstabbing, the first great ball of the season will get you noticed.”
Lily grunted. She recalled Sahin’s thoughts on the English marriage mart. It’s a horse auction, and I’m treated like a second-rate mare.
“Secondly, you must cast your net wide. You can narrow your choices later,” Catherine said.
“And third?” Lily demanded.
“Third, you might just have fun. You seemed to enjoy yourself at Chadbourn Park,” Catherine said.
I did. Before Volkov caught me. Before Glenaire— She sighed. Before Glenaire. If I attend this ball, he will be there, looking down his nose for signs of misbehavior. Another thought caused her stomach to turn. What if Volkov attended? She had seen no sign of him since her return to London, but she could feel watching eyes.
“I won’t go,” Lily insisted. She picked up the next invitation on the “maybe” pile.
Catherine looked hurt, but she pulled the invitation back to the “no” pile.
“Lily, Catherine went to great trouble to get you that invitation,” Georgiana chided gently. “You must go.”
When you use that tone, you are every inch Glenaire’s sister. Glenaire! How can I face him? Lily had no answer to her own question, but she realized she had to face him, if only to seek news of her father. She looked from face to face, one set in determination, one hopeful. How can I repay their kindness with obstinacy? Her shoulders sagged.
“Pembrook’s ball it is,” she capitulated. “When is it?”
“Thursday next. You won’t be sorry. I have it on good authority the Ottoman delegates have
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