The Marquess and Miss Davies by Amy Lake Page B

bed.”
    Which did sound like Alice Montvale. Isolde and Samantha laughed, but Carys found herself considering the matter further, with an attempt at the clear-headed and unsentimental point of view. Having spent two years on a country estate, and being possessed of a curious nature and a twin sister with whom she could share anything, she was not naive with respect to the general mechanics of the act. Which did seem a bit odd, and almost unimaginable when one considered—
    Heavens. Perhaps she should add it to her requirements for a rational marriage. Carys grinned to herself, trying to imagine how this might be worded.
    ‘Proficient in the marital arts’?
    Isolde noticed the smile, and knew immediately what her sister was thinking.
    “Indeed,” she said.
    “Is it important, do you think?”
    “It seems to be to the gentlemen.”
    “La,” said Samantha, who had been around the twins often enough to be accustomed to their double conversations, “tell the rest of us.”
    But Lord Walsingham and Lucien Cranfield now approached and requested that Isolde and Cicely join them for the longways. Moments later Lord Harcourt arrived at Carys’s side, along with Lord Rowley, the latter being a particular friend of Samantha’s. All four couples joined the large group on the ballroom floor and the dancers arranged themselves by fits and starts into something resembling the proper order, with complaints from the more experienced directed at the slower and more confused.
    “For the love of heaven,” said someone. “‘Tis as if one had never seen a country dance.”
    Carys and Benjamin settled into position, next to a gentleman whose partner had lost one of her slippers and was now kicking off its mate, accidentally hitting another dancer several paces away.
    “I shall treasure it!” said the man who was hit, and held the slipper to his heart, to shrieks of laughter. This inspired a few other ladies to threaten to remove their shoes, and only with the loud protest of one of the higher-ranked gentlemen was a semblance of calm regained.
    A grand London ball, as Isolde often said, was no place for the faint of heart.
    The duke’s son did not waste time. “I expect shortly to see the Marquess of Clare,” Lord Harcourt told Carys, as they made their bow-and-curtsey to the head couple.
    Until that moment Miss Davies could have insisted—to herself—that she had no concern for Lord Leighton’s whereabouts. Now she found her breath catching in her throat. “He is in no hurry, then,” said Carys, with a tone of indifference.
    Benjamin shrugged. “A marquess rarely needs to be.”
    “How fortunate for him.”
    The orchestra ceased its tuning and the music proper began.
    “Carys, do not dismiss the interest of such a man.”
    “I do not dismiss it,” she said. “For I do not see it.”
    Lord Harcourt ignored that remark. The steps of the dance parted them for several minutes, which Carys employed in imagining what she might say to the Marquess of Clare, if his lordship should ever choose to honour them with his presence.
    * * * *
     Sometime later they had completed the first figure and were at a brief standstill, catching their breath before the next round. “I see that Isa has found an admirer in Lord Walsingham,” said Lord Harcourt.
     Carys had wondered on occasion if Benjamin Harcourt carried a tendre for her sister. It seemed possible, even though they had all known each other from childhood. “I believe she refers to him as a toad,” she told Lord Harcourt, watching for his response.
     Benjamin grinned. “I thought that was Adrian Cathorn.”
     “Ah, you are correct,” said Carys. “Let’s see ... Lord Walsingham is the cabbage.”
     That earned a laugh outright. “Oh, most unfair! ‘Tis merely an unfortunate choice in eau de Cologne. He cannot help the result.”
     Carys attempted a ladylike snort. “And why not? Every other gentleman manages to do so.” But Harcourt’s attention was suddenly