Charlotte leaned over Con. “Eleanor thinks we should bring the children to breakfast tomorrow.”
Alice had to smile. That would give both her and her sister more insight into the gentlemen.
Rothwell groaned. “He’s in for it now.” He glanced at Eleanor. “If you are sure that is what you want, we’ll bring them.”
“I for one think it is a very good idea,” Dotty said. “After all, if he cannot deal with the whole family, then what good is he?”
“I agree.” Charlie said. “We are an extremely close family. As evidenced”—he grinned—“by the extra trunk I had to purchase to hold all the letters I received from you.”
“One does not marry the person, but the family.” Rothwell appeared chagrinned. “As I have reason to know.”
“It was not that bad.” Louisa looked at him lovingly.
He glanced at Matt. “It did teach me to listen to more experienced heads.”
“It’s settled then.” Con tossed off his glass of wine and stood. “Any potential spouse must get on with all of us.” He helped Charlotte up and turned to Alice. “If we are going to participate in Morning Mayhem, we must be off.”
“Not you too!” Eleanor sounded disapproving, but her lips were twitching. “Morning Mayhem indeed.”
“You must admit”—Grace finally stopped laughing—“it does fit. Marquises picking egg from the table—”
“And dukes wiping eggs from faces,” Dotty added. “The ton would be in shock.”
“They would expect the footmen to run around cleaning up after the children, if”—Charlotte gave them an arch look—“they would even have children join them at breakfast.”
Eleanor rose. “I’m for my bed as well. Morning comes earlier and earlier. Good night.”
Alice was tired too. She stood and glanced at Madeline. “I’ll join you.”
“Yes, I am coming. It is past my bedtime.”
The three of them followed Con and Charlotte out of the drawing room to the hall then to their rooms. Normally Alice would have joined her sisters in their parlor, but this evening she wanted to keep her thoughts to herself. Even though she did not think she could fall in love and marry Lord St. Albans, he needed help. She could provide that while she was waiting for her eventual husband to appear. She still did not want him joining them to break his fast in the morning.
* * *
Giff went back to the ballroom and found his mother, who was speaking with a lady who had two young ladies both with brown hair and rather sallow complexions standing next to her.
“St. Albans.” His mother took his arm and looked at the matron. “Susan, allow me to present my son, St. Albans. St. Albans this is Lady Woodville.”
He bowed. “A pleasure, my lady.”
The lady curtseyed. “I have heard so much about you.”
Mamma glanced at one of the ladies. “Lady Ester, please allow me to present my son, Lord St. Albans.” Mamma squeezed his arm. The only thing she could be suggesting is that he dance with the lady. “St. Albans, this is Lady Ester Powell.”
Giff bowed and Lady Ester curtseyed gracefully, but not as gracefully as Lady Alice. “May I have the next set?”
Her lips trembled, and he didn’t know if she was afraid of him or of smiling. “You may, my lord.”
“Thank you. I will come for you when the prelude begins.” He turned and stopped himself before he could tell his mother he wished to depart after the next set. He’d have to have a word with her when he brought Lady Ester back.
Giff circled the large room and was not pleased to see the Marquis of Normanby had been admitted. Giff hadn’t liked him at school, and nothing had changed. He couldn’t cut him, but he could pretend not to have seen the man.
“St. Albans,” Normanby said.
So much for that idea. “Normanby. I trust you are well.”
The man started to raise his quizzer, but the look in Giff’s face must have made him change his mind. “Never better. I didn’t think to see you here.”
Giff was not at all happy with the idea that Normanby was wife hunting. “I suppose you are looking for a wife as well?”
“Indeed. It is time,” the man confirmed.
It was time for Giff to have a life other than one of frivolity. But that was a subject he wouldn’t mention.
Normanby sketched a shallow bow. “Good luck.”
“To you as well. Please excuse me. There is someone with whom I must speak.” Giff walked off. Fortunately, the prelude to the next set began. He circled around to where Lady Ester was still standing with her mother and led her to the dance floor for a country dance. She appeared more at ease than she had previously.
They took their places, and he bowed as she curtseyed. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?”
“I am, my lord.” She gave him a polite smile, and it occurred to him that she had the same expression most of the ladies had. Except for Lady Alice who had clearly showed her delight and her displeasure. “We are at Almack’s, are we not?”
He gave the same smile back to Lady Ester. “We are.” Complete with weak tea, sour lemonade, stale bread and butter, and dry cake. They moved forward with the movement of the set then turned to dance with the next partner.
She danced well though she was not as graceful as Lady Alice. When they came together again, she said, “Will you be at Lady Winter’s ball?”
Lady Winter? He knew who she was but did not recall that being one of the events he was attending. “I am not certain. I will accompany my mother to whatever event she wishes to attend.”
