Читать книгу Secret Life of a Scandalous Debutante - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 12

By the evening of Val’s Rose Gala, Lilya was starting to doubt her ability to avoid an engagement without causing a nasty scandal. A few weeks into the Season and she was worried about lasting until August. When she’d laid her plans, she had underestimated the issue of time. Three months, twelve weeks at the most, had not seemed such a great amount then. She had not realised just how different time was in the ton. Two weeks was a lifetime, three an eternity. The breath of scandal tumbled débutantes from their pedestals at dizzying speeds and courtships were alarmingly accelerated. Life was lived fast during the Season and decisions made even faster.

Lilya stood in Val’s drawing room, surrounded by her court of guests and all too aware of the subtle change in her circumstances. Two weeks ago, she’d been ably deflecting any marked interest of would-be suitors. Admittedly, some of those suitors had been lukewarm in their attentions, unsure of her suitability. She was not one of them, no matter what the size of Val’s dowry. She understood that, it had worked to her benefit.

Men might flock to a lovely woman, might even admire her, but she knew in the end some things mattered more than others when a peer contemplated marriage. She’d counted on that. But somewhere in the past month she’d gone from ‘potential’ wifely material to ‘acceptable’ and it was all Beldon’s fault, never mind that he’d made himself scarce since the day at the jewellers’. He’d danced with her on two different occasions. People had noticed and the damage was done.

Every match-making mama in London knew Lord Pendennys had come to town to take a wife, thus any girl he showed attentions towards must be a decent choice. It followed that any girl worthy of Pendennys’s high standards was worthy of the attentions of others, too.

The consequence was that her court was now filled with genuine suitors who were definitely looking to take home a wife in August. Among them, Christoph Agyros, who’d not overstepped his bounds since the night at Latimore’s.

Lilya took a modest sip of the pre-supper champagne Val was serving in honour of the occasion, letting her eyes scan the group around her. Christoph stood beside her in what he was starting to assume was his place of honour. Beldon was notably missing as he had been for the last week. He would be here tonight, she knew. He wouldn’t miss Val’s big party. The idea that Beldon would be here sent a shiver of anticipation through her. She wished she could like Christoph more. There was no reason not to. They had much in common and he was handsome with good prospects in the import-export business. If things were different, he’d be ideal.

Come now, be fair, her conscience chided. If things were different, she’d still be drawn to Beldon. Different wouldn’t change that attraction, just make it more possible to act upon. In which case, she was better off without ‘different’. An attraction to Beldon could easily lead to a broken heart if she gave her feelings their head.

She felt him before she saw him, some nebulous sixth sense telling her Beldon had entered the room and gone straight to Valerian. Her eyes surreptitiously followed him. How could they not? He was the finest man in the room. Impeccable in dark evening wear, his hair burnished and smooth in the light, he commanded attention with his very presence. He spoke with Val and then made his way towards her.

‘Miss Stefanov, our host has asked me to take you into supper.’

Her court groaned their mutual disappointment, but could do nothing to forestall the inevitable loss. She took Beldon’s arm and they prepared for the summons to dinner.

‘Do you think you might call me Lilya any time soon?’

‘Not in public company,’ Beldon replied, his eyes forwards. ‘By the way, you look lovely in green. That gown becomes you.’

‘Not just green, celery,’ Lilya corrected playfully.

‘Ah, celery. Why not broccoli? If we’re naming colours after vegetables, why stop with celery?’

‘But we have.’

‘Stopped?’

‘No, named. We have named other colours from nature. There’s peach, strawberry, lemon-yellow, grape.’

‘Those are fruits,’ Beldon interrupted with mock seriousness. ‘I believe we were talking about vegetables.’

Lilya laughed. ‘Well, there’s aubergine.’

‘Aubergine? Is that all you can come up with? This seems highly iniquitous to vegetables everywhere. Fruits have a clear monopoly on fashion.’

‘Herbs, too,’ Lilya put in, warming to the word-play. ‘Lavender, sage-green, mustard-yellow, saffron.’

‘Careful, saffron’s technically a spice.’

‘Careful,’ she repeated, unable to refuse a final tease. ‘You’re on the brink of a smile.’

‘I smile.’

‘A reactionary defence.’

‘What is? Smiling? ‘

‘Your answer. You’re just disagreeing to disagree. You never smile.’

‘I do. I’ve smiled three times at least that you’ve commented on.’

‘Maybe you only smile with me,’ Lilya ventured in the spirit of playful sparring, but it had the opposite effect.

He reached over to cover her hand with his where it lay upon his sleeve, another of his proper but arousing gestures. ‘Maybe I do. What do you suppose that means, Miss Stefanov?’