It Had to be the Duke - Christi Caldwell Page 0,11

the fun?” With her spare hand, she proceeded to fetch flutes and pass them over to Lydia and Dorothy before taking one for herself. “Now, go.”

The young man blinked wildly and then fled with his half-empty tray.

Lydia stared commiseratively after him. Lucky fellow.

She knew how he felt.

Lydia and her friends made their way down the left side of the spiral staircase. “I’m so glad you came,” Althea stated in crisp, no-nonsense tones that were contrary to the actual words she spoke.

A wry smile pulled at her lips. “Did I really have a choice?” she drawled, adjusting the peacock mask concealing her face. The feathers itched. Viciously so.

“Aren’t the feathers lovely?” Dorothy beamed.

A purple feather fell across Lydia’s brow and tickled her nose. “Achoo!”

“Next time, I promise to not put her in charge of costumes,” Althea whispered.

“Thank you.” Though there wouldn’t be a next time. This? This was really enough. She stole a glance about, bypassing the trysting couples and searching for a clock. How long need she stay before her friends were satisfied that she’d given the festivities the proper attempt they expected?

Black and crimson gauze had been draped over the walls, furniture, and dais. The whole room fairly dripped with it.

She stole a sideways glance at Althea. Leaning over the cane, she watched the scene before them with unabashed interest.

“Why do you insist on using that cane?” she asked. It had always been a question she’d wondered after.

“I like it,” Althea insisted, her gaze locked on someone across the room. “Men have monocles. Men have clever canes. Why shouldn’t we? It makes me menacing.”

“I assure you it is hardly the cane that is responsible for that feat,” Lydia muttered.

Dorothy giggled.

“Laugh if you must. There are plenty of young blokes present going about this evening with canes.”

As one, they looked to a gentleman brandishing one, and then—

Lydia’s eyes flared wide.

“My goodness, he is… spanking her with that cane. He must be stopped.” Muttering to herself, Dorothy took a step forward.

Both Lydia and Althea caught her by an arm, staying her in her tracks.

“I assure you the girl quite likes it,” Althea snorted. “Peculiar love play, that.”

Yes, it was peculiar indeed. Her cheeks heated, and Lydia discovered that in her forty-ninth year, she was still capable of blushing… and often.

“All right. Let us get on with it.” Althea started forward.

She’d made it several paces before it registered—

“Wait!” Lydia rushed after her friend, darting around a pair of lovers in the throes of an embrace. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to explore Davenport’s son’s affair. One would expect such proclivities of a fellow like that boy.”

Lydia leaped at that. “Precisely. There are any number of different”—more respectable, less scandalous—“affairs to take part in than… than… this,” she whispered, brandishing a hand over the room.

“I suspect that is the case, but we shan’t know unless we try it out. Ain’t that right, my girl?”

Lydia looked to Dorothy for support and frowned. Where—? And then she found her. Dorothy had at some point found herself a dance partner who now danced her back and forth in a neat little row along the side of the dance floor. Catching her eye, Dorothy waved a hand and then, laughing, looked up at the gentleman who held her.

“See? Looks like Dorothy is enjoying herself. I suggest you do the same.”

“Dorothy is always smiling,” she pointed out.

“Exactly. Unlike you, who is always scowling and frowning and sad-eyed these days. You’d do well to steal a page from her book. Now off you go.”

With that, off Althea went, brandishing her cane to part a path for herself.

Lydia frowned. She was not always scowling and frowning and sad-eyed.

She instantly made her lips into a line.

There, that wasn’t a frown. She was happy enough. Certainly happy enough that she didn’t need to be—Lydia found Dorothy once more—waltzing with a young rake the way her friend now did. Nor did she need to be—she located Althea—fed grapes by a man even younger than Dorothy’s company for the evening.

A tall, darkly clad gentleman some twenty or so years younger than Lydia stepped into her line of vision. Wearing a lascivious grin, he waggled his eyebrows in her direction and then proceeded her way.

Oh, God. Certainly her absolute last idea of an enjoyable time would be keeping company with a roguish gentleman younger than her own son.

The fellow moved at a determined clip, weaving himself between trysting couples.

Grimacing, Lydia spun and promptly headed off in the opposite direction. Far, far away. She continued walking,