flew in the face of everything Mama wanted out of life: rank, esteem, recognition, and invitations to every coveted event in Society. No hostess would leave the mother of the girl a duke was courting off her guest list.
Prim’s gaze once again sought out her mother, finding her standing with all three of Prim’s sisters. Begonia, Violet, and Aster had joined Mama’s side to join in the gawking.
It did not stop with Prim’s sisters, however. A whole entourage of ladies clustered around Mama—ladies who had snubbed Mama earlier in the night . . . and other times. Suddenly they now found her worthy of their company.
Even Olympia was there. She must have just arrived. Prim felt a rush of happy relief at the sight of her friend. She had worried about her, hoping she was not in trouble in any way from their night out.
Olympia sidled close to Aster and the two of them bent their heads together in conversation. No doubt Aster was catching her up on all that had transpired. An easy smile curved Aster’s lips and Prim realized it was the first genuine smile from her all night. Prim’s glance swept over them, pausing at the sight of their gloved hands. Their fingers intertwined subtly for a brief moment and their eyes held—locked in a warm and intimate manner.
Prim pulled her attention from her best friend and sister to her mother. Mama no longer looked so bewildered. She was a vision of delighted wonder, her hands clasped together as her gaze tracked Prim and Jacob.
“You don’t need to do this,” she hissed at Jacob.
“Do what?”
“Save me. Again,” she added, thinking about how he’d rescued her from being trampled in that brawl in the tavern and later from the footpads in the dark walk.
“As I recall, we saved each other—multiple times—but in any case, that is not what I am doing here.”
“No?”
“No.”
She sniffed, hardly mollified. She did not believe him.
Things like this did not happen in real life.
Now that she knew Jacob was the Duke of Hampstead, all the rumors she had heard about him came flooding back.
Jacob did not do things like this.
Respectable ton parties bored him. He was a perpetual bachelor, uninterested in courtship, by all accounts. He shied away from all the festivities the ton had to offer, never even stepping foot inside Almacks, where the most celebrated debutantes assembled to be plucked off the marriage mart accordingly.
And he wants to court me?
It was madness.
She gave her head a small shake. She did not qualify as good ton. Papa was a gentleman, but that was the highest designation that could be applied. It could be argued that the Ainsworths were not even quality gentry, and Jacob was nobility.
He was here for her out of pity or obligation . . . and she would not have it.
Prim couldn’t help but feel that the wonderful time they’d had together at Vauxhall was somehow tainted now.
She did not need his pity.
As the waltz wound down to its last chords, Prim extricated herself from Jacob’s, no, Lord Hampstead’s arms. A bit hasty, but nothing eyebrow raising. No one could say she fled his arms . . . precisely.
Nevertheless, he noted her rush to be free of him and he frowned as he bowed before her. She, in turn, dipped into a curtsey, her earlier paralysis forgotten.
Her first curtsey, she realized, in public. And her first waltz, too. With a much-fêted duke. She was well and truly out in Society now whether Mama liked it or not. It could not be stopped. Prim could not be stuffed back into the cage at this point.
Dear heavens. She glanced around. Every single gaze was turned on her. He’d made her. Solidified her place as a Person of Interest in Society. She could already feel it. Things were different now. The stares and whispers directed her way signified that.
The duke took her hand and bestowed a lingering kiss to the back of her glove. “Did I mention you look lovely tonight?”
She smirked. “In this frock?” She had been the subject of titters and laughter upon arriving. Her dress was hopelessly childish.
“I am quite convinced, Miss Primrose, you would look lovely in a burlap sack.”
Her face caught fire. “You are too generous with your flattery, Your Grace.”
His smile slipped slightly. He leaned forward just an inch closer. Not so much as to be inappropriate, but enough to make her heart race. “I miss the sound of my name on your lips.”
Now her heart was