“Such a lovely evening, isn’t it?” she said loudly, for the benefit of the people who were attempting to eavesdrop. “And the weather—my, how lovely the weather has been for June. Delightfully warm, wouldn’t you say, Aunt?”

“Warm, yes, it is warm. Lilacs and lilies—strolls in the garden and picnics at the riverside—Oxford, you know—oh, there is Her Grace. I will just pay my—yes.”

As Lady Collins made her escape, Charlotte tore herself away from her group of admirers and hurried over to speak with her cousin. She laid a dainty glove-clad hand on her cousin’s arm, flashed a dimpled smile over her lace fan at a passing admirer, and, with a grip that would do a stevedore proud, hauled Gillian into a sheltered spot guarded on either side by two large palms.

“What on earth were you thinking, Gilly?”

Gillian’s stomach felt as if it were filled with lead shot. She had been unaccountably rude to her aunt and had no excuse for her behavior. She hadn’t the slightest doubt that her cousin was about to dress her down, and she would deserve every harsh word. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I had no right to speak to your mother that way—”

Charlotte stared briefly at her, then made a face and waved the apology away. “Oh, fustian! Mama drives me to distraction too. But why did you let the earl get away? The supper dance is next, and if you were to intimate that you were free, he might ask you for it. You should have kept him by your side with amusing anecdotes and witty repartee until that time.”

“What amusing anecdotes and witty repartee would that be?”

Charlotte waved her hand around vaguely and bobbed a curtsy to a pair of elderly ladies as they passed. “Oh, you know—stories of your life among the Red Indians. Tales of your harrowing journey to Civilization. Surely you must have a large collection of lurid tales to enable you to do something as simple as keeping a man enthralled at your side for an hour or so.”

Gillian choked back a laugh. “The only lurid tales I know are the ones the sailors told me on the ship when I sailed here, and I doubt if they would interest a man of the world like Lord Weston. I’m surprised you would want me to try and keep his attention, Char. Your mama just told me he’s bad ton.”

Charlotte shot her cousin a disbelieving look. “Oh, pooh, who cares about that? He is an earl and that is all that matters. Well? What did he say to you? What did you say? Did he ask to call on you?”

Gillian felt her face flame as she remembered her appalling gaffe. “He taught me how to waltz, then asked how old I was.”

Charlotte’s blue eyes widened as she snapped her fan closed and smacked her cousin on the arm with it. “Good! That means he’s interested in you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gillian said, suddenly exhausted and wishing she were at home, where no silver-eyed rakes lurked to torment her with lascivious thoughts and strange yearnings. “He’s an earl and I’m—well, I’m me. No one in particular. Even if he had been temporarily interested, he is no longer.”