Lottie didn’t, however, give her any more time to reply than she ever had. Laughing, she linked their arms together. “I was just telling my mother how I hoped I’d find a friend, because otherwise this was bound to be the most boring summer in history. Well. Not the most boring.” She leaned close, her blue eyes twinkling. “There’s some rather pleasant company to be found of the gentlemanly sort. Lord Willsworth and his cousin, Mr. Bryant, are here. You know them.”

Did she? There was a possibility, she supposed, that they’d met in London during the Season. “Er . . .”

“Willsworth is a viscount. He’d be a perfect match for you, now that I think about it. He’s a patron of the sciences—you’re still interested in that nonsense, I suppose?” Wheeling them about, Lottie led her toward a cluster of chairs and a giant umbrella, under which Mrs. Wight was stationed, her nose in a book. “I prefer his cousin anyway. Mr. Bryant is positively dreamy—and worth more per annum than his cousin, though he doesn’t come with a title. Your family, I think, would prefer the viscount. Which is absolutely perfect. Unless.” She halted again and turned eyes now wide on Libby. “Is your brother here with you?”

Given that Lottie actually paused for a response this time, Libby cleared her throat. And felt as though her words emerged at a crawl, compared to the breakneck pace of Lottie’s. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Lottie’s lip poked forward into an exaggerated pout for a second, then she laughed again and tucked back a strand of mahogany hair that the wind had teased free. “Of course not. He’s no doubt in London for the Season proper. It’s just as well. As big a coup as it would be to land an earl, I should probably be more reasonable than that. Neither my dowry nor my name is likely enough to interest your brother.”

Libby just blinked at her. Truth be told, she had no idea what might interest Bram in a future wife. He’d been far more concerned these last two years with finding someone willing to put up with her for the rest of her life. She’d been an utter failure last Season. And the Little Season this spring hadn’t gone any better. She’d begged Mama and Bram to stay at home after they returned to the country for Easter. Her mother had been happy to visit Edith instead, and Bram would simply travel to and from London whenever he wanted to be there for Parliament.

As for what of that to say to Charlotte Wight, she had no notion.