“And he’s terrible with money,” Seleste said.
“The richest poor man in Britain,” Sesily agreed. “As though he’s a hole in his pocket. The coin spills to the ground as fast as it goes in.” She looked to Lily. “It is too bad he is so damn talented, isn’t it? We’re all blinded by his skill.”
Lily was so taken aback by Sesily Talbot’s forthrightness that it took her a moment to find words, until Lady Eversley—widely known as the quietest and kindest of the sisters—found them for her. “Sesily, you’ve shocked her,” the marchioness admonished before looking to Lily. “You needn’t answer her. She’s utterly inappropriate when she wishes to be.”
“I didn’t wish to be inappropriate!”
“To be fair, Sesily is inappropriate when she doesn’t wish to be as well,” Seline pointed out.
The marchioness laughed and took Lily’s hands. “I am very happy you’ve chosen to join us tonight. When King told me that the duke wanted to launch your season here, I confess, I was more than a little intrigued.” Her gaze flickered to the hound and hare in Lily’s coif. “Now, even more, because of your particular . . . flair.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Lily said, still rather overwhelmed by the sisters. “But it is not a season. Not really.”
The marchioness shook her head. “Call me Sophie. After all, my husband and your duke are too close for my lady.”
Lily’s gaze flew over Sophie’s shoulder to the entrance to the ballroom, where Alec and the marquess had materialized, as though summoned by the words. She took in the massive Scot in his ill-fitting coat and trousers, and somehow still more commanding than the rest of the room. Lily’s heart pounded—in fury, no doubt, at his utterly inexcusable behavior. “He’s not my duke.”
“Ding dong,” Sesily said softly at her shoulder, her gaze lingering on Alec. “Can he be mine, then? He’s in need of a tailor, but I can overlook it for the evening.”
No.
Lily had no idea where the instant dislike for the idea of this beautiful, bold woman and Alec together came from, but she didn’t like it. Why would she care whom Alec chose to be his duchess?
She didn’t.
Not at all.
“He’d be lucky to have you as queen of his drafty Scottish castle,” she said, pushing the dislike away.
Sesily’s nose wrinkled. “I like the sound of a dukedom and a castle, but who wants to live in Scotland? It is deadly dull.”
“That’s probably for the best, Ses,” Seline teased. “I imagine King would heartily warn his friend away from the likes of you.”
“Nonsense,” Sesily says. “ ’Tis I who should be warned away from him—after all, everyone’s heard of the Scottish Brute’s conquests.” She leaned into Lily, “Not that anyone would ever call him such to his face. But is it true what they say? Is he terribly sexual?”
Lily’s eyes went wide. What?
Was that what they said about him?
And then the name echoed through her—The Scottish Brute—she loathed that moniker. Loathed the idea that it was whispered behind his back. Loathed the idea that he was whispered about, at all.
No wonder he hated London; in that moment, she did, as well.
She couldn’t help herself from looking at him, her gaze lingering on his perfect mouth for a long moment, the word sexual whirling through her mind, before she remembered that she disliked him. “I wouldn’t know,” she said.
“Hmm. Probably not, then,” Sesily smirked.
“Good God, Sesily. Stop it,” Seline said.
“It’s important to know a thing like that before one leaps into the fray!”
“Ugh. You should marry him. Polite society would no doubt be thrilled to be rid of you.”
Sesily turned to Lily, a twinkle in her eye. “Don’t listen to them. Society can’t get enough of me.”
“No accounting for taste,” Seleste teased, and the entire group laughed. Lily couldn’t stop her own lips from curving as well—the emotion and energy of the Talbot sisters was undeniable. They were the embodiment of everything Lily had always imagined came with sisters. With family. With friends.
There was such love between them.
Jealousy flared, unbidden and unwelcome, and Lily willed it away. She didn’t wish to be jealous. She didn’t wish to envy them their close-knit group.
But she did. With every ounce of her being.
And it wasn’t just their combined fearlessness in the face of social disdain, as though they’d never in their lives felt shame. Her chest tightened as she listened to their laughter, to the way it echoed with humor and love and trust and a bone-deep loyalty, and she wanted to be one of them. Quite desperately.
The fact that they gossiped publicly and brazenly didn’t hurt.
“Too late, Sesily. Look who is after him,” Seline said casually, her gaze fixed over Lily’s shoulder.
Lily turned to look as a beautiful woman approached Alec and Eversley. She saw him stiffen, even from the distance between them. Saw his gaze trail down, then up the woman’s body as she drew close, almost too close, considering where they stood, in full view of Society.
“Who is that?” The question was out before she could stop it.
“Lady Rowley,” Sesily said dismissively. “Married to Earl Rowley, devilishly handsome and a thorough cad. He’s been after all of us at one point or another. To no avail, obviously, as he very likely has the pox.”
“Sesily!” Sophie said.
“Oh, please. It’s not as though you haven’t thought it yourself.”
“Nevertheless, we don’t discuss poxes in the ballroom!”
A gentleman passing nearby paused, looking to them with shock, and the sisters burst into laughter. Seline waved a hand and said, “Nothing for you to worry about, my lord,” before turning back and saying, “Now Baron Orwell thinks we’ve the pox!”
“No, no, Lord Orwell,” Sesily said too loudly, making Lily blush. “We are discussing Lord Rowley. Do you have an opinion on his probable poxiness?”
“I’m sure I don’t,” the man said down his nose before hurrying away.
They all laughed, and Lily enjoyed it until her attention was returned to Alec, still in discussion with the Countess Rowley. Sesily followed her gaze and said, “Well. It looks like the earl is not the only one willing to eschew his marriage vows.” Lillian couldn’t help but agree. They were not touching, but the countess could not be more free with her bosom without stripping bare in front of all London.
Not that Lily cared whose bosom Alec had access to.
“That smile takes years to perfect,” Seline said with admiration.
Lillian pressed her lips together and turned away from the couple. “I imagine so.”
“Do you think they know each other?” Seleste asked. “I mean, they say he’s a wicked catch, but I can’t see him with her.”
Neither could Lily. Not that she wanted to even try.
“If they don’t, they will soon enough,” Sesily said.
Lily didn’t care. Not at all. She forced her shoulder up in a quick, stilted shrug and turned her back to the scene. “She’s welcome to him.”
“Ooh. Warnick might require a tailor, but he’s quite skilled at the cut direct,” Sesily narrated.
Lily resisted the urge to turn.
“She looks furious,” Sophie said in awe before she raised her voice and said, full of unfounded glee, “And here are the gentlemen!”
“This is trouble,” the Marquess of Eversley said from behind Lily, and she had no choice but to turn—it was simply good manners. The marquess looked relaxed and jovial, clearly a welcome fifth to the merry Talbot band. Alec, however, looked pale and stiff.