Winning the Wallflower: A Novella Read Free

learned to dance. Surely that signals a man is ready for marriage.”
    “I did see the marquess dancing earlier this evening,” Lucy commented, but thought it best not to mention that Rupert and his partner had caromed into another couple and broken up the set. “He must have seen you, Olivia, because he is coming directly to our corner. Where’s his father, by the way? I thought the marquess never came to this sort of event without an escort.”
    “Oh, the duke is here as well,” Olivia said. Her voice had taken on a particularly bleak undertone that Lucy hated to hear. “Quick, Lucy, put on your gloves.”
    Lucy threw her a confused frown, but obediently pulled her gloves back on.
    At that moment the palms rustled, and Rupert Forrest G. Blakemore, Marquess of Montsurrey, heir to the Duchy of Canterwick, stood beaming down at them. Rupert likely would have been quite good-looking, if things had been different. But as they were, his blue eyes were vacant and his mouth hung open in a glistening pout.
    “Hello, Olivia!” he said cheerfully. “Hello, hello, hello! Saw you there. Saw just a bit of your eye, but knew it was you directly. And . . .” He hesitated. “And this is Lily light . . . no , Lucy! That’s how I memorize names. Lucy . . . light . . . see? Your hair is shiny as a penny.”
    Lucy curtsied. “That’s a very good way to master names, Lord Blakemore.”
    “Never have mastered them,” Rupert admitted, grabbing her gloved hand and depositing an enthusiastic—and wet—kiss on the back. “Not so many people I can name in the room, to be honest. Olivia, dance?”
    “We just danced,” Olivia said, smiling in a rather fixed way. “We can dance together only twice, Rupert, and we’ve already done that.”
    He frowned. “Really? No, surely . . . Really?”
    “Really.”
    Lucy decided to intervene. “Lord Blakemore, would you be so kind as to bring me a lemonade?” She sank back into her chair. “It’s perishingly hot in here.”
    He beamed. “Of course.” And he bustled off.
    “You won’t get your lemonade,” Olivia said. “You know that, don’t you? He may get to the refreshment table, but by that point he won’t remember precisely why he’s there. He has some difficulty with follow-through.”
    Lucy reached out and gave Olivia’s hand a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.”
    Olivia’s smile was steady and not at all miserable. “I’ve had a great deal of time to get used to the situation. And besides, I’m a plump woman with a terrible weakness for bawdy jokes. Who would have me, if not Rupert?”
    Lucy started to speak, but Olivia shook her head. “You may be tall, but you’re slim, and rounded in all the right places. What’s more, you behave like a perfect lady. I can’t seem to, but lord knows, Rupert will never notice. We’re suited in that.”
    “I would give anything to look like you,” Lucy said with a snap in her voice. “I’m so tired of being able to look over the heads of most men. I can’t stand the way they shift from foot to foot, and then move away from me as soon as they can. They won’t ask me for a dance unless someone forces them to it. They make plays on my surname, always jokes on towers. And Mother thinks that one of those men will suddenly be enthusiastic about marrying me, even given the money? One of those ?”
    “Marriage is all about money. You should know that by now.”
    “And what will my marriage be like? The fortune hunter who stooped—or I should say, stretched—to marry me won’t feel any more comfortable after we’ve walked the aisle, you know. He will have married a beanpole, and every time he looks across the breakfast table, he’ll remember it.”
    “There are men in the world who are taller than you,” Olivia pointed out. “Ravensthorpe is only one of them. You needn’t pick a short one. Your mother is right: an heiress has a great number of men to choose from, tall and short.”
    “But