Page 23 of Bound By her Earl

The thought was less reassuring than it ought to have been.

“Miss Amanda,” he said with a polite bow to Amanda. “You are looking well tonight.” He spared a fleeting glance to the other two. His eyes did not linger on Miss Rutley’s skeptical expression. “As are your sisters, of course.”

Polite conversation, as approved by whatever sadist had written Society’s rules, might be a tad boring, but it was, Benedict allowed, easy. He gave an impersonal compliment, Miss Amanda accepted it with a demure nod. He asked her for a dance, she made a show of glancing over her dance card before graciously accepting him for the upcoming waltz which she’d no doubt reserved for him, given that he’d sent a bouquet to her home this morning to remind her of his attentions.

Easy. Nobody had to bebotheredby anything.

Nobody except perhaps Miss Emily Rutley, but she wasn’t Benedict’s problem.

Except perhaps shewasslightly his problem, he amended as he and Miss Amanda worked their way through the steps of the waltz, an entirely proper distance between them.

Miss Amanda was telling him a charming story about her childhood fascination with the menagerie at the Tower of London.

“I was forever after Emily to take me,” she admitted with a trilling laugh. “I wascertainthat the tiger cubs would make good house pets, like overgrown kittens, if only given the chance. She wouldn’t let me try to pet them—which I suppose I can admit was sensible of her if not terribly sporting—but she was very patient about letting me sit and watch them as long as I liked.”

Benedict imagined that this idyllic childhood scene should make him think of how Miss Amanda would be a loving, attentive mother to their children, one who would keep their offspring from any genuine harm without crushing their young imaginations.

What it made him realize, however, was that Miss Amanda Rutley loved her quarrelsome sister.

This was idiotic, naturally; he should have realized it before. But the relationships between siblings had always seemed faintly mysterious to him, likely because he was an only child himself. Some siblings seemed inextricably bound to one another while some acted like people who merely happened to share parents and a house.

Since he had considered Miss Rutley to be a persistent disruption to his equilibrium, one best kept at a distance, he’d assumed that Miss Amanda felt similarly.

He cursed his error.

“That sounds very pleasant,” he said politely as his mind weighed the implications of this new discovery.

“Oh, it really was,” Miss Amanda agreed, smiling. “And I do know Emily can be a bit…fixed in her ideas, sometimes, but she isn’talwayslike that.”

He knew his return smile probably looked more like a grimace, but it was better than the wince he wanted to give her.

Blast. If Miss Amanda had noticed the animosity between himself and her elder sister and thought enough of it to make a comment… well, he would have to fix it. Otherwise, he’d end up alienating his potential bride. And then he would have to start this whole courtship mess over with some other unobjectionable young lady. And he really didn’t know how many more balls he could attend without the sheer inanity doing some sort of permanent damage.

Better to make nice with the harridan than to risk the entire courtship.

Probably.

He tried to focus on the pragmatism of his plan as he finished the dance with Miss Amanda and retreated to the corner where Miss Rose and Miss Rutley stood with a gentleman who appeared to be making them both laugh.

Benedict triednotto focus on the instinctive stab of dislike he felt when he saw thisoron the flutter of relief he felt when the gentleman left for the dance floor with Miss Rose on his arm.

Miss Amanda also had a partner for the next dance—confirming Benedict’s suspicion that she’d been saving the waltz for him which should have made him more pleased than it did—which left him, in short order, standing alone with the eldest Miss Rutley.

Who was clearly ignoring him.

He cleared his throat.

She continued gazing placidly out at the dance floor where couples were arranging themselves for a quadrille.

“Miss Rutley?”

She still wasn’t facing him, but he could practicallyseeher consider continuing to ignore him. Those wild curls of hers, particularly one that had sprung loose from its pin, seemed to tremble in anticipation of this potential mischief.

But with a heavy breath that was notquitea sigh, she turned to him. The expression on her face was also notquitewelcoming.

“Yes, My Lord?”

“Do you not have a partner for the next dance?”

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