Page 75 of A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Heirs

“Ages, my dear lady.” He sniffed. Perhaps his vocal tone was due to a cold. The urge to put a greater distance between them became overwhelming. His thin, dull-brown hair sat limp on his head, his sideburns traveling down to his chin. “Vic and I were schoolmates at Eton and later Oxford. Always expected him to marry a diamond of the first water.”

The barb stung, but she smiled. Let him think her too stupid to understand the insult. “And were there many ladies of such fine quality available? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand the qualifications necessary to be awarded such an accolade.”

If the pitying expression on his face wasn’t enough, the man proceeded to explain as if she were a simpleton. “Beauty, of course, which I will admit, you’re pretty enough. But she must possess good breeding, poise, elegance of form and graceful movement.”

He could be describing a horse. “Were any ladies here afforded the honor?”

Mr. Ludlow’s thin lips pursed. He then proceeded to critique nearly every woman present, dismissing each with smug authority.

“It would appear you—and by extension, Mr. Pratt—have run out of options.”

“Ah. You forget one gem among us. Miss Lydia Whyte.”

Lydia?He had to be bamming her.

Mr. Ludlow droned on. “I fully expected the Duke of Burwood to snap her up during his house party. But my, wasn’t that the turn of events?”

The man was insufferable. But he was, after all, Victor’s friend. Juliana tamped down her annoyance and anger on Drake’s behalf. “If you’re referring to how my brother was reunited with the love of his life, then I quite agree.”

“Well...of course. Of course,” Mr. Ludlow sputtered, most likely remembering he was dancing with the duke’s sister.

Juliana did her best to keep her voice calm and friendly and turned to a less volatile topic. “How have you found the weather, sir?”

Mr. Ludlow blinked twice, then turned his complaints to the unpredictable weather. Mercifully, not long after, the dance ended.

After she executed a perfect curtsy to Mr. Ludlow’s less than graceful bow, she hurried off to find a friendly face and prayed another obnoxious gentleman would not stop her and request a dance. She really needed to rest her toes.

Victor’s sister, Priscilla, sat at the side of the room, chatting with Lady Montgomery. Two friendly faces! Juliana hurried over as fast as her tender toes would carry her. Both women smiled warmly as they looked up and greeted her.

“Why isn’t my brother whisking you around the dance floor, Juliana? Should I have words with him?” Priscilla grinned mischievously and snapped her fan. “Please say yes.”

Bea motioned to the empty chair beside her, and Juliana sat, grateful to get off her feet. “Honoria told me I could only have two dances with Victor. Since we opened the ball, I think he’s saving the second dance for the waltz.”

“Perhaps he’s smarter than I gave him credit for. Although he’s never been one to strictly abide by the rules.”

“An admirable quality,” Bea said. “Was that Stanley Ludlow torturing you during the last set, Juliana? He’s so dull, he makes wallpaper seem exciting.”

Priscilla chortled. “He pursued me for a brief period, but then Mama turned her sights on Ashton.”

Bea glared. “I’ve still not quite forgiven you for that. But for Timothy’s sake...well.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk. Staging your own compromise. Although I can’t blame you. Middlebury. Ugh!” Priscilla shuddered.

“No one in their right mind could blame me. Middlebury wanted me to get rid of Catpurrnicus! Can you imagine?” Bea asked.

Juliana frowned. “Who?”

“He’s my darling cat. Such a sweetheart.”

Priscilla laughed. “Not according to Timothy. He calls him a demon. But I’ve found him delightful.”

And as Bea launched into a tale of one of Catpurrnicuss’s exploits, for one of the first times since Drake had learned of his inheritance as duke, Juliana felt like she belonged in society.

Making rathera show of striding across the ballroom for Lydia’s sake, Victor arrived where the Countess of Gryffin sat among the other widows. He executed a deep bow and delivered his most charming smile. “Ladies. Why aren’t you beauties dancing?”

The Dowager Countess Easton, who must have been at least one hundred, cackled, eliciting a coughing fit.

The Dowager Countess Brakefield patted her companion on the back and sent Victor a warning glance. “Careful with those empty compliments, dear boy. You’ll send one of us to an early grave.”

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