Page 18 of A Viscount to Conspire (Sherton Sisters 2)

“You consider me a dandy?” Hilaria couldn’t believe how incredulous he sounded.

“Do you not consider yourself to be so?” Hilaria frowned, confused, as she glanced pointedly at his intricately knotted necktie.

“Great skill is required to achieve this design,” Eastwood defended as he saw the direction of her gaze.

Hilaria smiled. “No one is questioning your skill, Eastwood. Merely whether or not you agree with the title of dandy being applied to you. Because, if you do accept it, I would say you were the most skilled dance partner I had. But if not, I cannot say that any of the others were much to my liking.” She paused for another bite. “Lord Sterling probably couldn’t be considered a dandy, but he was the next skilled dancer, though least pleasing partner.” She sighed and concluded, “I’m not very skilled at this Marriage Mart business, I must say. So, I do hope your plan works smashingly and swiftly.”

Hilaria couldn’t interpret the expression on his face. She rather thought he was frowning, but she didn’t think he was displeased with her as a slight smile was still on his face. She tilted her head and demanded to know what he was thinking.

“I just find you curious, my lady. You are not what I originally thought. And I’m unsure how I feel on that count.”

Hilaria laughed a little. “Don’t turn missish on me now, Eastwood.” She pushed her plate away slightly, and a footman hurried over to collect their dishes. “That’s enough repast for me. I’d rather be dancing. Shall we set the tongues to wagging and dance again?”

“It would carry the most impact if it were a waltz.”

“To be sure,” Hilaria agreed promptly. “And be the most diverting for me,” she added with a smile that Eastwood didn’t fully return. “Come now, do not you slip into melancholy. You’re supposed to be the stable one of the two of us.”

“Truly? You’re mixing your qualifiers, my dear lady. I do not think dandies are considered stable.”

“Why not? One does not have anything to do with the other. Being a dandy is more about focusing all your attention upon fashion. That’s an outer matter. Being stable or not is a deeper, inner matter, wouldn’t you say?”

Eastwood shrugged. “I suppose.”

Hilaria looked at him, puzzled, as he helped her up from her chair. “You truly haven’t considered that you are a dandy? Why not? You are always dressed in the very first stare of fashion. Your shirt points could put someone’s eye out. All the other dandies are trying to tie their cravats just as you do. I could probably have my hair styled in my reflection from the shine of your Hessians. And I very much doubt you could get in or out of your lovely coat without assistance.”

Eastwood stared at her with a frown creasing his face. “All of that is true, of course, but that still doesn’t mean I’m a dandy.”

Hilaria regarded him, realizing this was somehow a serious matter. She nodded. “Very well, Eastwood. Tell me what you think a dandy is.”

“It’s someone who only thinks of all those things.”

Hilaria nodded slowly. “So, how would you classify yourself?”

“Why must I be classified? Can I not just be Viscount Eastwood with all that entails?”

Hilaria nodded more firmly now. “Of course. But you still comport yourself like a dandy.”

To her relief, Eastwood laughed.

“Come along, minx. Let us go see if the orchestra will grant us the waltz.”

They strolled along in what Hilaria thought was companionable silence for a moment before Eastwood interrupted her thoughts.

“Is that why you took me in dislike from the beginning? Because you think me a dandy?”

Hilaria sputtered, unsure how to possibly answer the question. “What makes you think I took you in dislike?”

“You told me as much, my lady. Have you forgotten? Just this afternoon, in fact.”

The small puff of strangled air that escaped her could have passed for laughter, but Hilaria wanted to crawl behind the nearest potted plant. Finally, she blinked past her own discomfort and really looked into Eastwood’s face. He was gazing at her expectantly but didn’t appear to be offended or disturbed, more a trifle amused. She brightened and tried to answer his question.

“That might have been a part of it.” Even though she tried not to, Hilaria could still feel that she was blushing.

“What is so very wrong with being a dandy, anyway, whether I am or not?”

Hilaria tried to brazen it out, even though a part of her wished the ballroom floor would open up and swallow her. Perhaps she could excuse herself to one of the retiring rooms and then climb through a window. Surely, a footman could bring word to her family that she had returned home. Hilaria gave her head a small shake. The floor wasn’t going to save her, and she doubted she could find her own way safely home. After plastering as sincere a smile as she could manage onto her face, Hilaria turned to the viscount.

“I suppose it’s not wrong to be a dandy. It just seems to be such a waste of time. But then, I’m not the best one to comment on the matter, as I’m the furthest woman from being a slave to fashions. If not for my sisters, I’d probably be dressed in burlap.”

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