He cast a pensive glance around the room to search for her, but there were too many people crowding about him.
The music started up again, dispersing the concerned spectators.
Ambrose offered his hand. “Can you stand, brother?” A mischievous grin taunted Anthony from his twin's face.
“I believe so. What the devil happened?” He allowed his brother to assist him. Beside him, Wilde chuckled with a hand covering his mouth.
“You slipped on a strawberry.” He pointed to the mashed offending fruit. “Fortunately, it appears the fiend got the worst of it.”
“I hate blasted strawberries, of course that would be the culprit.”Anthony made a move to kick the fruit but stopped his childish notion when his brother piped up.
“I dare say you made quite the impression on the young lady,” Ambrose added, gesturing back to the corner where she sat once again. “She made short work of excusing herself from your company. Naturally, she waited until after you were unconscious, which I find most gracious. Pray tell, did you find yourself out of your depth?”
“Four weeks, Ambrose. This is only the first night.” Anthony seethed beneath the surface. A glimmer of doubt turned his stomach. He hoped this incident was not indicative of how the next four weeks would play out.
“I do hope your form improves, for your sake — and hers,” Ambrose said.
So do I. Oh, so do I, Anthony thought and rubbed the sensitive lump on the back of his head once more, finally resting his gaze on the lady in question. This could prove more difficult than he originally anticipated.
Dare he make another move to speak to the girl? Her back was now facing him. Surely she was concerned! Anthony was unable to comprehend a woman who would not only watch a man fall, but also not wait to see that he was uninjured. Usually women tripped him on purpose in hopes that he would fall into their arms and be forced into marriage! It was the one reason he vigilantly looked to his feet when walking down darkened hallways. Fortunately for him, women took it as a sign of humility. Truly, it worked out perfectly.
He squinted in her direction, willing her to turn around. But after a horrifying three minutes he relented and glanced back toward the opposite side of the room, assuming Wilde and Ambrose would have returned to their usual posts. Instead he came face to face with both men. Smiles plastered on their irritating lips and arms crossed. Anthony had the sudden urge to shoot them both for their mockery.
“Move aside,” Anthony grumbled, pushing past them. He let out a string of expletives when he noticed they were following him.
“Oh, Anthony, darling!” Lady Burnside hollered at him.
Cursing again, he turned to his side. “Ah, my lady, how does the evening fare?”
She moved close enough for him to decipher that she had consumed her fair share of roasted pig and sherry and whispered, “It could be better, if you gain my meaning.”
Saints alive, the woman was strong. Her grip tightened on his forearm. Truly, he wished to be anywhere but here. Why was it that every elderly lady in the room, especially the married ones, propositioned him?
Every Season.
And every Season, Anthony rejected the poor women and prayed for temporary blindness to conveniently strike him every time a lady as notorious as Lady Burnside walked in the room. Oh, she was an attractive lady, but the dresses she wore were indecent. And when one doesn’t necessarily fit into said dresses, well… it should be said that Anthony had trouble imagining how he could escape a tryst with the woman without being smothered. That thought alone kept him awake at night.
“My lady, it seems I’ve taken ill,” Anthony apologized.
“Ill?” Wilde said from behind him.
“Yes,” Anthony confirmed. “I took a slight fall.”
Ambrose coughed wildly behind him.
“And,” Anthony continued. “I need to nurse my—”
“Pride?” Ambrose offered.
“As well as other parts of his anatomy,” Wilde chimed in cheerfully.
Lady Burnside grinned. “Nurse, you say? Oh dear me. In that case, you have happened in the right direction, my lord! You are in luck, for I can nurse you back to health!”
“How gracious,” Wilde said.
“Yes.” Ambrose coughed again. “You are a saint among sinners, my lady.”
“I do try,” she agreed. “Now how shall I help?”
Anthony hated lying — hated being mocked by his brother, and thought to himself that it couldn’t get any worse — and then…
“Aunt?” Lady Bridget approached.
Anthony inwardly cursed. He must have done something horribly offensive for God to allow him to be embarrassed twice within the same hour in front of the same beautiful girl he was supposed to be impressing.
“Ah, Bridget, my girl! I cannot attend to you just now. I have been given the task of nursing Viscount Maddox back to health! Did you know the poor gentleman was injured?”
Bridget tilted her head and offered a sly smile. “No, Aunt. Perhaps I was stricken with a momentary blindness. For although I heard a scuffle, I was unable to ascertain what unfortunate accident transpired. Whatever happened, my lord?”
Anthony glared. “Son of a—”
“Saint!” Wilde blurted. “You are such a saint, my lady, for helping Lord Maddox, but I believe the best medicine will be for us to see him home for a much needed respite.”
“Are you sure?” Lady Burnside seemed disappointed. Anthony, however, couldn’t decipher between his own aggravation with the Lady Bridget’s lack of interest and his pure fear of her aunt’s advances.
“Positive.” Ambrose winked. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure.” With a curt bow, Ambrose motioned for Anthony to follow. He had no choice but to bow to both women and pray his face wouldn’t give way to the frustration he felt at Bridget’s comment. The little minx had done it on purpose!
“Oh, Viscount Maddox?” Bridget called out as he turned to leave.
Perhaps she did care. She was only jesting; he really should give her a chance, after all—
“Be sure to sleep on your side.”
Anthony’s nostrils flared and he took a step back in her direction. “Now see here—”
“Good night to you, ladies.” Wilde pushed Anthony in front of him, making it impossible to give the girl a good set down.
****
Bridget could feel the smug grin creasing her lips as she stared after the gentlemen’s retreat. The man would be nursing more than a bruised head this evening. She’d made sure of that.