Page 30 of Holly & Folly

His eyes twinkled. “Rightly so. Ah! You see? There was Mr. Tinston looking at you. That makes three already. If you are not married by Midsummer, I shall eat the feather in Miss Stroud’s hair.”

This was a generous stake, for the feather in question was enormous. Nell was not certain what sort of bird could have supplied such a monstrosity.

Lord Dalmeer leaned toward her and spoke with a low voice. “What do you think of Mr. Hawthorne? Do you regard him as an eligible parti? Someone worthy of your deepest affection?”

“I am sure he is very amiable. But if I were to marry, my lord—something I deem unlikely—it would not be driven by love. It would be a sensible match. A vicar, perhaps.”

Lord Dalmeer’s brows went up. “A vicar?”

“A man of the cloth might be more inclined to have mercy on my past failings.”

There was amusement in his eyes as he responded. “Or he might berate you all the more for them.”

She frowned. “I think you too harsh, my lord.”

“Realistic,” he amended.

She lifted a skeptical brow. “If you value a realistic approach, I would encourage you to abandon any thought of finding a match for me.”

“It is precisely my realism that drives me. I am quite determined.”

“Like Mother, like son.”

His brows pulled together. “Now, I find you too harsh, Miss Prescott.”

She laughed, drawing glances from some of the people nearest them. She cut off the laugh with a clearing of her throat.

Lord Dalmeer regarded her. “I wish you had not done that.”

Nell’s stomach dropped, heat flooding her cheeks. “Forgive me. It is my misfortune to have a laugh that is both loud and distinctive.”

“If you do not wish to be married by Lady Day, I would advise you to keep it well under control.”

Nell blinked, suddenly confused.

“There is nothing quite so intoxicating to a man as making a woman laugh, Miss Prescott.”

Nell could not find a response and was saved the trouble by the applause that rang out as one of the guests sang his best rendition of Hark the Herald Angels Sing as his forfeit.

The natural sequel to this was the entire room joining in on the second verse, accompanied by Miss Caldwell.

“What was that about?” Millie asked when Nell rejoined her near the pianoforte shortly after.

“What?” Nell asked.

Millie shot her a flat look.

“It was nothing,” Nell said. “An attempt to garner laughs.”

Millie looked skeptical, but any chance for questions was drowned out by an energetic rendition of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.

Nell’s gaze flitted to Lord Dalmeer, who stood across the pianoforte next to Mr. Cole, both of them singing at the top of their lungs.

The earl’s gaze met hers, and he smiled even more widely.

So did Nell.

Nine