“Did you get that from an apothecary?” Diana’s words were so sharp that Eliza flinched. Her tea leaked over her fingers and down onto the tiny saucer beneath her cup.
Charlotte cut Diana a scathing look, all but rolling her eyes.
“No, Miss Blackwater, I got it from picking lavender from my garden and letting it dry out. Imagine.” It was perhaps the most snark that Blythe had ever heard from her friend. She sat up straighter, a little too proud. Even so, this conversation wasn’t nearly as fruitful as she’d hoped, and she needed to make this tea party worth the time spent sleuthing.
While it perhaps would have been safer to dance around the topic, Blythe’s fraying patience had her once again relying on the bold approach as she leaned toward Eliza and said, “I heard a rumor, Miss Wakefield, that my uncle has been seeking your favor.”
Diana’s cup stilled at her lips, eyes flicking toward Eliza. They all looked toward her, watching as the woman finished her sip and smoothed out her dress. She was a little flushed, but other than that and the tight press of her lips, she handled herself remarkably well.
“It seems you have good sources,” Eliza answered. “He’s been courting me for the past few months.”
Blythe’s palms burned with the memory of the emerald ring. It wasn’t unheard of for a man Byron’s age to marry someone in their early twenties, though someone of Eliza’s status could have had anyone. And Byron… well. He was Byron.
“My uncle has never had much luck with women.” Regardless of how she felt about the situation, Blythe did her best to keep any judgment from her voice. “If you’re entertaining him, I do hope that you’re serious.”
Blythe couldn’t be certain that she hadn’t imagined Eliza’s grip tightening on her teacup. “Byron is a good man, and I would never dare offend him. I am considering his interest the same as I’m considering every suitor’s this season.”
“Which is who, again?” Diana leaned in, her lips puckered as she took a bite of a tart that Blythe wouldn’t have minded her choking on. “I heard that you haven’t had a caller since you refused Sir Bennet.”
Blythe tried not to make a face as she recalled the ancient man that Eliza had been forced to dance with the night of the duke’s passing.
“He was an awful man,” Eliza acknowledged with perhaps more calm than Blythe had ever seen her capable of. “Though I believe it’s my uncle’s death that’s keeping everyone away, Miss Blackwater. Thank you for the reminder.”
“You really ought to have taken the rest of the reason off,” Diana mused as Blythe leaned back in her seat, picking up her tea only because she didn’t have a clue what else to do. It felt like an eternity of silence passed before Diana asked, as though she hadn’t just been horribly offensive, “Have any of you heard from the prince, lately? It’s been some time since I’ve had the opportunity to visit with him, though I do believe he’s interested.”
Charlotte’s jaw hung ajar at the gall. Blythe, however, was not so well suited for letting things slide.
“Has he sent you flowers?” she asked, smiling innocently when Diana flashed a look in her direction.
“I don’t need flowers to know that he’s interested—”
“Perhaps you’re right. I only asked because Signa received so many. They were the most luxurious I’d ever seen—the whole town was talking about it.” As tart as Signa’s name tasted, it was worth it to see Diana’s face pinch.
Eliza’s shoulders relaxed, as if grateful to have something else to discuss. “I believe the prince is joining us tomorrow, actually. Miss Blackwater is right that hardly any men have approached me this season, given all that’s happened. When I made note of that to Everett, he made a plan to invite all his top choices over. Little did I know that it would be for a fox hunt. However am I to flirt with men at a fox hunt?”
Charlotte soured her lips as she poured herself another cup of tea. “Hours of listening to the foxes cry out in agony… I don’t understand how a person could witness it firsthand.”
“Most women can’t,” Eliza said as she heaped butter onto a croissant, then some preserves. “That’s why it’s mostly a man’s sport.”
“‘Mostly’？” Blythe perked up. “As in women are permitted to participate?”
Eliza looked her over, seeming surprised by Blythe’s interest. “They are, though few choose to.”