Davishire sighed, wanting nothing more than to knock back the rest of his drink.
"There's so many of them, I forget their names." That made him wrinkle his nose. "But it doesn't matter if the family head already disapproves. Braxton Treyburn found me beside Miss Jillian and she was in tears. When I explained, the youngest, the young Lady Cherie, I believe, had seen me out. I don't think there was any debating of their feelings towards me." And he lightly touched his jaw, thinking about the punch.
"I didn't mean to cause a scene, but I had gotten ahead of myself and more than upset over some wine spilled on the text books." He sighed and looked down at his glass. "I also misconstrued what the young girl was trying to do. Jillian, she.... for some reason or another, was researching something to show me." And he grew quiet as he looked at his glass.
Yes, he supposed he should put an end to thinking about her- but that very idea agitated him, and he took another stiff drink. The scotch, by now, was nearly gone, and he, burning a bit for it, his cheeks, lightly red.
Sighing, he turned to Avery. "I am sorry, Lord Carwick. I do not wish to vent. It seems, as I've found in my travels this evening, a lot of guests are most unhappy. You said you are familiar with Lady Gray? I spoke with her on the veranda. Funny thing is, she was speaking to me about her distaste for this war." Shaking his head, he tapped another finger to his glass, pursing his lips in thought.
"Come to think of it, I.. was rather rude to her too." And he blushed, ashamedly, looking down at his glass. "I fear this night does not bode well." At least for him and any of these Lady Treyburns. Or.. even the Lords.
"But it won't matter. Perhaps I shall retire early, before the dancing. They do start those things far too late, anyway."