and patted Frances’s hand. “Just say the word and I shall refund your money for the auction entirely. I feel as if it’s all my fault that this has been so dreadful for you.”
Frances squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re a loyal friend. But I would never take your money. Besides, it went to the animals, and Papa’s pleased with that. In the end it truly doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, if Mr. Holloway isn’t interested in me, he isn’t interested.” She bit her lip. “I don’t mean to be rude, Annie, but I … I don’t want to be like you were with Mr. Eggleston. I must accept the truth and move on.”
Annie smiled brightly. “I take absolutely no offense, Fran. You know I would never wish my idiotic mistakes with Mr. Eggleston upon you. Jordan was always right about that. If a man is interested, he shows his interest. It really is quite simple.”
Frances nodded. “Exactly. And lately the man who has been showing the most interest in me is Sir Stuart Walters.”
“Sir Stuart?” Annie blinked. Was that the hint of a frown on her lips? “I hadn’t realized.”
“Yes, he’s been hovering around at balls and being ever so conscientious. Mama likes him quite a lot.”
Annie’s nose wrinkled but she said nothing else about Sir Stuart. “May I ask you one more question about your kiss with Charlie?”
“Of course,” Frances answered.
Annie leaned forward again, perhaps poised for another topple from the chair. “You never said … how did you feel when Charlie kissed you?”
Frances squeezed her hands together. “Oh, Annie,” she said, pressing her fingers against her cheeks. “I felt the blasted butterflies.”
CHAPTER 11
Charlie had no bloody idea why he was standing alone in the middle of the Kidwells’ ballroom like a fool. He’d never been one to attend many Society functions. Oh, he’d made the obligatory appearance once in a while to maintain his social status. He usually took a look at the current crop of young unmarried ladies to see if one happened to catch his eye, but he’d never made a habit of attending more than one event in a row. Lately he’d been making the rounds like a bloody candidate for Parliament. And most sickening of all, tonight here he was like some lovesick swain peering around the corners of the rout in an attempt to … very well he might as well admit it … catch a glimpse of Frances Birmingham.
The chit had affected him, damn it. That kiss they’d shared. It had been downright tempting, arousing, unforgettable. And much to his chagrin, he found himself wanting to repeat it. Damn Jordan for suggesting he kiss the girl. He’d been perfectly happy before that.
Charlie glanced around again. He’d been at this particular party for over an hour now, and Frances hadn’t appeared. He groaned and rubbed his fingers through his hair. He tugged at his cravat. The room was stifling. He needed some air. Yes. Air was in order. He needed to clear his head. Some sanity might return. Excellent plan. Then he would bloody well take himself home and forget all of this nonsense.
He turned on his heel and stalked into the corridor and down to the Kidwells’ morning room. He opened the French doors to the gardens behind the house and stepped out into the chilly November night. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Cold air. Ever so useful to clear the mind and reevaluate one’s temporary madness.
What was Charlie even doing here? Jordan had made things easy on him, becoming engaged. Charlie had only to do what he wanted now. A family was no longer important. He could use the goodly amount he’d inherited from his mother to start a school, perhaps anonymously even, if he did it in the country. He’d have to speak with Lord Medford for some tips on that score—anonymously owning a business. And he needed to speak with Lord Avery. The man had connections to professors at Oxford and Cambridge. He would be an excellent source of
Frances squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re a loyal friend. But I would never take your money. Besides, it went to the animals, and Papa’s pleased with that. In the end it truly doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, if Mr. Holloway isn’t interested in me, he isn’t interested.” She bit her lip. “I don’t mean to be rude, Annie, but I … I don’t want to be like you were with Mr. Eggleston. I must accept the truth and move on.”
Annie smiled brightly. “I take absolutely no offense, Fran. You know I would never wish my idiotic mistakes with Mr. Eggleston upon you. Jordan was always right about that. If a man is interested, he shows his interest. It really is quite simple.”
Frances nodded. “Exactly. And lately the man who has been showing the most interest in me is Sir Stuart Walters.”
“Sir Stuart?” Annie blinked. Was that the hint of a frown on her lips? “I hadn’t realized.”
“Yes, he’s been hovering around at balls and being ever so conscientious. Mama likes him quite a lot.”
Annie’s nose wrinkled but she said nothing else about Sir Stuart. “May I ask you one more question about your kiss with Charlie?”
“Of course,” Frances answered.
Annie leaned forward again, perhaps poised for another topple from the chair. “You never said … how did you feel when Charlie kissed you?”
Frances squeezed her hands together. “Oh, Annie,” she said, pressing her fingers against her cheeks. “I felt the blasted butterflies.”
CHAPTER 11
Charlie had no bloody idea why he was standing alone in the middle of the Kidwells’ ballroom like a fool. He’d never been one to attend many Society functions. Oh, he’d made the obligatory appearance once in a while to maintain his social status. He usually took a look at the current crop of young unmarried ladies to see if one happened to catch his eye, but he’d never made a habit of attending more than one event in a row. Lately he’d been making the rounds like a bloody candidate for Parliament. And most sickening of all, tonight here he was like some lovesick swain peering around the corners of the rout in an attempt to … very well he might as well admit it … catch a glimpse of Frances Birmingham.
The chit had affected him, damn it. That kiss they’d shared. It had been downright tempting, arousing, unforgettable. And much to his chagrin, he found himself wanting to repeat it. Damn Jordan for suggesting he kiss the girl. He’d been perfectly happy before that.
Charlie glanced around again. He’d been at this particular party for over an hour now, and Frances hadn’t appeared. He groaned and rubbed his fingers through his hair. He tugged at his cravat. The room was stifling. He needed some air. Yes. Air was in order. He needed to clear his head. Some sanity might return. Excellent plan. Then he would bloody well take himself home and forget all of this nonsense.
He turned on his heel and stalked into the corridor and down to the Kidwells’ morning room. He opened the French doors to the gardens behind the house and stepped out into the chilly November night. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Cold air. Ever so useful to clear the mind and reevaluate one’s temporary madness.
What was Charlie even doing here? Jordan had made things easy on him, becoming engaged. Charlie had only to do what he wanted now. A family was no longer important. He could use the goodly amount he’d inherited from his mother to start a school, perhaps anonymously even, if he did it in the country. He’d have to speak with Lord Medford for some tips on that score—anonymously owning a business. And he needed to speak with Lord Avery. The man had connections to professors at Oxford and Cambridge. He would be an excellent source of
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