Street townhouse, residence of Miss Larissa Quinn and
her aunt. To Randall’s great relief, they found the occupants not at home.
Before leaving, Rushton left his calling card with the butler.
Once inside the carriage, Randall could not prevent the image of
Larissa from flickering into his mind, and it did so with astounding ease. She
had looked lovely last night, her golden hair pulled atop her head, curled
tendrils framing her face, teasing him to brush them back. The excited look in
her eyes was the look of an innocent who was experiencing the wonder of her
first lavish social affair. He had not seen an expression like that in years.
Randall admitted he felt an attraction to her, but in the next
lucid thought, he quickly dismissed the idea of keeping her acquaintance.
However, he did wonder what it would have been like to hold her in his arms and
dance.
“I’m afraid you’ve been right all along, my dear boy,” Rushton
said, breaking the silence.
“Right? About what, Uncle?”
“Miss Quinn, much too young.” Rushton shrugged. “Whatever would I
do with such loveliness?”
Randall had a few ideas and thought it best to keep them to
himself. Although he considered her troublesome, Larissa conjured up feelings
in him, feelings best left hidden. He wanted to avoid all thought of her and
concentrated on Lady Dorothea to make him forget Larissa. He hoped Dorothea
would make him forget Larissa.
Just one week later, Randall had the pleasure of sleeping late.
It was now scarcely after one in the afternoon. He hadn’t risen much later than
that in this last week of nonstop parties and balls. He and his uncle had seen
the dawn of each new day arrive. Most days since their arrival, Rushton had
insisted his nephew accompany him on his round of morning calls that more
likely than not seemed to stretch into the late afternoon. Today he was
fortunate enough to breakfast at his leisure.
He sat at the table enjoying his coffee and skimming the
headlines of the morning paper when his Uncle Cyrus bounded in. “I’ve found
her! I’ve found her!” Rushton exclaimed. He fairly pranced on the tips of his
toes around the length of the long breakfast table with delight. “She is the
one! She is the light of my life! The very breath in my body!”
“Already?” Randall folded the paper and set it aside. “Albeit
you’ve been searching day and night. Must have danced with every lady in town
by now.”
“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? I said I have found
her, my boy!”
“I share your happiness, Uncle. Who is she, pray tell?”
“The Dowager Viscountess Claiborne,”
his love struck uncle crooned.
The sparkle in Rushton’s eyes alluded to the amatory pounding of
his heart. Smitten. He was more than smitten, Randall decided. Quite taken,
indeed.
“I am to see her tomorrow night at the ball after the opera.”
Rushton took hold of his nephew’s shoulders. “I need to ask a great favor of
you, my boy.”
Wary by instinct, Randall proceeded with reluctance. “What is it
you wish me to do?”
“My angel will only spend time with me if I can assure her ward
has a suitable escort.” Rushton looked hopefully at his nephew.
“Oh, no.” Randall feared what might come next.
“It is only for the ball that follows the opera. It is such a
short while.” Rushton stared directly into Randall’s eyes. “I’ve already
promised.”
“Tell me you didn’t,” Randall said, knowing full well his uncle
already had. Worse than having to attend the Season was being forced to
tolerate some maid on her third season.
“I knew I could count on you, my boy,” Rushton crowed with
delight. “I’m off to bed,” he announced. “I’m going to need my beauty sleep.
Haven’t had much lately.” He gave a burst of laughter and rocked his head. “If
I can fall asleep that is.” With that, he gave a knowing wink and spun with
delight out of the room.
Randall smiled, amused at the sight of his uncle. Then all
her aunt. To Randall’s great relief, they found the occupants not at home.
Before leaving, Rushton left his calling card with the butler.
Once inside the carriage, Randall could not prevent the image of
Larissa from flickering into his mind, and it did so with astounding ease. She
had looked lovely last night, her golden hair pulled atop her head, curled
tendrils framing her face, teasing him to brush them back. The excited look in
her eyes was the look of an innocent who was experiencing the wonder of her
first lavish social affair. He had not seen an expression like that in years.
Randall admitted he felt an attraction to her, but in the next
lucid thought, he quickly dismissed the idea of keeping her acquaintance.
However, he did wonder what it would have been like to hold her in his arms and
dance.
“I’m afraid you’ve been right all along, my dear boy,” Rushton
said, breaking the silence.
“Right? About what, Uncle?”
“Miss Quinn, much too young.” Rushton shrugged. “Whatever would I
do with such loveliness?”
Randall had a few ideas and thought it best to keep them to
himself. Although he considered her troublesome, Larissa conjured up feelings
in him, feelings best left hidden. He wanted to avoid all thought of her and
concentrated on Lady Dorothea to make him forget Larissa. He hoped Dorothea
would make him forget Larissa.
Just one week later, Randall had the pleasure of sleeping late.
It was now scarcely after one in the afternoon. He hadn’t risen much later than
that in this last week of nonstop parties and balls. He and his uncle had seen
the dawn of each new day arrive. Most days since their arrival, Rushton had
insisted his nephew accompany him on his round of morning calls that more
likely than not seemed to stretch into the late afternoon. Today he was
fortunate enough to breakfast at his leisure.
He sat at the table enjoying his coffee and skimming the
headlines of the morning paper when his Uncle Cyrus bounded in. “I’ve found
her! I’ve found her!” Rushton exclaimed. He fairly pranced on the tips of his
toes around the length of the long breakfast table with delight. “She is the
one! She is the light of my life! The very breath in my body!”
“Already?” Randall folded the paper and set it aside. “Albeit
you’ve been searching day and night. Must have danced with every lady in town
by now.”
“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? I said I have found
her, my boy!”
“I share your happiness, Uncle. Who is she, pray tell?”
“The Dowager Viscountess Claiborne,”
his love struck uncle crooned.
The sparkle in Rushton’s eyes alluded to the amatory pounding of
his heart. Smitten. He was more than smitten, Randall decided. Quite taken,
indeed.
“I am to see her tomorrow night at the ball after the opera.”
Rushton took hold of his nephew’s shoulders. “I need to ask a great favor of
you, my boy.”
Wary by instinct, Randall proceeded with reluctance. “What is it
you wish me to do?”
“My angel will only spend time with me if I can assure her ward
has a suitable escort.” Rushton looked hopefully at his nephew.
“Oh, no.” Randall feared what might come next.
“It is only for the ball that follows the opera. It is such a
short while.” Rushton stared directly into Randall’s eyes. “I’ve already
promised.”
“Tell me you didn’t,” Randall said, knowing full well his uncle
already had. Worse than having to attend the Season was being forced to
tolerate some maid on her third season.
“I knew I could count on you, my boy,” Rushton crowed with
delight. “I’m off to bed,” he announced. “I’m going to need my beauty sleep.
Haven’t had much lately.” He gave a burst of laughter and rocked his head. “If
I can fall asleep that is.” With that, he gave a knowing wink and spun with
delight out of the room.
Randall smiled, amused at the sight of his uncle. Then all
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