before her attention slid to the woman seated beside him.
Westerly joined Miss Bailey on the bench and made the necessary introductions. “Miss Bailey, may I present Miss Kimberly Ives and, of course, Christopher Black.”
Kimberly greeted Miss Bailey, and he thanked the heavens she’d agreed to join him on such short notice. His cousin hadn’t appreciated his impromptu invitation, and initially declined his offer, but she relented once she’d decided he’d fallen in love. Typical Kimberly.
From the curiosity on Miss Bailey’s face, he could tell she wondered who this woman was to him. Her reaction shouldn’t please him, but it did.
“Miss Bailey.” He lifted his top hat, forcing her regard.
She nodded stiffly. “Mr. Black.” Quickly she turned her attention to Westerly. “Mr. Westerly, what opera will we be attending this evening?”
Westerly replied with a bemused expression, “I don’t know.” With a bit of a laugh, he added, “It’s irrelevant, isn’t it? One only attends the opera to be seen. If we adhere to proper decorum, we’ll arrive after curtain and depart shortly after intermission, preventing us from watching the entire performance anyway.”
“I—I see.” She shrank back in her seat and looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.
Was Boston society all that much different from that of New York? His experiences were limited by his short excursions there, but he’d never thought so. Westerly could have been less pretentious nonetheless. “We’ll be seeing Edmond Audran’s La Mascotte at the Casino.”
“Oh, I do hope we’ll have time to visit the rooftop gardens. You’ll simply love it, Miss Bailey,” Kimberly said. “Do you enjoy the opera?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never attended one.”
Westerly chortled. “How peculiar. Everyone has been to the opera.”
Miss Bailey turned from Westerly’s bemused stare. “Perhaps tonight will be the first performance of many I’ll see.”
Her gaze darted to Christopher and held for a moment. A current, almost like static electricity, traveled between them in the intimate confines of the carriage. He itched to explore the matter further even though he would surely regret it later. She couldn’t be his. He’d best remember that.
“Congratulations, Miss Ives, I understand you’ll be married soon,” Westerly said.
Miss Bailey’s eyes flared wide when Kimberly glanced at Christopher. “Yes, thank you. I’ve come to New York to assemble my trousseau.”
“Has a date been set?” Westerly asked.
“Although I’d prefer sooner, Mother insists we wait until the fall when guests will be back from their summer retreats.” Westerly and Kimberly delved deeper into the arduous undertaking involved with planning a high society wedding, while Christopher peered at Miss Bailey from the corner of his eye.
From all outward appearances, she remained calm and composed. Still, he detected something more. She sat with her back very straight and stiff, her fingers working her gloves as though looking to find just the right fit. As she stared intently at Kimberly, he guessed the cause—jealousy.
Kimberly’s flawless ivory skin contrasted starkly with her vibrant sapphire eyes. He supposed she would be considered beautiful by most. He hated to admit it, but Miss Bailey’s assumption tickled him. Jealous. The emotion looked good on her. Quite good. Although… What if she wasn’t jealous because of him? She could simply be upset by Westerly’s preoccupation with Kimberly. Damn it.
When Kimberly grasped Christopher’s hand and said, “The best man is a very good friend of ours,” he returned her slight squeeze, and Miss Bailey’s lips pressed into a thin line. His spirits lifted once more. Maybe her jealousy was for him. No, her outright glare bespoke of more. But what? Kimberly talked of marriage. Could it be she thought he was Kimberly’s intended?
Miss Bailey noticed his questioning gaze. She lifted her chin and turned
Westerly joined Miss Bailey on the bench and made the necessary introductions. “Miss Bailey, may I present Miss Kimberly Ives and, of course, Christopher Black.”
Kimberly greeted Miss Bailey, and he thanked the heavens she’d agreed to join him on such short notice. His cousin hadn’t appreciated his impromptu invitation, and initially declined his offer, but she relented once she’d decided he’d fallen in love. Typical Kimberly.
From the curiosity on Miss Bailey’s face, he could tell she wondered who this woman was to him. Her reaction shouldn’t please him, but it did.
“Miss Bailey.” He lifted his top hat, forcing her regard.
She nodded stiffly. “Mr. Black.” Quickly she turned her attention to Westerly. “Mr. Westerly, what opera will we be attending this evening?”
Westerly replied with a bemused expression, “I don’t know.” With a bit of a laugh, he added, “It’s irrelevant, isn’t it? One only attends the opera to be seen. If we adhere to proper decorum, we’ll arrive after curtain and depart shortly after intermission, preventing us from watching the entire performance anyway.”
“I—I see.” She shrank back in her seat and looked down at her hands clenched in her lap.
Was Boston society all that much different from that of New York? His experiences were limited by his short excursions there, but he’d never thought so. Westerly could have been less pretentious nonetheless. “We’ll be seeing Edmond Audran’s La Mascotte at the Casino.”
“Oh, I do hope we’ll have time to visit the rooftop gardens. You’ll simply love it, Miss Bailey,” Kimberly said. “Do you enjoy the opera?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never attended one.”
Westerly chortled. “How peculiar. Everyone has been to the opera.”
Miss Bailey turned from Westerly’s bemused stare. “Perhaps tonight will be the first performance of many I’ll see.”
Her gaze darted to Christopher and held for a moment. A current, almost like static electricity, traveled between them in the intimate confines of the carriage. He itched to explore the matter further even though he would surely regret it later. She couldn’t be his. He’d best remember that.
“Congratulations, Miss Ives, I understand you’ll be married soon,” Westerly said.
Miss Bailey’s eyes flared wide when Kimberly glanced at Christopher. “Yes, thank you. I’ve come to New York to assemble my trousseau.”
“Has a date been set?” Westerly asked.
“Although I’d prefer sooner, Mother insists we wait until the fall when guests will be back from their summer retreats.” Westerly and Kimberly delved deeper into the arduous undertaking involved with planning a high society wedding, while Christopher peered at Miss Bailey from the corner of his eye.
From all outward appearances, she remained calm and composed. Still, he detected something more. She sat with her back very straight and stiff, her fingers working her gloves as though looking to find just the right fit. As she stared intently at Kimberly, he guessed the cause—jealousy.
Kimberly’s flawless ivory skin contrasted starkly with her vibrant sapphire eyes. He supposed she would be considered beautiful by most. He hated to admit it, but Miss Bailey’s assumption tickled him. Jealous. The emotion looked good on her. Quite good. Although… What if she wasn’t jealous because of him? She could simply be upset by Westerly’s preoccupation with Kimberly. Damn it.
When Kimberly grasped Christopher’s hand and said, “The best man is a very good friend of ours,” he returned her slight squeeze, and Miss Bailey’s lips pressed into a thin line. His spirits lifted once more. Maybe her jealousy was for him. No, her outright glare bespoke of more. But what? Kimberly talked of marriage. Could it be she thought he was Kimberly’s intended?
Miss Bailey noticed his questioning gaze. She lifted her chin and turned
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