“And I must introduce you to my oldest niece, though I am sure you must remember her, being closest in age to yourself,” Lady Beckham said.
Char did not want the attention. She wanted him to notice her unmarried sisters. Widows were very far down the eligibility list.
“Lady Charlotte Dunlevee.”
She dropped into a curtsey.
“Char? Of course. It has been too long,” he said. He tilted his head and then stared into her eyes. “You were the one who set Adam’s hat on fire.”
“I’m sure he deserved it,” she said. The odd pitter patter of attraction beat in her chest but a stern reminder that she’d had her chance made her look away. Prim was next to her, so she set a hand to the small of Prim’s back and urged her forward.
“Prim says you are to dance with her next.”
“There is an order? Oldest to youngest?” There was a teasing warmth in his gaze and something electric when he turned those eyes upon Char.
The crowd pushed in on all sides. The conversation seemed like a hive of humming bees, but all of Char’s attention was captured by Joshua—they might have been the only two in the room. Did the others notice?
“Dunlevee? You are married to Arthur? Or his brother?” His eyes squinted a bit as he thought about it.
“Arthur, yes. I was. He passed away two years ago.”
“My condolences. Perhaps Mother told me and I forgot.”
“I am sure I did. Or I meant to,” the dowager duchess said.
“I went to school with Arthur, and his brother, for that matter. Mother, do you wish to find a comfortable spot to sit?”
He was solicitous, turning all of his attention to his mother.
“Yes, my boy. Come along, Lady Beckham. I see Lady Carvelle and we have much to discuss.”
And just that quickly, Char’s hope for a match between the Forresters and the Taylors vanished into the crowd. Beside her, Jenny and Prim stared as Joshua walked away.
The night seemed interminable, but Jenny and Prim found Char again to report that, yes, Mr. Forrester had indeed danced with them. Char had seen him dance with several other incomparables too and felt a stab of jealousy that she wasn’t one of them.
“Oh, what a dream,” Kat said, as soon as the Taylors were alone. “An absolute gentleman.”
“Too bad only one dance is considered proper,” Prim said. “I thought I would faint when he whisked me about the ballroom.”
“And all I got was a line dance.”
Char remembered the hopes and disappointments of her first Season. The girls had a fair dowry but no name to encourage suitors. Beauty tempted men, but it seemed that often they were only interested in testing that beauty in darkened corners.
A noble might marry the ugliest woman in London if she had the correct name and a handsome dowry. I am being unkind, she thought.
“Why don’t you find the supper room before the next set starts?” Char said. “I will locate Auntie and see if she will sit with us.”
Lady Beckham was nowhere to be found; instead Joshua Forrester located Char, causing a strange surge of longing stabbed through her chest.
“Lady Dunlevee?”
CHAPTER THREE
“WILL YOU WALK WITH ME?” Joshua asked.
“Certainly.” Char placed her hand upon his arm. Why would he want to walk with her? They barely knew each other. Then again, he barely knew most of the women in the ballroom. He had been away from London for a very long time. “Are you enjoying the evening?” she asked, with sincere politeness.
Charming by half and more handsome than any man she’d seen in the last few years, this man was going to marry one of her sisters.
“One thing is certain: an evening during the Season never changes,” he said.
“I suppose that is true. Only the style of dress and the number of young girls looking to marry.”
“And the style of dress this year is very appealing.” He glanced, subtlety, at her displayed bosom and she heated.
They passed through a set of double doors just then. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her embarrassment. He took them to a corner and braced himself against the balustrade. She stood looking out into the garden, visible with two dozen lighted candles along the paths.
“May I ask what happened to Arthur? If I am intruding, please say so.”
“You knew he was a sporting man?”
“Of course. I spent many days with him hunting and riding. He was an excellent shot, a fine whip, and none could beat him in the boxing ring, except maybe some brute from the docks.”
“All those things were true up until the day he died. He did so love his games.”
“And?”
“He was cleaning one of his guns and a shot went off. He died within the day. His last words were ‘I’m not going to die, peach’. Then he coughed up blood, took one more breath, and he was gone.”