Dorothy sat at the breakfast table nervously the next morning. If she wasn’t fidgeting with the cuffs of her dress, she was re-adjusting the cup on her saucer, making sure the handle mirrored Lady Charlotte’s teacup’s position.
When did I become like this?
Angered at her own ridiculous attempt at some form of propriety, she soon gave up and sat back, knowing deep down what was truly upsetting her. The chair beside her, where Stephen had sat the night before, was empty.
All around the room, people had broken up into groups to chat.
Lady Charlotte was currently talking with Mr. Becker, and Lord and Lady Webster seemed to be in rapturous discussion with Lady Sandmarsh. Dorothy saw at once why Lady Webster liked Lady Sandmarsh so much. She was incredibly well dressed in a fine blue satin gown that looked more like something a lady should wear in the evening than during the day, to Dorothy’s mind.
With a self-conscious brush of her hand, Dorothy adjusted the skirt of her rather plain white and print-patterned dress. It was one of her favorites, for she often got the hem dirty on her walks, but it always scrubbed up beautifully clean again.
She shot another glance at Stephen’s empty chair and noted that there was another person missing from the room.
Lady Frederica.
Had they come across one another that morning? Had they taken an early morning walk?
That’s not possible. Surely, he wouldn’t go without a chaperone. Stephen is too mindful of propriety for that.
Yet, she was no longer so convinced and found herself peering out the nearest window, in some desperate hope of catching sight of the pair of them together. It had to be because of the wager. There was no other explanation as to why the thought of Stephen and Lady Frederica walking together upset her so much.
“Ah, what a morning this is, eh?” a voice she didn’t recognize said as its bearer moved toward her. “The sun is shining, and it’s a glorious day.”
A gentleman sat down beside her, taking Stephen’s seat.
She recognized Viscount Chilmond, whom Lady Webster had mentioned the night before, though they hadn’t yet had a chance to talk directly.
“It’s what one does, isn’t it?” he said with a humored smile. “We talk about the weather when we don’t know how else to begin a conversation. I must be boring you already.”
She smiled at his jest and bowed her head. “Then we shall have to find something else to talk about, Lord Chilmond.”
“Ah, you know my name, yet I feel at a loss, for Lady Webster has neglected to tell me yours.” The Viscount sat straight and leaned toward her, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Though between you and I, I rather suspect Lady Webster had invited us here for her own amusement. When I see her, I’m reminded of a girl with a doll’s house with Bartholomew dolls tucked up inside. She moves us around like dolls.”
Dorothy nearly choked on her tea with laughter. She covered her lips, trying to hide the faux pas as others in the room glanced her way. She saw more than one look of disapproval.
“Forgive me,” Dorothy whispered, reaching for a handkerchief, but Lord Chilmond was too quick and found his first, offering it to her.
“Not at all. A woman who laughs at my jests, no matter how bad they are, is a privilege, indeed, to find. Please, give me the pleasure of knowing your name.” He inclined his head toward her. He was tall and lean in figure, the movement rather alluring. His dark eyes never strayed from her face.
Dorothy could not remember a man coming to talk to her in this fashion. During past Society events, gentlemen had come to talk to Allan at her side, to get to know him. The only other man who had ever walked up to talk to her specifically was Stephen.
Where is he?
She stopped herself from looking out the window again.
“Lady Dorothy Stapleton, the younger sister of the Marquess of Padleigh,” she explained.
“I am glad to meet you.” The Viscount turned properly in his seat so they could help themselves to breakfast. “Though my attempts to talk to you last night were somewhat impeded. At least now I have succeeded.”
“You tried to talk to me last night?” she asked in wonder. “Why?”
He looked at her and simply raised his brows. She pressed her lips together, wishing her cheeks wouldn’t blush again, though she felt the heat in them and knew it was already happening.
“I felt rather like a fool just staring at you across the room. Did you not notice?” he asked, still whispering to her.
“No.”
“Well, your attention was rather occupied by the Duke of Stotbury. Are you…” he trailed off and then sighed deeply. “Well, I should just say it, should I not? No point in being coy about such things. Are the two of you courting?”
