“A waltz is all I expect you’ll need. No one will expect you to dance every dance. Only make certain to arrive early enough to be introduced to LadyCecily, and to nip in to claim a waltz with her before anyone else can.” She reached up to pat his cheek; an oddly reassuring gesture. “But just to be perfectly safe, I’ll make certain you can manage at least a quadrille before the ball.”
She had an answer for everything, and he—well, there was now undeniably a seething mass of anxiety tumbling in his stomach, but he trusted her estimation of his situation. He trusted her to guide him appropriately. Even despite his own misgivings, he trusted her.
As if she had sensed his disquiet, she drew her fingers down his cheek in a soft, soothing stroke. “Don’t worry,” she said. “All you must be is personable. It is only an introduction, only a dance. Nothing more, nothing less.”
She was right. It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t even a courtship. It was just an introduction, a dance, a bit of conversation. There was no sense in fretting over something that hadn’t yet happened, no sense in agonizing over possibilities that might never come to pass.
Charity had a list of names. Lady Cecily was only one amongst many upon it.
Redding reached for the door handle, ostensibly to usher Charity out the front door and into the hack he’d sent for some time ago, and Anthony—didn’t want her to go. Not yet. Not now.
He wanted her to stay and talk with him. To ease his concerns. To laugh at his missteps, and to brush off his apologies for them as unnecessary. To keep those cool, soft fingers upon his cheek for just a few moments longer, to keep that dark gaze upon him as if there were something within him worth seeing.
He said in a rush, desperate to keep her for just another few moments, “We haven’t agreed upon your price yet.”
“I haven’t decided upon one.”
“But you will.”
“Eventually.” A tiny grin flirted with the corners of her mouth. “I have no great need of money. Perhaps I shall request a favor instead.” A final, soft pat to his cheek as her fingers left it at last. “I am not, generally, the charitable sort,” she said, as she turned at last to go, “but in this case, I shall be generous. I promise you that whatever I ask of you will be well within your ability to pay.”
And then she was gone, slipping out into the silence of the night. The door had not quite closed behind her before Anthony had begun, already, tomiss her.
Chapter Ten
As the sun began to make its descent, Charity stood before her wardrobe, using the last of the remaining light to examine critically the two gowns she had yet to decide between for the evening. Both were lovely in their own way, but she feared the purple might lean too much toward black as the light waned. Then again, she’d worn quite a lot of red to Captain Sharp’s residence just lately, so that, too—
“The red. Shows off your bosom better.”
Charity shrieked, her heart in her throat as she whirled about to find Chris and Phoebe standing in the open door of her bed chamber.
“Don’tremark upon her bosom,” Phoebe scolded her husband. “It’s unseemly.”
“You frightened me out of my wits,” Charity snapped, laying one hand over her racing heart, and thanking God she’d seen fit to don a suitable dressing gown while she had begun her preparations for the evening. “I don’t want to show off my bosom, besides. And how the hell did you get in?”
“Picked the lock,” Chris said, without even the faintest flicker of shame. “Ye weren’t answering yer door.”
“I was in the bath!”
“Well, how was I to know that? Besides, it’s Phoebe’s fault.” He ignored the gasp of betrayal issued by his wife. “She’s just come from a visit wiv one of yer friends. Wanted to tell ye that yer ‘usband were seen evening last at the Worthington ball.”
“Really?” Good for him. She’d watched him pen the note accepting the invitation, but he had wavered a bit as the night had approached, and she had feared he might be tempted to back out at the last moment. “Did you see him there?”
“We weren’t invited,” Phoebe said, though she did not seem particularly put out to have been so excluded. “But Diana was. Apparently, his attendance caused quite the stir.”
Yes; she imagined it would have done. Recluse that he had become, he would have caused a stir with his late acceptance of the invitation rendered. “Did he speak to anyone?”
“Not much, or so I am given to understand,” Phoebe said. “But he did dance—just once, with Lady Cecily Wainwright.”
Relief swept over her in a crashing wave, and Charity let her knees collapse beneath her as she sank onto the side of her bed. Of course, Phoebe had been instrumental in the creation of the list of potential duchesses, so she would not have missed the significance of the dance. “Did they appear to be…getting on well?”
“I wasn’t there,” Phoebe said, with a roll of her eyes.
“Don’t be coy, you wretched meddler,” Charity snipped, feeling about for the edge of a pillow, which she cast in Phoebe’s direction. “I knowyou well enough by now. You certainly would have pressed Diana for every bit of information you could. Sotellme.”
“Well, Diana seemed to think so,” Phoebe admitted. “Of course she could not hear a word of their conversation, but it appeared to be a pleasant one. At least, she said that Lady Cecily looked to be enjoying herself.”
“And—and Captain Sharp?” Charity’s fingernails scratched over the velvet counterpane atop her bed, and she grasped handfuls of the fabric, waiting with bated breath for the answer.
