“And what type ofchitwould that be?” Mr. Carnegie sounded amused.
Lord Dennis snorted. “Blond, buxom, and flirtatious.”
Leah’s breath left her lungs in a deflatedwhooshof air.
Blond, buxom, and flirtatious?
She was none of those things. Not a one.
So . . . if not her, then who were the gentlemen speaking—
“You are not necessarily wrong on the particulars, Dennis,” Mr. Carnegie said. “I do prefer my women buxom, congenial, and blond. But Iamdiscriminating. Miss Smith has not captured my particular attention. In fact, I cannot say a single woman here intrigues me enough to pursue a further connection.”
Leah bit her lip, willing herself to not recoil from the sting of his words.
“Hmmph.” Lord Dennis studied his friend. “You know, I think I believe you for once. Well, we are for my father’s townhouse in London tomorrow. And I know the prettiest blond barmaid who will make you fair weep when you see her . . .”
Leah had heard enough.
She walked away from the gentlemen, her feet moving as if detached, her head floating above her body. Pleading a headache to Aunt Leith, she excused herself.
Blond, buxom, and flirtatious.
The words chanted in her head as she climbed the stairs and retreated to her bedchamber.
Leaning back against the closed door, Leah let her tears fall, sliding down her cheeks in silent ripples.
What an utter fool she had been. How ridiculous to think that a man of Fox Carnegie’s address and charisma would truly desire to know her better.
Shame and embarrassment washed through her in equal measure.
She opened her eyes and stared opposite into the mirror attached to the washstand. Her underwhelming figure and average features—all vacillating shades of brown—stared back.
Choking back a sob, she threw herself onto the bed,greitingher disappointment into the counterpane.
For the second night in a row, sleep was a long time in coming.
The next morning brought the house party to a close.
From the upper landing of the main staircase, Leah watched Mr. Fox Carnegie depart in the same burst of male laughter and jocularity that had heralded his arrival.
No further words were spoken between them.
Leah swallowed her disappointed hopes and returned with Aunt and Uncle to their rented house in Westminster.
And yet . . . the dream of Mr. Carnegie persisted.
Or rather, not Mr. Carnegie himself, per se. She was not so deluded as to think he would ever spare her another thought.
But rather, a man like him.
One who would look at her with the same kindness in his eyes, the same earnest interest in his voice. A man who wouldseeher just as she had felt seen in those few moments she and Mr. Carnegie had shared. A man who would be a kindred spirit. A soul mate.
In short, Fox Carnegie became her model of an ideal gentleman.
A few weekslater, Aunt Leith casually mentioned that a vicar, Mr. Hay, was coming to call.
The gentleman was well-connected and desperate to remarry, as the death of his previous wife had left him with six children to raise.
