“I am certain you did not lose it during an assignation with Lord Hertford,” she said drily.
Eugie was promised to the earl, who was more familiarly known by the sobriquet the Prince of Proper. Not a rake, to be sure, but still. It seemed to Christabella that all her sisters were losing their hearts to the gentlemen around them.
Meanwhile, Christabella could not even find a gentleman to flirt with her. The Duke of Coventry had refused to speak for much of their time alone together.
“I did not have an assignation,” Eugie denied.
The tone of her voice, however, gave her away.
“Sisters,” Pru chastised. “Christabella, we must not forget we are one another’s greatest allies. Reviled though we may be, the Winter family stands together.”
“Of course we do,” Christabella acknowledged, smoothing some stray wisps of her wayward hair into place before Pru’s looking glass. “We are Winters first.”
Though their family was notoriously unaccepted by most of the members of the peerage—unless they required the Winter family coin, naturally—they were a proud and fierce lot. They loved each other mightily. Their loyalty was to one another. With so much change happening around her—her brother wedded, many of her sisters on the threshold of marriage—Christabella could only hope they would always remain so.
“No matter where we go, or who we become,” Pru added, “we will always be Winters.”
“Though our names may change, our hearts will remain forever constant,” Bea added.
Christabella turned away from the glass, allowing her gaze to sweep over all her sisters. How she loved them. They were each so very different, and yet so much a part of the fabric of their family. Through everything they had endured, the six Winter siblings had always been the sternest supporters of one another. For so long, they had been all they had. And they had made their little family work.
But it could not remain as it was forever.
Change was on the horizon.
For all of them.
And, Christabella dared hope, herself.
Why she thought of the stern, forbidding countenance of the Duke of Coventry then, she could not say. Kissing him would be lovely. But he was not the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with, she reminded herself sternly. She wanted a rake, not a man who was cool and quiet and rude. Certainly not a man who had no experience kissing a lady.
But she would enjoy teaching him how to kiss, she decided with a secretive smile.
Oh, yes she would. And she would learn precisely what she needed to do to woo a man herself along the way.
Gill had grownbored of every drawing room entertainment that had thus far been invented, he was sure of it. This one was no different than the rest. He stood on the periphery of the assemblage, watching them engaged in charades. Again.
Another three slow strides to his left, and the door leading to freedom was almost within reach. As a man who could not bear much society at all, he had become adroit at removing himself from situations he found displeasing without anyone else being the wiser. There was an art, he had discovered, to fleeing a chamber. Initially, he had left every gathering to which he had been invited, struck by the loudness of the sounds, the brightness of the lights, the heat, the chatter, the eyes upon him…
It had all been far, far too much for him to bear. But over time, Gill had settled upon a way he could flee without being overly conspicuous in his departure. It left his host and hostess more at ease, and it severely reduced the number of whispers surrounding him. All he needed to do was take incremental steps to the door. No one noticed. Eventually, he was near enough to cross the threshold into glorious freedom.
He stopped, pretending to watch Miss Bea Winter demonstrating what appeared to be a farmer pitching hay. And then, as the company began shouting their guesses, he took three more steps. As the guesses continued, he took two more. The doorway called to him like a beacon from a lighthouse on shore.
His cravat was too tight. His palms practically teemed with perspiration. And that dreaded tightness in his chest had returned, the one that made him feel as if he could scarcely breathe. He needed to leave.
The company continued guessing. Miss Bea Winter made further efforts to demonstrate the unfortunate task she had selected. From this angle, it rather appeared as if she were now baking a pie. Gill did not give a damn what she was attempting to mimic. All he wanted was escape.
Another step. Then another. Someone shouted a loud guess that she had been plucking a Michaelmas goose. The merrymakers laughed. Gill pressed his advantage. Three more steps, and he was out the door, over the threshold, his strides taking him down the hall where blissful silence reigned.
“Your Grace?”
What the devil?He stopped, mid-stride, and pivoted on his heel, certain he would not find anyone there. Certain he had imagined the voice. Certain no one would have taken note of his stealthy flight from charades.
But there stood the woman who had been haunting his thoughts ever since the day before. Her hair was as brazen as she was, and every bit as delectable. Stray tendrils of brilliant, red curls had broken free of her coiffure, no doubt in her earlier depiction of an irate heifer. Somehow, she had managed to make even the bovine seem seductive. He had watched her in a combination of consternation and lust, overwhelmed by his reaction to her.
In truth, she was part of the reason why he was retreating from charades.
He stared at her, resenting her.
