And none of them had made her feel the way Viscount Wilton had.
Not that it mattered. Wilton was a bore. And a killjoy. And the other dreadful things she had said about him as well. He was a…a…prig!
A prig whose kisses she could not seem to stop reliving.Blast the man!
“You know I was not intending to pay you insult,” Clementine offered. “I was attempting to make you laugh.”
“I believe what Clementine is trying to say is that ye havenae been this unsettled over a man’s kisses since, well,ever,” Raina added.
How good of her friends to take note.
Charity huffed a sigh of irritation. “If you must know, it is because he did not recognize me.”
There. She had admitted it. Her vanity had been affected.
“Ah,” Olive said. “And everyone always recognizes Lady Charity Manners.”
Well, they ordinarily did. Whether it was amongst society, at a country house party, or even in a painting. Oh,whyhad she allowed Peter to paint her as Venus? She wished she could recall.
But her past foibles were just that—past. Still, when her friend phrased it thus, Charity could not help but to feel as if she was vainer than she had realized.
She cleared her throat. “I suppose my pride was wounded. We spoke. We kissed. And then he told me he did not know my name.”
“What did you tell him your name was?”
“Flora,” she admitted.
“So Wilton kissed you, you enjoyed it, and he has no notion you are the lady he kissed,” Melanie said, consolidating all Charity’s woes into one tidy sentence.
“Yes,” she agreed, feeling miserable. “That is the sum of my predicament.”
They were nearly upon the gentlemen now. In proximity enough that their voices were in danger of carrying and their conversation being heard.
“And you expected him to recognize you despite your mask?” Olive probed, ever the rational one of them.
That was a point. It had also been dark. However, she had spoken to him on more than one occasion at this cursed house party. How had he not recalled her voice? Mayhap it was ridiculous of her, but Charity was decidedly unfamiliar with longing for a gentleman. Gentlemen were always longing forher. True, not all had been gentlemen, but that was another matter entirely…
“I ken ye arenae accustomed to gentlemen not fawning all over ye,” Raina said softly, as if reading Charity’s thoughts, “but since ye dinnae care for the viscount, it hardly matters whether or not he kens ye are the one he kissed.”
“Do hush,” she chastised her flame-haired friend. “If Wilty discovers I am the one he kissed last night, I shall be mortified.”
“Wilty?” Angeline asked with a knowing grin before being distracted by the fishermen they approached. “Oh heavens, it is Rafe. I do so love the breadth of his shoulders.”
The last was uttered with a lovelorn sigh.
What rot. At least, unlike half her friends who had been assembled at Lady Fangfoss’s house party, Charity was in no danger of falling in love and making a fool of herself over a man. She, Melanie, and Raina clearly were the only ones of the bunch who had retained their wits about them.
“You invented a sobriquet for him?” Clementine persisted, apparently not as easily distracted by the appearance of Dorset as Angeline was of her betrothed.
Thankfully, Charity was saved from having to answer her friend’s question by Rothbury calling out a welcoming hullo to Angeline, who went rushing to his side. Charity and the rest of the chums followed in Angeline’s wake.
When Viscount Wilton’s gaze met hers from beneath the brim of his hat, she could not deny the spark that ignited into a ravaging flame.
* * *
Neville suppresseda sigh as the nibble on his line disappeared before he could land his catch and at the unexpected arrival of some fellow houseguests. Of the feminine variety. The group of ladies, including Miss Melanie Pennypacker, abruptly encroached upon the previously blissful quiet of his fishing expedition with Rothbury and Dorset, chasing Neville’s peace along with his fish.
He supposed this meant he ought to be social. Seize another chance to speak with Miss Pennypacker and ascertain whether or not she might prove amenable to a proposal. They had danced once at the previous evening’s masque ball by pure coincidence when he had chosen a lady with dark hair as his partner. Her American accent had given her away.
