And she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that, for lately she wasn’t sure she knew her own self anymore.
16
Stuck. Trapped. Cornered as securely as a fox hemmed in by a ring of hounds right there in the sitting room. Edmund stood wedged between Lord Bastion, his daughter, and a fat-backed sofa. What a night. While Violet nattered on and on about who’d become engaged to whom, he debated the credits and debits of hurtling his body over the ungainly piece of furniture.
And dinner had gone no better.
Bastion wanted to talk politics. Violet about her near-death experience with the snake. He’d given Gil several reminders to slow down on the wine, and worst of all, he never should have allowed Bram to sit next to Miss Dalton, for his friend had masterfully captured her attention.
As he was now.
Making her laugh.
Flashing his crooked grin.
His knee bumping against hers where they sat in adjacent chairs near the hearth.
Envy punched Edmund in the gut. He’d much rather be the one engaged in witty banter with the brown-haired beauty. Actually, he’d rather all his guests left, and he could return to having Ami Dalton to himself.
Across the sitting room, Gil turned off a gas wall sconce. Odd, that. Even more strange when he strolled to the next and turned that one off as well.
“Eh, Price?”
He jerked his attention to the viscount, scrambling to decipher what he’d missed—and came up woefully short. “I beg your pardon, my lord. Could you repeat that?”
Bastion’s sharp eyes narrowed. “I said I should think one more day consulting about your platform ought to tie the thing up into a neat package.”
Brilliant. Another stretch of endless hours watching the man squint and sigh. Still, if boredom was the price to gain that seat in the House, it was a small cost to pay. “Yes, my lord. I look forward to it.”
Gil turned off another light. If the trend continued, they’d all be in the dark. He opened his mouth to rebuke the man, but Violet pawed at Edmund’s sleeve before he got a word out.
“How do you feel about dove grey, Edmund? Miss Dalton seems to think I ought to get your opinion.”
The question caught him off guard, diverting him from the dimming light in the room. “Why would she suggest such a thing? What were you two discussing?”
“Oh, you know. Female topics.” She fluttered her fingers in the air. “Nothing to bother you about. I daresay it was only one of her provincial ideas at any rate. We will say no more about it.”
Another light faded, this one close to Bram and Miss Dalton, leaving them in the shadows.
That did it.
“Pardon me.” He shoved his way between Violet and her father. “That’s enough with the lights, Gil. We’re hardly ready to retire yet, and besides, I have staff for such tasks when the time comes.”
Gil turned to them all, arms spread wide. “But the time is now, old man.”
“Time for what, Mr. Fletcher?” the viscount grumbled.
“A ghost story.”
“I’ve had enough scares for one day,” Violet whined.
“Come now, Miss Woolsey.” Gil swooped over to her and her father. “A good fright gets the blood flowing.”
“So does a brisk walk through a dark cemetery in the dead of night,” Ami cut in.
Bram leaned back in his chair, one long leg crossing over the other. “You speak as if you have experience, Miss Dalton.”
Laughing, she caught Edmund’s eye. “We all have our secrets.”
