There it was.
Followed by voices.
Followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
She clenched her hands until her nails bit into the palms, hiding them within the folds of her skirts.
Her skirts! She studied her gown, wishing she had worn something other than the pink one, which had seen better days.
Then Davenport stood in the doorway, his gaze holding on her. “Mr. Thomas Sinclair to see Miss Frances.”
“Oh.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth to keep anything else from escaping because she wanted to say yes, yes, yes.
“Mr. Sinclair?” Her mother frowned, her needle poised above the white linen. “Oh, yes. From the house party.” Her eyes widened as her gaze shifted to Frances. “Isn’t this exciting?”
Frances rose only to sit back down, uncertain what she should do. “Please show him in.” Good heavens. In all her years, she’d never been able to say that before. The few callers she’d had, which she could name, had been welcomed by her mother as she’d been unable to speak to any of them.
Because of her shyness.
But it would not rule her today, even if Thomas had only come to inquire about a ticket to the ball.
She lifted her chin, holding tight to her determination.
“I happened to see him yesterday when I was at the bookshop and mentioned the ball,” she told her mother in as casual a voice as she could manage.
“How delightful.”
Yes, she wanted to agree. Very delightful. But acting overly excited wouldn’t aid her and would only raise her mother’s hopes.
When Thomas appeared in the doorway, Frances rose again, a welcome smile on her lips. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair. How kind of you to call.”
She released a breath, pleased that she’d spoken so coherently. A glance at her mother out of the corner of her eye showed her surprise.
“You remember Mr. Sinclair, Mother.”
Her mother stood. “Of course. It’s good to see you again, sir.”
Thomas bowed, his charming smile in place. “And you as well.”
Frances waited for him to say something more, only to realize she should suggest he take a seat. Drat the way her thoughts froze at moments like this. She gestured toward a chair in case words failed her. “Will you join us?”
“Thank you.” He walked forward to sit in the chair. “I hope the day finds you well.”
Frances resumed her seat, hoping her mother would answer. She had nearly reached the limit of her words.
He is only here for a ticket.
He is only here for a ticket.
Yet the reminder did little to calm her nerves or her excitement.
Her mother exchanged pleasantries, much to Frances’ relief. That left her time to catch her breath and admire Thomas.
He looked wonderful as always. His cheeks were ruddy with good health and the cold. Those wonderful eyes sparkled with good humor.
Be still her heart.
Unfortunately, it didn’t listen. Instead, it pounded with far too much enthusiasm.
