Beatrice gave him a long, measuring look, taking in his black suit, well-fitting trousers, his low white waistcoat, showing off his new shirt, and a black cravat.
However, Miss Charlotte spoke first. “Mr. Carson, you look handsome indeed. That suit fits you to perfection.” Then she clapped her hands, already clad in short lacy gloves, as were her sister’s. “Isn’t this exciting?”
“It is,” he admitted, wishing Beatrice had said something kind about his looks, as well. “Are you ladies ready?”
“Yes. I wonder where our man is,” Miss Charlotte mused.
“Your man?” Greer asked. “Do you mean the butler?”
“Father thinksbutleris too grand a term,” Beatrice explained. “Anyway, Mr. Finley ought to have brought our mantles, or we could ask Delia.”
“Didn’t this Finley fellow tell you I was here?” Greer had assumed he’d gone up the back staircase to summon them.
“No,” Beatrice said, “but I’m sure he was about to. Mr. Finley is relaxed but usually reliable. Anyway, Delia makes up for any slack on his part. I’m sure she’s put them right here.”
Going to the closet under the stairs, she withdrew two cloaks. They didn’t match their dresses but instead were neutral black. He supposed they were designed to go with anything.
“Was I remiss in not insisting you purchase a cloak specifically to go with each gown?”
The girls looked at one another, then they chuckled.
“Oh, Mr. Carson,” Miss Charlotte said, “how sweet of you to think about such a thing. But that seems so wasteful since we shall leave them in the cloakroom anyway. Besides black goes with nearly everything, don’t you think? We match your attire, at least, and that is as good as we can hope.”
Another compliment from the younger sister. Greer could get used to her nice manners. He draped each one’s cloak across her shoulders, noticing Beatrice’s warm vanilla scent.
He wanted to tell her how delicious she smelled, but that seemed inappropriate. Even more so when it made him want to bury his nose in her hair.
“What about your dancing slippers?” he asked, recalling how they’d changed into them each time they’d met at the Pelhams’ home to practice.
In response, Miss Charlotte grasped her gown and drew it up a few inches, sticking out a dainty foot.
“Already wearing them” she said, as he got over the shock of her raising her skirt, no matter how little.
“Charlotte!” Beatrice admonished her. “Whatever you do, don’t do that at Amity’s, and also no—”
“Whistling. I know,” Miss Charlotte said, snatching up her reticule from the hallstand and handing a blue one to Beatrice.
Beatrice turned to him once more. “I know there are many times when ladies take a change of footwear, especially if it’s wet out or bitterly cold, but with this being such an easy trip to our sister’s, we decided to wear them. If mishap occurred to our slippers, Amity would have extra.”
Miss Charlotte chuckled again. “Your foot would never fit into one of Amity’s slippers, any more than I could fit into one of her slender bodices.”
Beatrice sighed with exaggerated exasperation and shook her head. “And to think I was concerned thatImight say something untoward.”
“What did I say now?” Miss Charlotte asked, and Greer decided to get them moving along.
“Are your parents here to see you off?” he asked.
“Father and Mother went on ahead,” Beatrice answered. “They decided seeing all three of their daughters out at a ball was too remarkable an event to miss, and they wanted to watch us make our grand entrance into society.”
“I wish I had a man of my own and didn’t have to share yours,” Miss Charlotte said.
Instantly, Beatrice’s cheeks reddened, and Greer hastily went to the door to open it since the butler had never returned.
“Really, Charlotte,” Beatrice muttered going ahead down the single step and along the path. “Mr. Carson isn’t mine. And after all, that’s the whole point of tonight and the entire Season, isn’t it? To find ourselves men of our own. Whatever you do, don’t—”
“Whistle. I know. You already said that.”
He helped them into the hackney, and they continued to talk as if he wasn’t there.
