He was quite certain of it, since the woman in question had been watching them like a hawk since the moment Greer had collected Lady Emily from the St. George’s table for their dance. And Lady St. George’s eyes had continued to rest on him during the small meal. He’d seen her stand on tiptoe to view them better when they’d found two seats in the drawing room.
“I wish you had another empty place on your card,” he told Lady Emily.
“Mr. Carson, although you might wish it and I might not mind it, one doesn’t usually say such a preference out loud, at least, not upon first meeting.”
“I see.”Should he apologize?“May I hope if we meet again at another dance, you will look favorably upon my writing on your dance card?”
She smiled. “You may. Thank you for the dance, and the company.” Nodding to him, she took a seat next to her mother, and Greer knew he’d been dismissed but not set down. Lady Emily had said she wouldn’t mind dancing again, which was a good thing since, of all the eleven dance partners he’d had, he liked her the best. Apart from Beatrice, naturally.
With time to spare before the end of the intermission, he went in search of the toffee-maker. He found her on the arm of a man leading her from the dining room.
“Now you don’t need to take me back to the ballroom, my lord. This is my next partner,” she said, fibbing outrageously.
“Very well, Miss Rare-Foure. I thank you for the dance and for the pleasant company while dining.” He bowed, she nodded, and the man left.
“Thank goodness you showed up, Mr. Carson. That was the longest meal I’ve ever had. The only thing more interminable was the dance before it.”
“I take it that young man was not to your liking.”
She sighed, and her bosom rose delightfully. Greer made an effort to lock his gaze on her blue eyes and keep it there.
“He was extremely dry, to put it mildly. Stilted and proper and full of himself.”
He smiled. “I think I met a few of his twin sisters tonight.”
Suddenly, Miss Charlotte appeared with her parents.
“Everyone enjoying themselves?” Mr. Foure asked, holding a glass of brandy that looked beyond inviting.
“Yes,” Beatrice said, not sounding entirely convincing. “However, I think Amity let the dinner intermission lag a little too long.”
Charlotte laughed. “No, it was that pompous snout-nose you were with who lagged.”
“Charlotte!” Mrs. Rare-Foure admonished. “We can use that term when alone, but not here.”
“Why not?” the youngest Rare-Foure asked.
“Because there are so many of them lurking about.”
Mr. Foure coughed. “I see you eyeing my drink, Mr. Carson. Sadly, it is not for guests. Only for fathers-in-law. Come along, wife.” He led Mrs. Rare-Foure away.
“They seem very pleased with themselves tonight,” Miss Charlotte observed.
“They weren’t stuck with Lord Prig for the past three hours,” Beatrice said.
“It was forty minutes, I think,” Greer told her.
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “How have you fared, Mr. Carson?”
Her gaze seemed to pin him in place, a disconcerting sensation.
“I wish I had claimed another of your dances,” he heard himself confess. “And yours, as well,” he added belatedly to Miss Charlotte. When they both raised identical eyebrows, he explained, “It’s nice to relax for a moment and speak freely.”
“Agreed,” said Beatrice.
“And me?” Miss Charlotte demanded her turn.
“Very well, how haveyoufared?” her sister asked her. “Any conquests yet?”
