She didn’t recall seeing him at Amity and Henry’s. He was a few years older than Mr. Carson, finer features, dancing brown eyes, and thick brown hair. She’d been extremely nervous at her first ball, and could scarcely remember the faces of those with whom she had actually danced.
“I am the Viscount Melton,” he continued, bowing low to her and to Charlotte, but he addressed his next question only to Beatrice. “May I have the honor of a dance?”
“Yes,” she said, holding out her wrist to him.
Raising the card, he examined it, then scrawled his name.
“I am most relieved to see you still had space, Miss Rare-Foure. I look forward to our dance.”
With that, he disappeared into the growing throng.
“I guess he was chiefly interested in you,” Charlotte mused.
“Why do you say that?” Beatrice asked.
“Because he didn’t put his name on my card.”
“Oh!” Beatrice was surprised. It was the first time, when she and Charlotte were standing together, that a gentleman hadn’t wanted to dance with each of them.
“Do you fancy him?” her sister asked.
Lord Melton couldn’t hold a candle to Mr. Carson. Beatrice dismissed that first thought. That was like saying Lord Melton couldn’t hold a candle to Zeus, Caesar, or some ancient Pharaoh.What was the point in comparing a man who was within reach to one who was an impossibility?
“His appearance was pleasing, don’t you think?” Beatrice returned carefully.
Charlotte agreed. “A good head of hair.”
When the dancing began, Lord Melton claimed her for the fifth dance. They had very little time to speak, but after the dance, he said he hoped she might be agreeable to allowing him to call on her at her home.
So shocked by her first real arrangement with a man, and a viscount at that, Beatrice was silent for a moment.
“I’ve rendered the toffee heiress speechless,” he said, and she startled.How on earth had he heard the silly story?But he cocked his head, and she liked the spark of humor in his eyes. “I hope not from disdain.”
“No, of course not.”Did he really think her an heiress?If so, she should apprise him of the mistake at once. However, she didn’t think he could possibly be serious.
“You are welcome to call on me, my lord. However, I am not often at home.”
“Not during the common visiting hours?” He frowned slightly, perhaps unable to imagine what she could be doing.
She assumed he meant between eleven and three o’clock, as in every novel of manners she’d read in which the nobility’s calling hours had been mentioned.
“No, especially not then. It would be best if you send me a note, and I shall reply as to my availability.”
“I see.”
Did he?He seemed disappointed, and she reconsidered.
“Or you may catch me at home until half past ten.”
His expression brightened. “Very well then. I hope to see you at that frightfully early hour some day this week.” Bowing over her hand, he strode away.
Before she could spend another instant thinking how a gentleman was going to call upon her at home, her next dance partner appeared, and dance number six began.
When Mr. Carson came to claim her an hour later, she had lost all track of time and been so distracted with new faces, she had entirely forgotten which dance he’d claimed.
“But this is directly before dinner,” Beatrice protested, as he took her onto the floor for the start of a lancier.
“I know. I thought we would enjoy our roast beef far more without having to struggle though niceties and questions.”
