“You are dashing in every way, even with your lopsided smile.”
“My lopsided...?” he trailed off. “Do I smile crookedly? Is it noticeable? Have you got a looking-glass handy?” He scanned the room and saw one hanging on the wall behind a lamp.
Rising to his feet, he went over to it, immediately peering at himself in the mirror.
“My mouth doesn’t look lopsided.”
He felt her arms go around his middle.How familiar! How wifely and wonderful!
“Smile,” she ordered him, and he did, looking to himself like a dog baring its teeth. And sure enough...
“Dear God! Is that preposterous buffoon with his smile askew really me?”
He felt her laughter as he heard it. Her body jiggled against his back, and he grabbed hold of her hands where they were laced across his waistcoat.
“Do you see the dimple, my lord? It is, I promise you, a dashing one.”
He smiled again, and saw the dip in his cheek. “If you say so.”
“I promise you. Every woman loves a man with a dimple.”
He turned in the circle of her arms and held her close. “I bet women prefer a man with two dimples even more.”
“Nonsense. A single dimple is quite...,” she trailed off, and her cheeks turned delightfully pink.
“What?” he prompted.
“Sensual. It invites one — namely me — to salty and steamy thoughts,” she finished.
His own thoughts went instantly to steamy ones, too. “I had no idea a dimple was all that. What do you think about a short engagement?”
She laughed so hard, tears sprang to her eyes again.
“I’m not speaking in jest,” Charles protested. “If you are amenable, I think three months. Perhaps I can hang on through four months, but—”
“Three would be perfect,” she agreed.Such an amiable woman!
“I shall go with you to the shop at once and ask your father’s blessing.”
She smiled. “Do not be alarmed if my parents behave as if we’re already engaged, or as if they thought we were at any rate. I swear, they have been far ahead of each of my sisters and the men who became their husbands.”
“All the better. I won’t need to rehearse a persuasive argument. And we’ll get our families together soon. Not that I have many on my side. My father has a sister in Scotland, but I’ve only met her twice. She probably won’t come, and it’s too far to bother going to see her.” Charles realized he was babbling like a brook but couldn’t stop himself.
“We’ll have your parents over to meet my father by week’s end. And your sisters and their husbands must come, too, of course.” It would be good to have Pelham there to smooth out any rough patches. “Naturally, Pelham has met my father on many occasions, but I don’t think your sister, the duchess, has.”
Charles felt a bit of anxiety thinking of his tetchy father together with the sunny Foure family, but as to nervousness about becoming engaged, he had absolutely no doubt Charlotte Rare-Foure was the woman for him.
BEATRICE WAS BACK, and just in time for dinner at the Earl of Bentley’s and the Viscount Jeffcoat’s home, soon to be Charlotte’s, too. Letting Delia fiddle an extra twenty minutes with her hair, Charlotte waited while her maid set another ringlet on the right, an extra curl down her back, and then a peacock feather tucked into the small braided bun on top.
“I think that’s good,” Charlotte said at last.
“Good? We want splendid. You’re going to dine with your future father-in-law.”
Charlotte kept it to herself how the man had thought her a light-skirt the last time she was there.
“I love this dress you chose,” Charlotte said, standing and twirling in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of her room. “It is an unusual shade of greenish-blue. Or is it bluish-green, would you say?”
“Neither,” Delia said. “It’s jade.” She made sure the white lace at the neckline was lying flat, and gave a tug on the bodice.
