“I couldn’t quibble over his looks,” she admitted. “He is tall with deep blue eyes and dark curling hair. If the Haymarket had him playing the lead roles, Colman would sell out every night.”
“That handsome?” Sarah said, impressed.
“Aye, he has looks,” Char returned.
Then again, the man who had caught her attention—and not just because he could denounce her—had been Whitridge.
She found herself thinking about him at odd moments, and not just because he had almost caught her. His looks were rougher than the duke’s. He was far from being as polished. However, there was an air of confidence, an assurance about him.
Tonight, he had walked into their glittering company in tall boots and a plain jacket, and she knew there wasn’t a female in the room who hadn’t noticed him. Almost immediately, fans had started fluttering and there had been an air of restless interest.
And that had not set well with Char, either.
How contrary she was being. She should want to stay away from Whitridge.
Instead, she was not pleased that he had caught the eye of other women.
“Char, are you all right?” Sarah asked.
Her aunt’s concerned question startled her. “Yes, of course. Why?”
“For a moment, your mind seemed miles away.”
“I was thinking about the ball. You were right. I am glad I went. I will never forget it.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way I had hoped,” Sarah said. “My imagination had penned a whole new life for you. Baynton would sweep the penniless orphan up in his arms and make her his lovely duchess. There would be no worry, no doubt, and only happiness in your future.”
“And stuffed goose every Sunday for dinner,” Char added lightly.
“Oh, a stuffed goose would only be the beginning of the Sunday feasts in the ducal mansion,” Sarah assured her.
“For my tastes, I would want a rib roast,” Lady Baldwin said. “My daughter had one served last Sunday, but they sent a plate of chicken to my room. They had guests,” she explained.
“That was rude,” Char said. “What did your daughter say when you informed her that you were attending the Duke of Baynton’s ball this evening? Was she surprised? Humbled?”
“She doesn’t know I went and I don’t know if I will tell her. I said I was going out and she didn’t bother to ask where. And look at me—I’m in all my finery...”
Lady Baldwin fell into a sad silence before almost ruefully saying, “Last week, I let my granddaughter Verity play in my clothes. She is only six. Lovely girl. Reminds me of my daughter at that age. Margaret used to enjoy dressing up with my things when she was that age. However, when I sent Verity to show her mother how pretty she looked in my feathers and scarves, Margaret laughed and asked her if she was trying to be a clown like her grandmother. She didn’t know I was listening.”
Sarah reached over to give Lady Baldwin’s hand a squeeze. “Did you tell her what you heard?” Char asked.
“No, not that she would care.” Lady Baldwin finished her glass and added, “I had some thought that after our Charlene was a great success, I would tell Margaret of the part I’d played. I would be the close friend of a duchess and not justanyduchess, but the Duchess of Baynton. Now it is not to be. Silly of me to want to dream that way.”
“My lady, I am so sorry—” Char started but Lady Baldwin shushed her.
“It isn’t your worry, my girl.”
“But you should come live with us,” Sarah said.
“And add to your already many burdens? I think not. Besides, I value our friendship. If I lived with you all the time, you might not be so pleased with me. Margaret certainly isn’t.”
“Margaret is a prig,” Char said loyally, and her friend smiled, an expression that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Before any more could be said, a knock sounded on the door.
“Who would be calling at this hour of the night?” Sarah asked, rising to go to the window and glance outside at the step before answering—and then she raced to the door.
“Who is it?” Char asked, coming to her feet.
