Sarah sighed and glanced down at Fergus II. She’d left the rest of the wool she’d been using in the bedchamber. She stood to fetch it. Fergus II jumped up from his spot beneath the sofa and followed Sarah down the hall to the bedchamber. She entered the room slowly, pushing open the door. This was Christian’s room. She’d usurped it. He hadn’t said anything, but she’d figured it out the night before last when she’d opened the bedside drawer and noticed some of his personal effects. A copy ofTwo Treatises of Governmentby John Locke. A few coins. A small pocketknife. It was kind of him to allow her the use of his room. She hadn’t had the nerve to mention it. Now she sat on the edge of the bed and opened the drawer again. It was awful of her to snoop through his belongings, but she suddenly had the desire to know more about this man. To understand him.
The book was still there, the coins, and the knife. This time she noticed a small envelope lying under the other items. She pulled it out and unfolded it. It contained a lock of dark blond hair. Next to it sat a small golden locket. She gingerly picked it up and popped it open. A tiny painting of a beautiful woman looked back at her. She squinted. The woman had blond hair and light blue eyes and was wearing a gown from the last century. Even in miniature, Sarah could see the resemblance. She was certain. It had to be Christian’s mother.
“What happened to you?” she whispered to the locket.
The front door banged open just then and, guilt-ridden, Sarah dropped the locket back into the envelope, put the envelope back into the drawer, and shut it. Then she grabbed up the wool and hurried to the great room.
“So how do I become irresistible?” Christian asked, a smile on his face, as soon as he saw her.
Sarah laughed. Apparently he was back in a good mood. She was relieved. “I said elusive, not irresistible,” she replied.
“Aren’t they the same thing?” The teasing tone was back in his voice.
“Of course not.”
“Why is it important for a gentleman to be elusive, then?” he asked as he shucked his boots and made his way over to sit in one of the chairs next to the sofa.
“It’s not so much that you must seem elusive, really, it’s more that you must not seem too available.” Her knitting needles clicked together.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “But if I’m not available, why would I be looking for a wife?”
“No,eligibleis quite different fromavailable. All of the gentlemen the young ladies seem to swoon over act as if they can take or leave anytonparty and may not even arrive at another one. That’s why Almack’s is the wrong place for you.”
He laughed. “That’s not difficult to pretend. Icantake or leave any of thetonparties. Almack’s included.”
“Why is it that you can take or leave any of thetonparties?” she asked, truly interested.
“I’ve never enjoyed parties, really. Or going about in Society. I’d much rather be home, carving or reading or—”
She gave a mock gasp. “Mr. Forester. How can you say such blasphemous things? Why, in London,Societyis everything.”
He laughed at her obvious jest. “Which is why I’ve never been particularly popular in London. It’s a pity I cannot marry a milkmaid in Scotland.”
“You’d never find one in all this snow.”
He grinned at that. “I’m willing to go back to London next Season. One last time. I’m committed to finally finding a willing wife.”
“I think you’re overcomplicating it. To be seen as elusive, you merely need to act as if you’re uninterested in any particular female. It’s quite simple, really.”
“Didn’t you tell me that females want to feel singled out, special?”
“Of course. But that’s onlyafterthey’ve captured your attention. They want to feel as if it was a bit of a challenge at first. As if you mightnotask them to dance.”
He rubbed a hand over one eye. “That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. That which is easily gained is often neglected.”
“Very well. So I should strut around thesetonevents acting as if I don’t fancy anyone in particular. Then what?”
“Ask a few ladies to dance. Talk to them. See who garners your attention.”
“And once I’m properly attentive?”
“Ask her to dance again the next time you see her.” Sarah put the kettle on to make tea. It had already become their nightly ritual.
“That seems to be a roundabout way of going about it,” he said.
She pulled the canister that held the leaves from the cabinet. “It’s courtship.”
