Christian studied his port. “Yes, I believe you said that once before. How imaginative are violets?”
“Judging from Lady Claire’s reaction, I’d say they arequiteimaginative andquitewelcome.”
“Careful, Sarah. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.” The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to examine them. He nearly winced. He shouldn’t have said that, either.
She sputtered and coughed. “Me? Jealous?”
“You may want to lower your voice,” he warned. A few of the other guests had glanced over at them. Sarah’s mother looked ready to pounce upon them.
“Me? Jealous?” she hissed in a whisper, leaning toward him.
“Yes, perhaps.”
“Of Lady Claire?” she huffed, and took another sip of wine.
Christian stood. “I’m not certain you’re in a state where you should be having this conversation. I think you’re a bit worse for wine this evening. May I?” He gestured to her glass. She reluctantly handed it to him.
Christian delivered both the wineglass and his half-full glass of port to the nearest footman. “Bring Lady Sarah a glass of water, please,” he instructed the footman.
Sarah bowed her head and rubbed her temples. “Perhaps you’re right. A glass of water sounds like exactly what I need.”
“I must gather Lady Claire and her mother and go,” Christian said. “I fear I’ve worn out my welcome. Branford doesn’t seem to enjoy my speaking privately to his future marchioness.” He nodded to the marquess, who remained on the sofa. The man was definitely watching them now with a more than interested look on his face. “You should get back to him,” Christian said.
Sarah stood and took a deep breath. She began to walk away but turned and asked over her shoulder, “Are you jealous of the marquess?”
Christian inclined his head toward her. But he whispered so she couldn’t hear, “More than you can know.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The Rutherfords’ ballroom was ablaze with the light of a thousand candles twinkling in the chandeliers that hung from the enormous frescoed ceiling. Sarah and Meg had been standing next to Lady Alexandra Hobbs for the last twenty minutes. Sarah was asking after the details of Lady Alex’s upcoming wedding.
“I simply cannot wait,” Alex said, beaming. She glanced across the ballroom toward where her bridegroom, Lord Owen Monroe, stood in a group of gentlemen. The look the two exchanged made Sarah feel as if she were intruding upon a private moment. A pang of regret twisted in her heart. She would never know such devotion. Such love.
“How did you know?” Sarah asked suddenly, the words flying past her lips.
Alex blinked at her. “How did I know what?”
Sarah cleared her throat. “How did you know that Lord Owen was the right man for you?”
Meg leaned closer to hear, too.
Alex smiled softly and a faraway look came into her eyes. “I’ve loved him since I was fifteen years old.”
“I know the feeling,” Meg mumbled.
Sarah tilted her head to the side. “Really? Fifteen?” she said to Alex.
“Yes,” Alex continued. “I saw him under my window at a party my parents had at their country house. He was defending a stable boy against a couple of older bucks who were making fun of the child. I fell in love instantly.”
“You just knew?” Sarah asked, leaning forward and biting her lip.
Alex nodded her dark head. “Yes, I just knew. Just like that.”
“Sometimes you just know.” Meg sighed again.
Sarah wrapped her arms around her middle. She’d always assumed that Meg was a special case, loving Hart so deeply for so long. But Lady Alex had confirmed it. Some people were lucky that way. Love just arrived under their window one night. But how exactly was one supposed to go about making such important decisions when one wasn’t absolutely certain?
Sarah had stayed awake for hours last night, tossing and turning and thinking about what had happened at Branford’s dinner party with Christian. Shehadhad too much to drink last night; that much was certain. Her mother had lectured her the entire way home. Christian had once again done her a nice turn, taking away her wineglass and asking for a glass of water. She would have had the devil of a head this morning had he not seen to her. As it was, she didn’t feel entirely right. Either way, she’d been unable to sleep.Hadshe been jealous of Lady Claire? It seemed silly, petty, beneath her. But she hadn’t been able to stop asking the poor girl questions—and the way she’d blinked up at Christian and gone on and on about the violets… well, it had driven Sarah to drink, that’s all. Not that she could blame poor Lady Claire for her own excessive behavior, but jealousy was an entirely foreign concept to Sarah. She’d had no idea that she was even capable of such an emotion. Had her ancestors felt this way? Betrothed to one man but jealous of another? It was entirely unpleasant. Or was she merely getting her emotions confused because of Branford’s lack of appeal and his incessant insistence upon setting a wedding date? She had to find some way to be certain. She couldn’t have been the first young lady with this problem, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Perhaps Lady Alexandra could provide her with some answers.
