“If she carries it in the left hand in front of her face, it means she is desirous of an acquaintance.”
“Left hand in front of face. I hope to remember that one, at least.” He chuckled.
“If she draws it across her eyes, she is saying she is sorry.”
He nodded at that, still focused on the stick in his hand.
“If she twirls the fan in her right hand, it means she loves another.”
He winced. “Another good one to remember.”
“If she drops it, she means to say that you shall only be friends.”
His lips formed an O and he scowled. “Too bad.”
Annabelle waved her hand in the air. “Fanning slowly means she’s married, fanning quickly means she’s engaged. And finally, if she touches the tip of the fan with her finger, she is saying…kiss me.”
David’s head snapped up. “Doesthathappen often?”
“I couldn’t say—these are all more theoretical in nature. I, for one, rarely use my fan for anything more than cooling myself at the opera.”
David laughed. “But you could be telling some poor chap across the way that you’re engaged.”
Annabelle laughed too. “No doubt I’ve done that more than once.”
“It sounds like a lot of nonsense to me, but at least I’m done with my whittling project.” David held up his creation and Annabelle realized that in the short span of time they’d been talking, David had fashioned a rudimentary flute out of the stick. He put the knife back in his pocket and lifted the flute to his lips and blew through the opening he’d made in the end. A high-pitched whistle came out and he played a little song for her using his fingers on the small holes he’d carved into the stick.
When he finished, she clapped and laughed. “Now,thatis impressive. Any earl should be proud to have such a skill.”
He stood, offered her his hand, and helped her to her feet before handing her the flute. Then he bowed. “For you, my lady. Thank you for teaching me all the things I need to learn. I can only hope I don’t embarrass you and your mother.”
“Nonsense,” Annabelle replied. “You’ll be a smashing success at the Talbots’ ball.”
Chapter Fourteen
David smoothed his hand down the front of his fine black evening attire for what had to be the hundredth time already this evening. He and Marianne were standing in Lady Courtney’s foyer, where they’d come to escort Lady Annabelle and her mother to the Talbots’ ball.
David had even allowed Bell to send over his valet to help him dress, on the chance the servant might know something David wasn’t privy to about evening attire worn by gentlemen of theton. Now he was outfitted in all black with a white cravat, shirt, and waistcoat, and according to Bell’s valet, David was the image of a well-to-do gentleman on his way to a ball.
Bell was not with them tonight. He’d been called away on business for the Crown, which meant David was escorting all three ladies to the ball alone. Nausea had hit him earlier when he’d contemplated walking into a ballroom full of London’s finest. They would all be staring at him, no doubt wondering how the clod from Brighton would behave in London Society.
He had no problem commanding a hectic battlefield full of soldiers with ease, but the thought of walking into a crowded ballroom filled him with dread. He smoothed his hand down his shirt for the one hundred and first time.
A sound at the top of the staircase caught his attention and he looked up to see Annabelle come floating down the steps toward him, several steps behind her mother. David had to do a double take. A lump formed in his throat. Annabelle was a vision. Tall and lithe like a swan, she was wearing a glowing golden gown that only served to make her blond hair shimmer in the candlelight. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant chignon, and gold and diamonds covered her throat, with diamond ear bobs and a diamond bracelet on her wrist. She shimmered like a goddess coming down from Olympus. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she stopped directly in front of him.
“Close your mouth, then,” Marianne whispered in his ear.
He immediately snapped his mouth shut while Marianne and Lady Angelina traded greetings. David greeted Lady Angelina as well before turning to face Annabelle.
“You look lovely,” David finally said to her, knowing the word was inadequate.
“Well,” she said, returning his smile, “seems I’ve taught you how to flatter a lady properly.”
“No flattery involved,” he replied. “You truly are a vision.”
“You look quite handsome yourself,” Annabelle replied, eyeing him up and down.
“Thank you, my lady. I hope I’m somewhat worthy to escort such a beauty to a ball.”
