“Me? Whyever would I be distracted?” He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and forced himself to focus on his sister. “Ihappen to have the perfect chaperone this evening.”
She snorted. “Even I know an unmarried woman is an inappropriate chaperone.”
He ducked his head and smiled. “That’s what makes it perfect.”
There was hesitation in her eyes, but she returned his smile. “I’ve missed you, brother.”
The weight of her hand on his arm seemed to shift to the place above his heart. He swallowed hard, but, for once, didn’t pull away. “I’ve missed you too.”
That infamous gong sounded the meal’s readiness.
Renard parted ways with his sister to escort the lady of the house into dinner, leaving a young but handsome marquess to bring Charlotte to her seat. Through it all, he searched for any sign of Camille. As she was not titled, he watched the last of the couples entering the dining room, but she did not show.
Was she angry he hadn’t met her at the lake? Had she been unable to make out his handwriting?
He’d perfect his penmanship in the pen, he thought darkly. Nothing was going according to plan.
A flurry of activity at the entrance to the room drew all eyes to two late arrivals.
Renard’s gaze bypassed a young woman with dark hair and fell on a goddess in yellow silk.
Eyes bright, Camille pressed a hand to her chest, drawing attention to her full chest and the intricate lace along her hem, the same lace that wove through her hair to make a most beautiful bouquet of rose curls at the back of her head.
The dryness in his eyes reminded him to blink.
She curtsied low to the table with so much elegance and poise, he doubted anyone attending would find fault with her tardiness.
It was the other woman beside her who spoke up, her voice clear and unashamed. “Dressing took longer than expected. Buttons!” She indicated the back of her dress with a slight turn and swish of her hand that bordered on vulgar. Her gaze went down the table. “Don’t tell me I missed the soup?”
Renard bit back a smile, seeing more than one gentleman doing the same.
“Not at all, Mrs. Laundry. We were just about to serve.” Lord Quickner indicated two chairs on either side of him at the head of the table. “Please, sit. Your seats are here.”
Renard glanced at their hostess, imagining the woman had had a hand in the seating arrangements. Lady Quickner’s grin acknowledged in the affirmative.
Whether or not Camille took note of the great honor of the seat placement, she nodded subtly, seeming to offer a silent thanks to their host. She glided to her place and looked up at the seat directly across from her.
Renard stilled at her gaze. The rest of the room faded away and only those lovely eyes, sharp and soft all at the same time, consumed his being.Beautiful, he mouthed the word and watched her eyes sparkle in understanding.
Having finished seating her companion, Lord Quickner held out the seat for Camille.
“Miss Forthright?”
She blinked. “Oh, thank you.” She sat, her cheeks flushed. When the viscount reclaimed his own seat, she offered Renard a quiet apology.
Lord Quickner shook his head. “All of us enjoy a grand entrance. I’m ashamed to have not thought of it myself. Though I could never have pulled off that dress!”
The old man was a good sport.
A clinking glass brought the focus to the viscountess, who stood at the end of the table.
“Honored guests, Lord Quickner and I are grateful for your attendance and continued friendship. To mark the occasion, please indulge us a bit longer as we serve before-dinner champagne to toast to the good health and fortune of those friends and neighbors around us.”
The viscountess clapped her hands and servant after servant entered the room and poured sparkling liquor into glasses.
“My lord.” Lady Quickner nodded to her husband.
Lord Quickner smiled at his wife and rose to his feet, his glass in hand. “Seeing as how my lady wife’s words are better than anything I could manage, I’ll keep my remarks to a minimum.” His words were met with chuckles around the room.
