Smashing? Tilly’s blue silk ballgown had been made for a countess. It was much too grand for the likes of her. She’d look like an utter fool wearing it, like a spinster playing at being an aristocrat, and thetonwould laugh themselves sick. “I thought I’d wear my embroidered brown muslin?—”
“Goodness, no!” Lady Fosberry gasped. “My dearest Euphemia, you cannot wearmuslinto Lord Powell’s ball.”
“Certainly not, and that shade of brown isn’t fashionable this season.” Harriett frowned at her. “Come now, Phee. There’s no need for you to dress as if you’re an aged spinster.”
“But Iama spinster, Harriett. There’s no use pretending otherwise, and anyway, I’m not ashamed of it.” Not at all, although there was no denying the word spinster was an unpleasant one, and stung her tongue a bit on the way out of her mouth.
“For pity’s sake, you’re only twenty-four years old! That’s hardly ancient. Please, Phee.” Harriett caught her hand. “I want you to dance, and enjoy yourself.”
Dance? Dear God, what a terrifying prospect that was.
She much preferred to remain on the sidelines and meld seamlessly into the background, but Harriett looked so earnest, so hopeful, she couldn’t bring herself to disappoint her. “Very well, if you feel that strongly about it, I’ll wear the blue gown,although I daresay I won’t have a surplus of dancing partners, no matter what I?—”
“James!” Harriett exclaimed.
Who, Lord Fairmont? Why, what could Harriett mean? Of all the gentlemen in London, he was the last one who’d wish to dance withher. Which was just as well, of course, because she certainly didn’t want to dance withhim. The two of them could hardly look at each other without one of them falling into a temper. “I would be exceedingly surprised, Harriett, if your brother invited me to dance.”
“Dance? Oh no, I meant James is here.” Harriett nodded toward the window. “Just there, on the pavement outside, and what do you think? He’s with Gilly!”
“Here?” Phee whirled back toward the window so quickly, she nearly smacked her forehead against the glass.
There, on the other side of Madame Dubois’s wide window was Lord Fairmont, looking smart, indeed, in a navy coat fitted to such perfection it lay perfectly smooth over his shoulders, a narrow strip of brocaded waistcoat in a muted green stripe visible at his waist, and every silky strand of his dark hair in place.
A sigh— a most humiliatingly wistful sigh —escaped her before she could smother it. Lord Fairmont was the most insufferably arrogant man she’d ever come across, but there was no denying he was, head to toe, the vision of a fashionable aristocratic gentleman.
At least, until he opened his mouth.
Still, every time she encountered him, he looked nothing less than resplendent.
“He’s so handsome!” Harriett crowded onto the bench, pressing her nose to the glass. “Isn’t he handsome, Phee?”
“Er, well…” Lord Fairmont was, of course, terribly handsome, but once she admitted it aloud, she’d no longer beable to pretend it wasn’t true. “Handsomeness is a matter of opinion, not?—”
Harriett interrupted with a yearning sigh of her own. “He looks very well in his mauve coat, does he not? It’s not the usual color for a gentleman’s coat, but I think it suits him.”
Mauve coat? What mauve… oh! She was referring to Gilly, not her brother who wouldn’t be caught even in his coffin outfitted in a mauve-colored coat. She’d wager every penny in her reticule on it. “It’s, ah, a lovely color, yes.”
Beside her, Lady Fosberry smothered a snort. “You look surprised, Euphemia. One might almost conclude you were gazing at someone else?”
Phee cast her a withering look. “I wasn’t looking at anyone at all, I assure you.”
Fortunately, Harriett didn’t notice this exchange, as she had eyes only for Gilly. Eyes, and knuckles, because before Phee could stop her, Harriett reached over and gave the window a sharp rap. “Harriett, for pity’s sake!”
But it was too late. Both gentlemen turned. As soon as Gilly spied Harriett on the other side of the glass his face lit up with a smile.
At least, she thought it did. She only glimpsed it in her peripheral vision, because Lord Fairmont’s gaze caught hers as soon as he turned, and once it did, she couldn’t look away.
Neither, it seemed, could he. They both stilled, staring at each other through the glass.
One moment passed, then another, then a hundred moments, or it felt that way to her, time spooling out in an endless thread, his dark eyes holding hers for so long her cheeks began to burn, and the corners of her lips to twitch, as if a smile would have its way with them whether she approved it or not, and then…
All at once, Lord Fairmont swept his hat from his head and offered her a bow so deep, and with such an exaggerated flourish that it could only have been meant mockingly.
Incorrigible man!
She turned around with a huff and faced forward again, her cheeks still burning.
“My, how fascinating,” Lady Fosberry murmured.
