“Oh,” Mrs. Skarsgard said as she suddenly held up a finger. “You needn’t feel the least bit shy when you’re in the company of our members, especially the women. Remember, nothing you say or hear will be revealed beyond the walls of the club.”
Blinking at hearing the comment, David wondered if Dicky had made mention of his problem with shyness or if the woman had sorted it of her own accord. “Good to know,” he replied, well aware of how his face was reddening. “Might you know where Lord... uh, where my host can be found?”
Mrs. Skarsgard angled her head to one side, as if she were listening intently to something beyond the door. “You’ll find him downstairs in the card room engaged in a game of whist.”
Chuckling, David once again nodded and said his thanks before he backed out of the office. For a moment, he thought to head downstairs to find the Earl of Penhurst, but instead he decided to leave his valise in his room. Unsure of what he would find beyond the wood door—rooms in coaching inns were always a bit dodgy—he turned the key and was pleasantly surprised to discover his room was as elegant as any master bedchamber in a Mayfair mansion.
Besides the Turkish carpeting decorating the floor, the bed was dressed in a blue velvet counterpane and the masculine furnishings were of a dark wood. The room’s only window was covered in blue velvet drapes, and a quick glance out proved Mrs. Skarsgard’s assessment regarding its lack of a vantage—the brick wall of another building stood a few feet beyond the glass, but there were no matching windows to cause concerns when it came to privacy.
As he was setting his valise on the bed, David noticed his trunk had already been delivered and was dry. Impressed by the service, he went about unpacking some clothes for that evening’s entertainments. His butler, who also acted as his valet when he was at his estate in Kent, had included the usual assortment of breeches, shirts, cravats, and waistcoats suitable for wear during the day. In addition, there was his more formal attire—satin breeches and topcoat, stockings, dance shoes, and the most flamboyant waistcoat he owned.
Girding his loins for what was to come—he expected he would be introduced to people he didn’t know—David took one look in the bathing chamber mirror to ensure he was presentable and then opened the door.
At the very same moment, the door to the room adjacent to his opened. A brunette-haired woman, fair of complexion and dressed in a jonquil gown, stepped out and stared at him with wide eyes the color of brandy.
For a moment, David was sure the sun had broken through the clouds. Framed by the pink decor of her room, she appeared as if she was lit from within, and when her glorious smile appeared, it only magnified the effect.
He had no idea of her age—twenty, perhaps?—but he knew at that moment he would have to say something. A greeting at the very least. He swallowed. “Hello,” he managed as he nodded.
The brilliant smile brightened. “Oh, by chance, are you my betrothed?” she asked, sounding breathless.
David blinked. And blinked again. “Why, yes. Yes I am,” he replied.
