“You don’t know what the future holds,” he asserted. “Besides, you need to remain strong if you want to help your mother.”
A determined look came to Miss Bentley’s face. “You’re right,” she said. “I can still make an advantageous match this Season.”
“It would be much easier if you had a dowry.”
“I am well aware,” she replied, “but I have the rest of the Season to try to make a match.”
Roswell’s eyes roamed over Miss Bentley’s face, noting a light sprinkling of freckles along the bridge of her nose. How had he never noticed that before? He found them rather mesmerizing.
Miss Bentley met his gaze, and Roswell realized that he had been caught staring. He cleared his throat and dropped her gaze.
“Shall I escort you back inside?” he asked.
“Must we go back in so soon?”
Roswell eyed her curiously. “Do you not wish to resume your visit with Mr. Abbott?”
“He isn’t here for me,” Miss Bentley replied. “He came to call on Emma, and he is rather dull.” Her last words were spoken in a whisper.
Amused, Roswell asked, “In what way?”
“Did you know he owns eight hunting dogs?”
“I did not.”
“It was a fact that I didn’t care to know, either,” she replied. “Furthermore, I learned all I care to know about pheasant hunting and all the different ways to shoot the birds.”
“You could at least feign an interest in hunting.”
“I am not opposed to it, but I’m afraid I don’t see the appeal of it.” Miss Bentley turned her attention back towards the townhouse. “With any luck, Mr. Abbott will be gone when I return.”
“Does my sister have any interest in Mr. Abbott as a suitor?”
“None,” she replied. “She has told me as much.”
“Then I shall accompany you and encourage Mr. Abbott to be on his way.”
Miss Bentley smiled at him. “That would be most kind of you.”
Roswell offered his arm and was pleased when she accepted it. For some reason, he didn’t seem to mind having Miss Bentley close to him. He found it oddly pleasant.
Sitting in the dark, cramped coach, Roswell attempted to keep the displeasure off his face. His mother had insisted that he escort them to Lady Elizabeth Barrow’s ball, despite his many protests.
“Chin up, my dear,” his mother said. “It isn’t as if you are off to meet your executioner.”
“I feel as if I am,” Roswell replied. “Frankly, I don’t even know why I had to attend. You are more than capable of chaperoning Emma and Miss Bentley.”
“That is true, but I do so enjoy your company.” She patted him on the knee with the top of her fan. “Besides, Charles was unable to join us because he went to the Opera with some friends.”
Roswell turned his attention towards Miss Bentley, who was staring out the window. She was dressed in a white gown with ornate flowers woven throughout, and her hair was piled atop of her head in an elaborate style. His eyes wandered over her comely figure until he noticed his sister watching him with a smirk on her lips.
The coach jerked to a stop in front of a large, three-level townhouse. The door opened and a footman assisted the ladies out of the coach. As he stepped onto the ground, Roswell extended his arm towards his mother.
“Shall we?” he asked.
Walking into the townhouse, they were greeted by the butler, who directed them towards the ballroom. They stepped inside of the rectangular room, the center of it chalked with an ornate floral design. An ensemble was playing, signaling that the dancing had already started for the evening.
Roswell led their group towards the rear of the ballroom and found a place for them to stand against the wall. He turned towards Miss Bentley and watched as her eyes sparkled with excitement. Her eyes were an unusual shade of green with flecks of brown, adding to their allure.
