“My older sister took it into her head to read poetry to us in the evenings last winter. Taken with Wordsworth, she was.”
“And did you enjoy it?” Violet closely observed her partner to gauge his reaction to her question.
“Good lo... no, Miss. It were torture. I fell asleep in my chair every night.”
What a relief! “Not even ditties, Mr Jenson?” She smiled encouragingly.
“What are those, Miss?”
“You know, ‘Roses are red, Violets are blue...’, like you might send a sweetheart?”
“Oh aye. I know one o’ thar ditties. ‘In days of old when knights were bold, and the women chased the men, the men like fools lay down their tools and chased them back again.’”
Violet choked back a laugh. “Exactly. So, you haven’t sent your sweetheart a ditty on Valentine’s Day?”
“Never, Miss, but now you’ve given me the idea, aye, I might do.”
Ah, he was sweet on someone. “I’m sure she will be thrilled to receive it. I know I would be.”
“You, Miss?” A frown bisected his eyebrows.
Was the idea that she would like to receive a Valentine so inconceivable? At least she had her answer. Her secret admirer most certainly was not Thomas Jenson.
The confused youth returned her to her father’s side and, as a flush of color crept up his neck, thanked her for the dance then joined the men’s conversation about agricultural matters. Aside from a smile of welcome from her father, the gentlemen ignored her as she sat behind them, below the height of their elbows. Invisible.
She settled back in her chair to think. There was only one other man of her acquaintance with any opportunity to deliver such billets-doux.
Sebastian.
A surge of hope rose within her, heating her cheeks. Violet pressed her gloved fingers to her mouth to hide the upward curve of her lips. The idea was fantastical, but the thought that it really might be him was breathtaking and heart-poundingly exciting.
She crushed it. He couldn’t possibly be her secret admirer. It was ludicrous—just a silly fantasy. What was she thinking?
Violet blinked back to reality and gazed around her. Had someone noticed her odd behavior?
No one looked her way. She lowered her chin to her chest and contemplated testing her wild hypothesis. What could be the harm in questioning Sebastian as she had her other suspects...in the interests of scientific enquiry?
Either all her dreams would come true, or they would evaporate like shaved ice on a hot summer’s day.
Chapter Four
Could this evening get any worse? For the fourth dance of the evening, Sebastian twirled another eligible invited by his managing mother. He had already danced with three star-struck misses. He groaned at the thought of dancing with any more.
The first had regarded herself as the front-runner in the competition for his proposal of marriage, as he opened the ball with her on his arm. She had been very forward, fluttering her eyelids at him and running her tongue along her bottom lip. By the end of the dance, she had angled her low-cut neckline for his inspection so many times, he feared what she might do next.
The next debutant barely raised her eyes above the sapphire pin in his cravat. No matter how many conversational gambits he uttered, she did nothing more than blush and smile at his waistcoat. At least she wasn’t threatening like the first.
Dance partner number three talked non-stop for the whole half-hour. She began with the weather, progressed to the latest sermon she had heard, and then on to her newest bonnet. Finally, she confided how much she loved Whitton Grange, implying she would enjoy living here, should she get the chance. A broad hint indeed.
Debutant number four was extremely young, and so nervous about remembering her dance steps that she silently watched her feet throughout the whole dance, a deep frown marring her nascent attractiveness. He predicted she would blossom into an acclaimed beauty in another year or so. For the now, she was too young, too uneducated, and dare he think it, too skinny, for any gentleman to spare her a look or a thought.
At the dance’s conclusion, he smiled benignly upon her and returned her to her mother.
Where was Violet now? There was one more set before the supper dance.
He had last seen her dancing with his father’s estate manager. Now he spied her sitting before the window wall. He took a step towards her, only to see his friend from Oxford, Lord Alistair Dunridge, bow over her hand, sign her dance card with an amused look on his face, and lead her onto the dance floor.
Alas, he would have to wait until the supper dance to talk with her. Before Sebastian could chart a course to the card room next door, his mother appeared with yet another marriage candidate for his perusal.
