Chapter 9 Kitty #2
“Ah, but that’s fiction, Miss Grenville,” he teased, drawing closer. “In real life, no one is that patient. I daresay even you would grow weary of such an aloof gentleman. A lady deserves someone who will move mountains for her, not leave her guessing on a ballroom floor.”
“Would I?” I asked as I rose from my chair and faced him.
“You seem very certain of yourself, Mr. Sinclair, regarding my preferences. If you had read the novel, you would also know that Mr. Darcy protects Miss Bennet’s reputation in the end, and at great personal cost to his family name.
Can you think of anything more romantic than that gesture? ”
Edward cleared his throat loudly. “Flowers, Kit. Lovely flowers await you in the drawing room. Shall we take a look?”
Sebastian didn’t seem put out by my rankled tone, nor did he answer my brother. Instead, with an amused twinkle in his eyes, he folded his arms across his chest as if enjoying my ire.
“I confess I haven’t read it. My sister-in-law gave me the entire plot over tea one afternoon—at great length, I might add.”
“I quite prefer Mr. Darcy, I’ll have you know,” I added in my frostiest tone while studying the exasperating man in front of me. I frowned. What was—“Good heavens, Mr. Sinclair! You cut your hair!”
I could have clapped a hand over my mouth after I said it.
To my surprise, he blushed and palmed the back of his neck. “When in London, it seems best to dress as a Londoner. I have your brother to thank for the tailor this morning.”
“No one wears fashion better than Brummell,” my brother added with a grin as he studied my reaction. “I told my tailor to pattern our Sinclair after London’s most fashionable man.”
I could not deny how the shortened length highlighted Sebastian’s firm jaw and fine features.
In fact, now that I looked, he also wore trousers instead of breeches and tights.
And the waistcoat in steely gray matched the color of his eyes.
His hair, not as tousled as Edward’s, had the tiniest hint of being windblown, as was the style.
“Ah, well . . .” I slid my letter into my book to avoid saying anything further that might embarrass me, then hurried out the door before realizing I had surpassed both men in my speed to reach the drawing room.
I gasped at the bouquets arranged on the marble-top table. Hitchens, our butler, appeared with a tray of calling cards. The brief swell of relief at Grandfather’s absence vanished as Aunt fluttered into the room, all smiles and schemes.
“Flowers?” She perked up immediately, then frowned. “But I thought the colonel refused all callers today?”
Hitchens nodded toward the flowers. “Lord Chudley hoped for a visit. I’m afraid I had to turn him away. I believe a Mrs. Haverstead also wished to pay her respects.”
Aunt beamed as she glanced at me, her tone taking on an almost saccharine quality.
“I know Mrs. Haverstead from way back. We were presented together as young women. I cannot wait to tell her what a success our Kitty was last night.” She tilted her head and added, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Such a memorable evening. Everyone’s still talking about it. ”
My stomach churned. There it was—the pointed comment informing me that she knew about the cartoon. Of course she knew. Aunt adored gossip, and she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to wield it.
The shame pinched anew, and I kept my face carefully neutral. But Lord Chudley had called! He had tried to see me, even if Grandfather turned him away.
I approached the table, my low spirits lifting considerably as I regarded the camellias. They were almost porcelain in appearance, with waxy leaves. I bent down to sniff them. Luxurious. Lovely. The fragrance tickled my nose.
“You do realize they mean admiration and perfect loveliness,” Aunt gushed as she reached out to touch a blossom. “Why, Mr. Sinclair, your gift is perfect!”
My heart stuttered. The boldest flowers came from Mr. Sinclair?
I fingered the card attached to the white flowers.
Dear Miss Grenville,
I trust this note finds you well after last evening’s delightful ball. Allow me to express my sincere gratitude for the honor of your company on the dance floor, not once, but twice. It was a pleasure beyond words, and I found our conversation as engaging as the dances themselves.
I am certain you captivated the assembly as much as you captivated me. If it would not be too forward, I would be most delighted to call upon you at your earliest convenience. I look forward to the chance of another conversation as stimulating as those we shared during our dances.
Until then, I remain,
Yours with the highest regard,
Chudley
I pressed a hand against my chest, soaking in those delightful words. His sister’s actions had alarmed me, but Lord Chudley proved completely the opposite. A perfect gentleman, eager in all the ways that mattered.
“I fear those are not my flowers,” came a low voice. I glanced back at Sebastian.
He frowned at the enormous bouquet. “I brought violets.”
Posies. I glanced behind the arrangement to see a charming bouquet of delicate flowers, so sweet and springlike. In a daze, I set down the card from Lord Chudley.
“Th-thank you,” I stammered as I reached for it, surprised to see the silver posy vase with the etching of a single vine.
“Faithfulness,” murmured Aunt, far more knowledgeable about the secret messages of flowers than I. “Lovely, Mr. Sinclair. Quite lovely.”
Also understated like the man beside me, who for some reason had rescued my brother from mysterious circumstances last night at the ball, danced with me only one time and with no one else, and now offered me the simplest of flowers.
He smiled again at me, the expression transforming his face.
Mr. Sebastian Sinclair was really quite a handsome man.
It wouldn’t do to get caught acting goggle-eyed. After all, I had no intention of marrying him.