Theresa’s shoulders and read the cards over her head.
“Let’s see,” she said, looking through them one by one. “Lord Lionel, Montrose, Bertle—oh, goodness, you may have him.”
“Thank you, no. He has a very particular odor about him.”
She looked up at her brother. “You should attempt a dance with him.”
“Let’s put that one aside,” he said with a grin. “Who else?”
“Harriet, Lord Hayverton, Lord Wilcox…” She stopped to slide that card across the table to their grandmother. “A caller, Grandmama?”
“Hmm. Apparently that hat was even more impressive than we thought.” Chuckling, Agnes read the note scrawled across the back of the calling card, then set it aside. “Wilcox has invited me to go for a stroll this afternoon. How very nice!”
“Don’t wear the hat,” Michael advised. “You’ll have the poor baron suffering an apoplexy of lust.”
While her brother and grandmother bantered about the state of Lord Wilcox’s health, Theresa looked through the remaining cards. As she finished and stacked them all together again, she frowned. Nothing from Tolly James. Not a card, not a note, not a flower or even a bare stem.
“What’s amiss, my dear?”
Swiftly wiping away her scowl, Theresa looked up. “Nothing’s amiss, Grandmama. I have three invitations to luncheon.”
“I foresee two gentlemen with broken hearts.” Releasing her shoulders, Michael went to the sideboard to select his breakfast.
One luncheon companion, two broken hearts, and one broken head, if she had her way. She’d done everything she could think of to make Colonel James aware of her interest. And judging from a trio of supremely exemplary kisses, he was interested, as well. And yet he refused to call on her.
Perhaps he kissed so many women when no one else was looking that he simply hadn’t yet made his way to her particular door. This was unacceptable. It was maddening. Didn’t he realize that firstly she was considered a catch, and secondly he was rotten and unpleasant and was not considered a catch?
She pursed her lips. Honesty made her admit to herself that he wasn’t entirely unpleasant—not the way he looked at her sometimes, anyway—and that considering what had happened to him, he was perhaps entitled to be a bit…prickly from time to time. On the other hand, the heated kisses and horrific personal secrets with which he’d favored her, together with him otherwise completely ignoring her, was too much to bear.
Turning her annoyed, irritated growl into a cough, she pushed to her feet. “I forgot, I already made luncheon plans with Amelia,” she stated.
“Ah. Three broken hearts, then,” Michael amended with a grin. “You’re a cruel, cruel girl, Troll.”
Theresa paused in the doorway just long enough to stick her tongue out at her terribly amusing brother. Then she hurried upstairs to scribble out her regrets to her three would-be luncheon hosts, collect her maid and her hat, and attempt to figure out how she could accidently run across the colonel at James House and make certain he knew just how displeased she was—all without causing a stir.
Of course all of that would make her appear desperate for his attention, which she was most definitely not. Hmm. Perhaps she could accidently stumbleacross him and then ignore him. That would show him how little his kisses and his pretty eyes and his obvious courage impressed her.
By the time the family coach stopped at James House, she was ready for battle. After all, she had a dozen beaux trailing after her, and she’d had her fill of showing interest and kindness and empathy where none was returned. She’d never encountered the like before. Someone needed to teach that man a lesson.
Generally Graham opened the front door for her before her feet even left the coach. Today, though, she had to rap the brass, lion-shaped knocker against the door twice and then wait before it finally opened.
“Miss Weller,” the butler said,
“Let’s see,” she said, looking through them one by one. “Lord Lionel, Montrose, Bertle—oh, goodness, you may have him.”
“Thank you, no. He has a very particular odor about him.”
She looked up at her brother. “You should attempt a dance with him.”
“Let’s put that one aside,” he said with a grin. “Who else?”
“Harriet, Lord Hayverton, Lord Wilcox…” She stopped to slide that card across the table to their grandmother. “A caller, Grandmama?”
“Hmm. Apparently that hat was even more impressive than we thought.” Chuckling, Agnes read the note scrawled across the back of the calling card, then set it aside. “Wilcox has invited me to go for a stroll this afternoon. How very nice!”
“Don’t wear the hat,” Michael advised. “You’ll have the poor baron suffering an apoplexy of lust.”
While her brother and grandmother bantered about the state of Lord Wilcox’s health, Theresa looked through the remaining cards. As she finished and stacked them all together again, she frowned. Nothing from Tolly James. Not a card, not a note, not a flower or even a bare stem.
“What’s amiss, my dear?”
Swiftly wiping away her scowl, Theresa looked up. “Nothing’s amiss, Grandmama. I have three invitations to luncheon.”
“I foresee two gentlemen with broken hearts.” Releasing her shoulders, Michael went to the sideboard to select his breakfast.
One luncheon companion, two broken hearts, and one broken head, if she had her way. She’d done everything she could think of to make Colonel James aware of her interest. And judging from a trio of supremely exemplary kisses, he was interested, as well. And yet he refused to call on her.
Perhaps he kissed so many women when no one else was looking that he simply hadn’t yet made his way to her particular door. This was unacceptable. It was maddening. Didn’t he realize that firstly she was considered a catch, and secondly he was rotten and unpleasant and was not considered a catch?
She pursed her lips. Honesty made her admit to herself that he wasn’t entirely unpleasant—not the way he looked at her sometimes, anyway—and that considering what had happened to him, he was perhaps entitled to be a bit…prickly from time to time. On the other hand, the heated kisses and horrific personal secrets with which he’d favored her, together with him otherwise completely ignoring her, was too much to bear.
Turning her annoyed, irritated growl into a cough, she pushed to her feet. “I forgot, I already made luncheon plans with Amelia,” she stated.
“Ah. Three broken hearts, then,” Michael amended with a grin. “You’re a cruel, cruel girl, Troll.”
Theresa paused in the doorway just long enough to stick her tongue out at her terribly amusing brother. Then she hurried upstairs to scribble out her regrets to her three would-be luncheon hosts, collect her maid and her hat, and attempt to figure out how she could accidently run across the colonel at James House and make certain he knew just how displeased she was—all without causing a stir.
Of course all of that would make her appear desperate for his attention, which she was most definitely not. Hmm. Perhaps she could accidently stumbleacross him and then ignore him. That would show him how little his kisses and his pretty eyes and his obvious courage impressed her.
By the time the family coach stopped at James House, she was ready for battle. After all, she had a dozen beaux trailing after her, and she’d had her fill of showing interest and kindness and empathy where none was returned. She’d never encountered the like before. Someone needed to teach that man a lesson.
Generally Graham opened the front door for her before her feet even left the coach. Today, though, she had to rap the brass, lion-shaped knocker against the door twice and then wait before it finally opened.
“Miss Weller,” the butler said,
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