said, "We don't do that." Or, "We prefer this." Always using "we" in the royal sense. Other people might be allowed to forget their good manners, but not the McLains.
"It appears that we've bored her so badly that we've taken away her appetite." Charles Tolbert glanced at the food on Emily's plate. "You've barely eaten a bite. All you've done is play with your food."
Emily cringed. Charles was such a fussbudget. When she had described his personality to Nikki, she'd said, "He's as fussy as a crotchety old woman." He wasn't really. It was just that he was so highly organized, his life so structured, his habits so predictable, his opinions so set, that he made little allowance for mistakes—in himself or others. And Uncle Fowler doted on Charles, as he had once doted on Stuart. She couldn't help but wonder if Stuart had been as straitlaced and uptight as Charles was and she simply had been too young and too in love to notice.
"My dear, you don't seem quite yourself tonight." Fowler neatly folded his linen napkin and laid it beside his plate. "Is there something wrong? Something bothering you?"
Telling Uncle Fowler about Ray Mitchell would be easier if Charles wasn't sitting across the table from her. She supposed she should have known that her uncle would invite Charles to join them tonight. After all, he was determined to see her marry Charles and the two of them resume the life that he'd planned for Stuart and her. Although she had dated Charles on and off for mouths before she'd moved out on her own, there had never been anything romantic between them. At least not on her part. And she'd never said or done anything to lead Charles on. She was fond of him, thought of him as a friend, but she certainly didn't love him. And marriage to him was out of the question. She had tried to make Uncle Fowler understand, but he'd told her to give herself time, that he knew Charles was the perfect man for her.
"There's something I think you should know." Avoiding eye contact with either man, Emily glanced across the room at the English Regency sideboard topped by a pair of bronze Chinese vases. "I—I've been seeing someone for a couple of weeks now."
Charles strangled on the sip of coffee he'd just taken into his mouth His pale-brown eyes rounded in shock. Fowler straightened, stiffening his back.
"You've been seeing someone?" Fowler's jaw tightened; his eyes narrowed questioningly. "For a couple of weeks, and you're just now mentioning it to me?"
"I didn't want to give you something else to worry about," Emily explained, well aware that no matter how she handled this, her uncle would not he pleased. "I know you've been unhappy about my moving into Grammy's cottage and I know you think I'm insane for going into business with Nikki … and you've been so upset about the letters and phone calls. I just wanted to wait until I knew my relationship with Mitch was going to … to—"
"To what?" Charles asked. Pink stain splotched his pale face.
"Mitch? Mitch who?" The pulse in Fowler's throat throbbed. "Not that beach bum neighbor of yours? My God, girl, don't you realize he could be your tormentor."
"When you say 'seeing' him, do you mean 'dating' him?" Charles fiddled nervously with the handkerchief folded neatly into the front pocket of his navy blue blazer. A fastidious dresser, Charles always looked as if he'd just stepped from the pages of a GQ ad. But despite his attractive appearance, Emily found his light-brown hair and faded-brown eyes as boring as his personality.
She faced Charles. "Yes, I've been dating Mitch." She turned to her uncle. "Yes, Ray Mitchell is my neighbor. And he isn't a beach bum. He's a construction worker. He's helping build a new resort in
Gulf
Shores
for the Banning Construction Company. He and Zed Banning are personal friends."
"A construction worker?" Charles gasped. "You're dating a manual laborer? Whatever could you possibly see in a man like that?"
Emily groaned internally and tried not to
"It appears that we've bored her so badly that we've taken away her appetite." Charles Tolbert glanced at the food on Emily's plate. "You've barely eaten a bite. All you've done is play with your food."
Emily cringed. Charles was such a fussbudget. When she had described his personality to Nikki, she'd said, "He's as fussy as a crotchety old woman." He wasn't really. It was just that he was so highly organized, his life so structured, his habits so predictable, his opinions so set, that he made little allowance for mistakes—in himself or others. And Uncle Fowler doted on Charles, as he had once doted on Stuart. She couldn't help but wonder if Stuart had been as straitlaced and uptight as Charles was and she simply had been too young and too in love to notice.
"My dear, you don't seem quite yourself tonight." Fowler neatly folded his linen napkin and laid it beside his plate. "Is there something wrong? Something bothering you?"
Telling Uncle Fowler about Ray Mitchell would be easier if Charles wasn't sitting across the table from her. She supposed she should have known that her uncle would invite Charles to join them tonight. After all, he was determined to see her marry Charles and the two of them resume the life that he'd planned for Stuart and her. Although she had dated Charles on and off for mouths before she'd moved out on her own, there had never been anything romantic between them. At least not on her part. And she'd never said or done anything to lead Charles on. She was fond of him, thought of him as a friend, but she certainly didn't love him. And marriage to him was out of the question. She had tried to make Uncle Fowler understand, but he'd told her to give herself time, that he knew Charles was the perfect man for her.
"There's something I think you should know." Avoiding eye contact with either man, Emily glanced across the room at the English Regency sideboard topped by a pair of bronze Chinese vases. "I—I've been seeing someone for a couple of weeks now."
Charles strangled on the sip of coffee he'd just taken into his mouth His pale-brown eyes rounded in shock. Fowler straightened, stiffening his back.
"You've been seeing someone?" Fowler's jaw tightened; his eyes narrowed questioningly. "For a couple of weeks, and you're just now mentioning it to me?"
"I didn't want to give you something else to worry about," Emily explained, well aware that no matter how she handled this, her uncle would not he pleased. "I know you've been unhappy about my moving into Grammy's cottage and I know you think I'm insane for going into business with Nikki … and you've been so upset about the letters and phone calls. I just wanted to wait until I knew my relationship with Mitch was going to … to—"
"To what?" Charles asked. Pink stain splotched his pale face.
"Mitch? Mitch who?" The pulse in Fowler's throat throbbed. "Not that beach bum neighbor of yours? My God, girl, don't you realize he could be your tormentor."
"When you say 'seeing' him, do you mean 'dating' him?" Charles fiddled nervously with the handkerchief folded neatly into the front pocket of his navy blue blazer. A fastidious dresser, Charles always looked as if he'd just stepped from the pages of a GQ ad. But despite his attractive appearance, Emily found his light-brown hair and faded-brown eyes as boring as his personality.
She faced Charles. "Yes, I've been dating Mitch." She turned to her uncle. "Yes, Ray Mitchell is my neighbor. And he isn't a beach bum. He's a construction worker. He's helping build a new resort in
Gulf
Shores
for the Banning Construction Company. He and Zed Banning are personal friends."
"A construction worker?" Charles gasped. "You're dating a manual laborer? Whatever could you possibly see in a man like that?"
Emily groaned internally and tried not to
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