brimming
with excitement at the prospect of their visit.
When
the day arrived, I selected the least hideous of my drab black mourning gowns
and was fairly pleased with my reflection in the looking glass. Unfortunately,
the feeling did not last long. When my maid affixed the dreadful widow’s bonnet
upon my head, I was instantly transformed into a cross between a pinched-faced
old dowager and the Grim Reaper.
I
was in the drawing room when I heard the carriage coming up the drive. Giddy
with excitement, I flitted about the room, trying to decide where I ought to be
standing when they were announced. As it happens, I was standing next to the
chimneypiece when Mr. Grady entered the room.
“Lady
Hollingsworth, may I present Lady Caroline Chatham and Lord George Chatham?”
And
with a bow, the butler slipped away.
“How
very nice to see you again,” I said, crossing the room to welcome them, and I
could not have been more sincere.
Caroline
was every bit as lovely as I recalled. The shy smile on her lips indicated that
she had not changed in terms of personality, that she was still a bit bashful.
On
the contrary, George had a mischievous sort of look in his dark brown eyes, a
playful smile on his lips and a confident, carefree sort of air about him. My,
but he was handsome! Tall and stately, he had a beautifully shaped face and a
head of thick, dark hair. This certainly came as a surprise to me. I didn’t
recall being struck by his good looks during our previous encounters, but then
again, I was but a girl back then, and so perhaps I didn’t notice such things.
“The
pleasure is mine, Lady Hollingsworth,” George said with a bow. “And might I say
you’re every bit as lovely and enchanting as I recall.”
It
was all I could do not to scoff at his remark. I knew I looked anything but
lovely and enchanting in the drab ensemble of a widow.
Instead,
I shot him a look of disbelief and said, “How very kind of you to say. But I
must insist that you call me Elsa.”
“Only
if you call me George.”
I bowed
my head in a slow, deliberate nod, doing my very best to ignore the quickening
of my heartbeat.
“And
you must call me Caroline.”
The
soft, gentle tone of my other caller’s words made my heart beat even faster,
for I fretted that she had somehow sensed a change in the atmosphere. Was it
clear to Caroline—or to George, for that matter—that I felt
instantly drawn towards the handsome man now standing before me?
I
certainly hoped not. For a widow to behave in such an inappropriate way was
unthinkable. It was the sort of thing that caused the worst sort of scandal.
“I
will, of course,” I said to Caroline with my brightest smile.
“Won’t
you please come in?” I said, motioning for them to follow me to the clusters of
sofas and chairs on the far end of the room.
We
passed a delightful hour sharing news of various events that had occurred over
the past decade or so. I was pleased to learn that their sister Grace was now
living in Shropshire with her husband, a marquess, and their two young
children. George told me about his studies at Oxford, and Caroline told me
about her travels on the Continent.
After
an hour or so, Caroline asked me where one might find the water closet. I
explained that there was one on the other end of the hall, and she excused
herself, leaving me alone in the drawing room with George.
Sadly,
the relaxed, amiable atmosphere that had filled the room during their visit
shifted abruptly once Caroline left the room. In any case, that was how it felt
to me. George and I exchanged an awkward smile before turning our gazes quickly
away from one another.
Could
it be that he felt the same powerful attraction towards me that I felt towards
him? It hardly seemed possible, seeing that I was clad in my drab widow’s
ensemble. Even so, I had the distinct feeling that his interest in me went
beyond that of a mere acquaintance. Something about the look in his dark eyes
when he was asking
with excitement at the prospect of their visit.
When
the day arrived, I selected the least hideous of my drab black mourning gowns
and was fairly pleased with my reflection in the looking glass. Unfortunately,
the feeling did not last long. When my maid affixed the dreadful widow’s bonnet
upon my head, I was instantly transformed into a cross between a pinched-faced
old dowager and the Grim Reaper.
I
was in the drawing room when I heard the carriage coming up the drive. Giddy
with excitement, I flitted about the room, trying to decide where I ought to be
standing when they were announced. As it happens, I was standing next to the
chimneypiece when Mr. Grady entered the room.
“Lady
Hollingsworth, may I present Lady Caroline Chatham and Lord George Chatham?”
And
with a bow, the butler slipped away.
“How
very nice to see you again,” I said, crossing the room to welcome them, and I
could not have been more sincere.
Caroline
was every bit as lovely as I recalled. The shy smile on her lips indicated that
she had not changed in terms of personality, that she was still a bit bashful.
On
the contrary, George had a mischievous sort of look in his dark brown eyes, a
playful smile on his lips and a confident, carefree sort of air about him. My,
but he was handsome! Tall and stately, he had a beautifully shaped face and a
head of thick, dark hair. This certainly came as a surprise to me. I didn’t
recall being struck by his good looks during our previous encounters, but then
again, I was but a girl back then, and so perhaps I didn’t notice such things.
“The
pleasure is mine, Lady Hollingsworth,” George said with a bow. “And might I say
you’re every bit as lovely and enchanting as I recall.”
It
was all I could do not to scoff at his remark. I knew I looked anything but
lovely and enchanting in the drab ensemble of a widow.
Instead,
I shot him a look of disbelief and said, “How very kind of you to say. But I
must insist that you call me Elsa.”
“Only
if you call me George.”
I bowed
my head in a slow, deliberate nod, doing my very best to ignore the quickening
of my heartbeat.
“And
you must call me Caroline.”
The
soft, gentle tone of my other caller’s words made my heart beat even faster,
for I fretted that she had somehow sensed a change in the atmosphere. Was it
clear to Caroline—or to George, for that matter—that I felt
instantly drawn towards the handsome man now standing before me?
I
certainly hoped not. For a widow to behave in such an inappropriate way was
unthinkable. It was the sort of thing that caused the worst sort of scandal.
“I
will, of course,” I said to Caroline with my brightest smile.
“Won’t
you please come in?” I said, motioning for them to follow me to the clusters of
sofas and chairs on the far end of the room.
We
passed a delightful hour sharing news of various events that had occurred over
the past decade or so. I was pleased to learn that their sister Grace was now
living in Shropshire with her husband, a marquess, and their two young
children. George told me about his studies at Oxford, and Caroline told me
about her travels on the Continent.
After
an hour or so, Caroline asked me where one might find the water closet. I
explained that there was one on the other end of the hall, and she excused
herself, leaving me alone in the drawing room with George.
Sadly,
the relaxed, amiable atmosphere that had filled the room during their visit
shifted abruptly once Caroline left the room. In any case, that was how it felt
to me. George and I exchanged an awkward smile before turning our gazes quickly
away from one another.
Could
it be that he felt the same powerful attraction towards me that I felt towards
him? It hardly seemed possible, seeing that I was clad in my drab widow’s
ensemble. Even so, I had the distinct feeling that his interest in me went
beyond that of a mere acquaintance. Something about the look in his dark eyes
when he was asking
Similar Books
