my aunt in the garden, you see . . .”
“Of course.” He guided her to a chair. “Please rest yourself, my dear.”
Virginia forced herself to smile as he hovered over her like she might break. This was not working. Perhaps she should suddenly take ill. With a sigh of relief, she heard the musicians warming up.
William sat beside her. “May I address you by your given name?”
“Yes, ’tis Virginia.” She leaned slightly to the side in order to see into the adjoining parlor. What was Quincy Stanton doing? And who was that shorter man in plum velvet at his side? She jumped in her seat, startled when the captain suddenly clasped her hand in his.
“I remember your name, Virginia, from when you first introduced yourself. I have called you that in my mind ever since.”
She blinked dumbly at him, wondering why she was not more affected. Didn’t young ladies dream of receiving attention like this? He was very handsome with his sandy blond hair and clear blue eyes. Shouldn’t her heart pound?
Perhaps, having convinced herself of the unlikelihood of her ever marrying, she was now immune to such feelings. But her heart did race when she encountered Quincy Stanton. She had told herself it was her natural curiosity that excited her in his presence, the enticing lure of solving the mystery that surrounded him and his puzzling behavior.
She frowned. But what if it was something more?
The captain patted her hand. “I beg your pardon, Virginia. I see by your countenance I am too forward and have shocked your delicate nature.”
She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Her delicate nature? She once took revenge on her brother by stuffing a frog down his breeches. And the captain thought he was bold for using her name and holding her hand? He should take lessons from Mr. Stanton.
The now-familiar memory swept over her—Quincy Stanton inserting his thumb into her neckline and sliding it down. She responded in her usual manner. Her cheeks heated up, and she grew short of breath. Be honest with yourself. You feel more than curiosity for him.
“Forgive me.” William released her hand. “I can see I have rushed you.”
“Excuse me?” She cast the captain a confused look. She truly should pay more attention to the poor man. He tried so hard.
An unexpected shriek distracted her. She glanced up to locate the source.
Quincy Stanton leaned against the door frame between the two parlors, studying her, apparently unfazed by the feminine sound of horror that had erupted from the room behind him.
Virginia’s eyes met his. The searching look he gave her seemed to reach down into her soul. She gripped her hands together as her heart expanded in her chest.
The source of the shriek, Miss Higgenbottom, stormed out of the adjoining parlor, her normally white skin flushed pink from her neckline to her hairline. She halted beside Mr. Stanton, her blue eyes flashing and blond curls trembling as she shook with anger. “How dare you deceive me, Quincy!”
Everyone in the two parlors hushed. All eyes turned to witness the evening’s entertainment.
Quincy Stanton retained his casual pose and calmly removed his snuffbox. “Come now, Miss Higgenbottom. I behave like a bastard. Surely, it should come as no surprise that I am one.”
A collective gasp surged across the two rooms, followed by a wave of hushed whispers.
Miss Higgenbottom clenched her closed fan in tight fists. “You said you were the eldest son of the Earl of Dearlington.”
“I am, but if you’re interested in the title, I suggest you focus your efforts on my brother.” He shrugged one shoulder in an uncaring gesture. “ C’est la vie, chérie. ”
The fan snapped in Miss Higgenbottom’s hands, and she stumbled back. Her mother bustled over, and with a contemptuous glare directed at Quincy, she escorted her daughter from the room.
“Well, well,” William Breakwell whispered to Virginia. “The truth about the ill-mannered Stanton has finally come to
“Of course.” He guided her to a chair. “Please rest yourself, my dear.”
Virginia forced herself to smile as he hovered over her like she might break. This was not working. Perhaps she should suddenly take ill. With a sigh of relief, she heard the musicians warming up.
William sat beside her. “May I address you by your given name?”
“Yes, ’tis Virginia.” She leaned slightly to the side in order to see into the adjoining parlor. What was Quincy Stanton doing? And who was that shorter man in plum velvet at his side? She jumped in her seat, startled when the captain suddenly clasped her hand in his.
“I remember your name, Virginia, from when you first introduced yourself. I have called you that in my mind ever since.”
She blinked dumbly at him, wondering why she was not more affected. Didn’t young ladies dream of receiving attention like this? He was very handsome with his sandy blond hair and clear blue eyes. Shouldn’t her heart pound?
Perhaps, having convinced herself of the unlikelihood of her ever marrying, she was now immune to such feelings. But her heart did race when she encountered Quincy Stanton. She had told herself it was her natural curiosity that excited her in his presence, the enticing lure of solving the mystery that surrounded him and his puzzling behavior.
She frowned. But what if it was something more?
The captain patted her hand. “I beg your pardon, Virginia. I see by your countenance I am too forward and have shocked your delicate nature.”
She bit her lip to keep from grinning. Her delicate nature? She once took revenge on her brother by stuffing a frog down his breeches. And the captain thought he was bold for using her name and holding her hand? He should take lessons from Mr. Stanton.
The now-familiar memory swept over her—Quincy Stanton inserting his thumb into her neckline and sliding it down. She responded in her usual manner. Her cheeks heated up, and she grew short of breath. Be honest with yourself. You feel more than curiosity for him.
“Forgive me.” William released her hand. “I can see I have rushed you.”
“Excuse me?” She cast the captain a confused look. She truly should pay more attention to the poor man. He tried so hard.
An unexpected shriek distracted her. She glanced up to locate the source.
Quincy Stanton leaned against the door frame between the two parlors, studying her, apparently unfazed by the feminine sound of horror that had erupted from the room behind him.
Virginia’s eyes met his. The searching look he gave her seemed to reach down into her soul. She gripped her hands together as her heart expanded in her chest.
The source of the shriek, Miss Higgenbottom, stormed out of the adjoining parlor, her normally white skin flushed pink from her neckline to her hairline. She halted beside Mr. Stanton, her blue eyes flashing and blond curls trembling as she shook with anger. “How dare you deceive me, Quincy!”
Everyone in the two parlors hushed. All eyes turned to witness the evening’s entertainment.
Quincy Stanton retained his casual pose and calmly removed his snuffbox. “Come now, Miss Higgenbottom. I behave like a bastard. Surely, it should come as no surprise that I am one.”
A collective gasp surged across the two rooms, followed by a wave of hushed whispers.
Miss Higgenbottom clenched her closed fan in tight fists. “You said you were the eldest son of the Earl of Dearlington.”
“I am, but if you’re interested in the title, I suggest you focus your efforts on my brother.” He shrugged one shoulder in an uncaring gesture. “ C’est la vie, chérie. ”
The fan snapped in Miss Higgenbottom’s hands, and she stumbled back. Her mother bustled over, and with a contemptuous glare directed at Quincy, she escorted her daughter from the room.
“Well, well,” William Breakwell whispered to Virginia. “The truth about the ill-mannered Stanton has finally come to
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