‘Oh, I remember Percy!’ Kitty beamed again. ‘Though I wonder what Sir Charles was doing there. They say he’s been acting very strangely of late. How does she know him?’
‘A family friend, I think. What do you mean, strangely?’
‘Making extravagant purchases, that sort of thing. He’s had the whole of his house redecorated, bought a new carriage, new horses, too. They say it looks like he’s getting married, not that anyone believes it.’
Robert frowned thoughtfully. That clinched it, then. At least the Baronet’s intentions towards Miss Holt were honourable, though his behaviour seemed somewhat pre-emptive. He seemed to be making preparations for a wedding before asking the bride. Had he even considered that she might refuse him?
In which case, how would he react when she did?
‘So you’ll introduce me to her tonight?’
‘Mmm?’
‘You’ll introduce me to Miss Holt tonight?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled at Kitty’s persistence. ‘Though first we ought to go and listen to your husband’s speech.’
Giles harrumphed loudly. ‘You two remember that, do you? I thought my nerves had been entirely forgotten.’
‘Don’t be silly, darling.’ Kitty released Robert’s arm to squeeze both of hers around her husband’s waist. ‘You’ll be marvellous. And I promise not to say another word about Miss Holt until dinner.’
Chapter Five
Ianthe ran her hands over the satin bodice of her borrowed gown with a sigh of pleasure. Whoever Mr Felstone’s friend was, she had exquisite taste.
The design was beautiful in its very simplicity, plain but fashionable, with low sloping shoulders, short lace sleeves and a tight-fitting bodice that ended in a point at her waist. Below that, the material flared out like a silk waterfall, hemmed at the edges with white lace, though not enough to detract from the gorgeousness of the fabric itself. The whole thing fitted so perfectly that she could almost imagine it had been made specifically for her. If she’d been able to choose a gown for herself, she could hardly have done any better.
She gave an enthusiastic twirl in front of the mirror, the dress itself seeming to lift her spirits. After months of dressing in unrelenting black and dark grey, the lighter shade was a relief, the silvery tint perfectly complimenting the paler threads in her hair and giving them a vibrancy she wasn’t accustomed to. Under its heady influence, she’d actually been tempted to shun her usual severe hairstyle in favour of more fashionable ringlets, though she’d finally settled on a sensible loose chignon instead, held in place with a hairnet. After all, Sir Charles would be at the ball and she’d no wish to encourage him by seeming frivolous. Not to mention Mr Felstone...though he’d said that he liked sensible.
Would he like her appearance tonight? she wondered.
She caught her breath, recalling the sudden, unexpected and strangely thrilling sensation that had flared in her chest and then raced through her body as their fingers had touched. It had only been a few seconds, but her stomach had seemed to swoop and then dip alarmingly. Had he felt it, too? His expression had seemed to freeze for a moment, though he’d given no indication of any deeper feeling. If anything, he’d looked almost angry when he’d left. Probably she’d simply imagined it and he hadn’t felt anything, yet she had. She most definitely had.
That it had happened at all was disturbing. She’d entered her aunt’s parlour feeling one way towards him and come out again feeling another entirely. Not that she knew what it was. She was still too shocked by his proposal to know what she felt beside confused. She’d been grateful to him for staying when she’d asked, but surely the sudden connection between them hadn’t simply been gratitude? She’d never felt anything quite so disorienting before, not even with Albert...
Not that it mattered, she told herself firmly. She still had absolutely no intention of accepting his offer, especially not now. Whatever she’d felt when they’d touched, she had no intention of making a fool of herself by repeating the experience. It certainly wasn’t something a sensible, respectable woman ought to feel. It was more like one of the baser urges Albert’s mother had accused her of. The new Ianthe wouldn’t stoop to such urges—nor would Mr Felstone want her to. If it was sensible and respectable he wanted, then he ought to take the next train back to Whitby and leave her alone. If it hadn’t been for Albert, she might have considered his proposal, but now it was utterly out of the question. If she accepted his offer then she’d be honour-bound to tell him the whole humiliating truth about her past. And she had absolutely no intention of doing that.
In which case, she really ought not to be wearing his loaned gown, but it was impossible to resist. She’d never worn anything that looked and felt quite so gorgeous. And she was making a point to Sir Charles, she told herself. That was her real reason for wearing it—nothing to do with Mr Felstone at all. Whatever he thought of her was irrelevant. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept his offer and she’d tell him so tonight. She’d be calm and collected and not the least bit distracted. Just as long as he didn’t touch her... Her stomach flipped over again at the thought. Perhaps a ball wasn’t such a good idea after all.
‘You look beautiful, dear.’ Aunt Sophoria clasped her hands together admiringly as she entered the parlour. ‘Your Mr Felstone will be very impressed.’
Ianthe gave her a remonstrative look. ‘He’s not my Mr Felstone, Aunt.’
‘No? He doesn’t make calls on any other young ladies in Pickering as far as I know.’
‘Maybe he’s discreet.’
‘Good gracious,’ Aunt Sophoria chuckled. ‘You sound like me. And I thought you were a romantic like your mother.’
‘I used to be.’
She regretted the words the instant they were out of her mouth. Why had she said that? She didn’t want to think about who she used to be... Not to mention that Aunt Sophoria was now looking at her with a distinctly inquisitive expression.
‘Do we have to go tonight, Aunt?’ She turned her face away evasively.
‘Not if you don’t want to, dear. Is something the matter?’
‘No. It’s just...I haven’t danced in so long. Balls, dances, entertainments like that...they seem to belong to another life somehow.’