Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows 5)
“Sally,” she heard a voice say like an echo. “Amy is going upstairs to get ready to leave. Do you want to come and help her?”
At Helena’s interruption, exasperation flashed in Sir Charles’s dark eyes. For a fraught moment, Sally continued to stare into his face. Somewhere deep inside her, she wondered if she knew him at all. Today he wasn’t the amusing, informative companion who had so enriched these last weeks.
She gave herself a mental shake. Of course she knew him. He was her good friend and the perfect match for Meg. Weddings often had a strange effect on people—and unless she’d completely lost her mind, she was sure Sir Charles was contemplating a wedding of his own.
“Of course,” she murmured, stepping past him toward Helena. She took her first full breath in what felt like hours. The chat had become rather oppressive, as if world-shaking revelations hovered close. “Will you excuse me, Sir Charles?”
He bowed. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at the opera.”
She smiled, surprised at the effort it took. “Meg and I look forward to it.”
Which was a lie. Meg found the opera a complete bore, although she enjoyed meeting her friends in the interval.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You two looked very chummy,” Helena murmured, as they made their way up to the rooms Silas had set aside for his sister’s use today.
Sally tried for a lighthearted tone, but her voice emerged unnaturally high. “I thought he was about to declare himself.”
Helena stumbled to a stop on the stairs and stared at Sally with bright black eyes. “Sally, really?”
Sally gave her friend a puzzled glance. “He’s been hanging after Meg for weeks. A proposal is well overdue.”
The light ebbed from Helena’s eyes, and she spoke in a flat voice. “Meg.”
Sally frowned. Everyone was acting peculiar today. First Sir Charles calling her Sally when they were mere acquaintances, then that strange, fractious conversation about things he really had no right to comment upon. Now Helena acted as if she doubted Sally’s sanity.
“Of course Meg,” she said curtly. “The man must have come to Town in search of a wife. He’s reached the age where he needs to set up his nursery. And Meg is perfect for him. He clearly agrees. In the last eight weeks, she’s hardly attended an event without him paying his attentions.”
“To Meg.”
Sally made a sound of annoyance. “Plague take you, I can’t see why you object. I thought you liked him.”
Helena’s laugh contained its usual sardonic edge. “Oh, I do. And I know you do, too.”
“Of course I do. Otherwise I wouldn’t want him to marry my niece. What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?”
Helena’s expression was disgusted. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
And on that enigmatic note, she sailed into Amy’s boudoir and left Sally scowling after her in complete bewilderment.
* * *
Chapter Three
* * *
Sir Charles Kinglake was a fellow who appreciated the finer things in life. So usually a performance of “The Marriage of Figaro,” featuring a famous Italian soprano, would have him alert to every note.
Instead he was too busy gnashing his teeth over the marriage of Charles Kinglake to give Signora Strozzi the attention she deserved.
He sat between Sally Cowan and her niece in his box at the Italian Opera House. Just behind him sat his other guests, the charming Lady Kenwick and her rough diamond, but brilliant husband. Sublime music flowed around him, but it might as well be tomcats yowling.
/> Charles felt rather like a frustrated tomcat himself. For the past two months, he’d existed in a lather of balked desire for a woman who persisted in thinking of him as a friend not a lover.
Right now, Sally’s gloved hand draped over the edge of the box, mere inches from his. His hand curled against the chair arm as he fought the urge to reach out and touch her. She sat close enough for him to catch the enticing drift of her subtle perfume, flowers and lovely woman.
Yet for all the attention she paid to him as a potential husband, she might as well be in far Cathay. He bit back a growl. What the devil was wrong with Sally Cowan?