Page 16 of Charming Sir Charles
Hell, what did all this mean? Had she somehow guessed he meant to propose tonight and the idea filled her with horror? Dear God, surely that couldn’t be the problem.
Sally looked like her best friend had just died. What in creation was the matter? He racked his brains, but he still for the life of him couldn’t work out any reason for her behavior.
She caught him looking at her, and she plastered on a smile. But the bitter unhappiness lingered in her eyes.
He loathed seeing her like this. He wanted to battle all her dragons, keep her safe, make her happy. But right now, he fought an invisible enemy.
“Shall we go through to dinner?” Helena gestured to Charles to take her into the dining room.
As the others made up couples, with the exception of Brandon who sauntered in last, they went through and found their places.
Charles had hoped to sit beside Sally, where he had a chance at a private word, but Helena had placed him on her right. A position of honor certainly – he wished to God he appreciated it.
“Don’t give up hope,” Helena murmured as he helped her to her seat.
Charles’s faint laugh was tinged with displeasure. “What in Hades? Are you all aware of my plans?”
Helena’s glance fell on Sally who sat further down the table. She was glittering at Carey who looked appropriately dazzled. “No, I don’t think we all are. But you’ll get there in the end.”
Charles studied his beloved, and couldn’t help feeling Helena was overly optimistic. Tonight Sally seemed set on captivating every male here, with the exception of the one who wanted to marry her.
He supposed he should be grateful that the party included two happily married men and a pair of striplings not yet twenty-one. But watching the woman he loved preen and flirt with those two handsome young pups set his teeth on edge.
* * *
Charles was grateful that discussion centered on politics when the gentlemen lingered behind for their port. He avoided Stone’s meaningful looks and took an extra glass, but the premonition of disaster looming ahead only tangled his gut into tighter knots.
Over dinner, Sally had been witty and incandescent – and she still hadn’t looked at him. He’d combed his memory for some way that he’d offended her. But he couldn’t think of a thing. When they’d parted after seeing West’s art collection, she’d seemed as friendly as ever.
To think, he’d found that cause for complaint.
When the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, Sally looked up at his entrance, then her gaze slid off him and landed on West and Silas. Charles braced for more blasted glittering, but she remained quiet. And strangely sad, despite the smile fixed to her face. The smile wasn’t terribly convincing.
“What do you think this weather is going to do?” Caro asked from the sofa, where she sat beside Helena.
“Spring rain here can settle in and last for days, I’m afraid.” West moved forward to rest his hand on his wife’s shoulder. Helena glanced up with a soft smile.
Charles ground his teeth. It wasn’t the night for him to appreciate other people’s marital bliss.
Meg, for once, wasn’t talking about horses. Instead she was flicking through a fashion magazine at a table in the corner. Brandon and Carey were absent. Charles guessed they were playing billiards. With great glee, they’d discovered the table this morning. Perhaps that was why Sally was sad – she’d lost her audience for her flirting.
Charles no longer held out any hope of proposing tonight. But he badly wanted to know what had upset Sally, and if he could do anything to help. He hated knowing that despite her show of effervescence, she was wretched.
He smiled at her. “Lady Norwood, I’m keen to see West’s Caravaggios by candlelight. Would you like to accompany me?”
“Perhaps not this evening, Sir Charles,” Sally said in a dull tone. And while every eye in the room focused on her with varying degrees of curiosity, Sally still talked to someone invisible standing just behind him.
She straightened, and he saw that she was still unusually pale. When she reached out to grip the mantelpiece, her long, slender fingers were rigid with tension.
What the devil? Even more concerned, Charles stepped forward. “Lady Norwood, aren’t you well?”
He saw her begin to shake her head, then she gave a jerky nod. “I have a slight headache.”
Helena’s expression held more speculation than sympathy, Charles noted. “Perhaps it’s being cooped up inside all day.”
Sally sent her a shaky smile. Hard to believe this was the creature who had scintillated with coruscating brilliance only half an hour ago. Perhaps she was genuinely ill, but the more Charles looked at her, the less he believed it.
No, something had upset her. He just wished to Hades he knew what it was. The sight of Sally Cowan fighting to contain her distress made him insane. He loathed that she shut him out.
