Page 32 of A Lovely White Christmastide
Mr. Caleb Waverly glanced at his uncle, irritation evident in the set of his shoulders and the slant of his eyebrows. But he smoothed it away, good breeding winning out.
Grateful for the general’s intervention, Carswell crossed the room to Miss Haynes.
“Care to take a turn about the room?” he asked when he reached her.
“I would, thank you.” Miss Haynes’s fingers fluttered at her throat a moment before settling back in her lap.
It was an odd idiosyncrasy that he’d witnessed multiple times since they’d arrived and he wondered at its significance. Was she nervous?
The oldest Miss Crane sitting nearest her glanced between them and frowned. Carswell tried to ignore her, but the way she peered at Miss Haynes made him uneasy. Was she the competitive type that made things miserable for other ladies if her gentleman of choice preferred company other than hers?
A subtle move from that quarter as Miss Haynes rose answered the question, but Carswell was ready, deftly catching her when her skirt snagged on the foot that hadaccidentallylanded on it. For the second time in less than a week he found himself staring into her pretty blue eyes.
“Thank you again, Lord Bingham,” she said with a smile. “You are a handy person to have about. I only wish I did not find myself in so many situations where you had to play the rescuer.”
His lips tipped up. “And deprive me of the chance to be a knight on a white horse?” He made certain she had her footing, then let go.
Her eyes danced. “Do you aspire to knighthood? I would think it a step down from a baron.”
“Yes, but far more romantic. Why else would so many writers and poets immortalize them in their work?”
“I had not taken you for a romantic.”
They began a slow circuit. Truthfully, he was not, but having a woman around as intriguing as Miss Haynes made him think more on the comfort of a wife than he ever had before.
“I suppose I am as inclined as the next person to adopt the fanciful dream of love.”
“A dream? Do you not hold love as a fact?”
“It is hard to view an emotion as concrete when one has little experience with it.”
Miss Haynes pursed her lips. “Have you not felt the love of a parent or sibling?”
He nearly snorted in derision. “My mother passed away when I was young and my father could hardly be bothered with a second son. As for my older brother, we were never close in age or ideals. I do have a younger sister of whom I am fond.”
“And you do not consider that love?”
How had they gotten onto such a frank discussion of his personal life? He was supposed to be asking her about her dislike of the musicale.
“Perhaps, but it holds none of the attributes of the type of love written about in books.”
“To be sure, but it is a start. Love is not a dream, Lord Bingham, but a reality.” She pushed a blonde curl out of her face and muttered something.
He swore he heard her say “sometimesa painful one” but that could not be right. Certainly such a firm believer in love as she would ascribe to the idyllic imagery of eternal happiness and joy.
“I will have to take your word on the subject until I have my own experience.” He glanced around at the room's occupants before returning his focus to her.
Her cheeks flushed. “Forgive me. This is hardly an appropriate discussion for a drawing room where so many might overhear and possibly misunderstand.”
“There is nothing to forgive. But I understand, perhaps we should speak of other things.”
Silence settled between them. He’d not meant to make her uncomfortable. They passed the large stone hearth, the warmth of the blaze a little too overwhelming when he got this close.Near the windows he finally gathered his courage to ask about her distressed expression from earlier.
“What are your thoughts on Mrs. Waverly’s musicale?”
“I should have liked to have been informed before she announced such an undertaking to the others.”
“She did not approach you about performing?”
