Page 26 of A Wallflower's Wassail Punch
She shrugged.“If it were a love match, I’d be devastated.But since that probably won’t be the case, I’m not sure.”
“Something to keep in the back of your mind.”
“We can’t forget the gentleman coming with William, another barrister.”Annette leaned against the back of the brocade sofa, smiling.
“You’re not thinking of either of those gentlemen now.Who’s on your mind?”prodded Alice.“We haven’t mentioned Lord Weston.”
“He’s not a suitor.”
“He looks like one to me.Comforting you last night, an early morning ride, thelast man standingon the ice.”Alice cocked a brow.“Handsome, fit, intelligent, wealthy, and unattached.”
“And Papa’s friend.”
“What bothers you?The fact he’s known your father for years, or the fact he’s close to Henry’s age?”
“Close?I thought he was Papa’s age.”Annette sat up.Was he not as old as she’d thought?Those wings began a flutter in her stomach again.
“Weston’s older brother went to Oxford with Henry.Your father enrolled at a late age, for financial reasons, and was older than the late viscount, but they were very close.The family lived in the town, so Henry was a frequent guest at the Westons.He considered the present Lord Weston like a younger brother.”Alice pursed her lips in thought.“I believe Weston is seven or eight years younger than your father.”
Annette’s mind whirled.Still quite a difference in years, though not nearly as many as she’d thought.
“That makes Weston about forty-one or forty-two,” supplied Alice.“You’ll soon be twenty-four, so there’s a difference of seventeen or eighteen years.Not so bad.”
No, it wasn’t horrible.“What would Papa say?”
“He’d say whatever makes you happy.Are you considering it?”
“I will take your advice,” Annette said with a smile, “and keep an open mind.”
“That’s my girl.”
The men came in, and Lady Henney ordered chocolate for her and Annette.“Shall we play a game of charades?”
“I’m happy to join in, but I warn you I’m terribly slow,” admitted Fitzjames good-naturedly.“Hawk is the one to beat at any game needing a clever player.”
“Thank you,” said Mr.Hawkesbury with a nod at his friend.“I may be able to redeem myself after splaying myself across the ice earlier.”
“Wonderful.Let’s get seated.”A chaise longue had been added to the arrangement in front of the hearth to provide seating for the larger group.“Nettie, sit here with Lord Weston.”Lady Henney pointed to the chaise longue.“Beecham and I will take the sofa.Lucius and his guests will have the chairs.”
“I’ll begin,” said Annette, needing a distraction from the viscount—the not-as-old-as-she-thought viscount—who had set the butterflies flapping in her stomach as he settled next to her.His spicy scent tickled her nose as she searched her brain for a good riddle.Ah!
“My first is in harvest rarely known,
Nor would it welcome be.
My next in country or in town,
Each debutante delights to see.
And when drear winter’s dress is shown,
In joyous play my whole is thrown.”
“Harvest is a season,” said Fitzjames with glee, “and debutantes have a Season.”
“So, the word is season Season?”Lucius chortled.“Better let Hawk have a try.”
“Hmm, not welcome in harvest… blight, a frost… snow.”Mr.Hawkesbury tapped his heel.“What’s thrown?”
