Page 42 of A Noble Affair
They stood at the table nearest the door, with Manon talking and gesturing to an enamored young man with red ears. Jef watched them before asking with nonchalance. “So. Who was that beautiful young lady in the gallery downstairs?”
Charles’s reverie was broken. He glanced at Manon then back to Jef. “Oh, that’s…it’s, uh, Louis’s English teacher. Her son was hit by a car, and I was the neurosurgeon on call.”
“Was he all right?”
Charles nodded absently. “So far, yes. He's come out of his coma.”
“Good.” Jef gave a keen look. “I mean, I knowyou don’t have eyes for anyone but Manon—what hot-blooded man could? But this woman—” He waited, questioning.
“Chastity Whitmore,” supplied Charles.
“—Mademoiselle Whitmore,” Jef resumed, “seems charming.”
Charles ignored that comment and spoke with quiet deliberation. “As far as I'm concerned, things are over withManon. I didn’t invite her here tonight, and the only reason I haven’t ended things is because I’ve promised to accompany her to the opening of her movie, and it would humiliate her if I pulled out when all the mediahas talked about us going together.”
“Ever the gentleman,” Jef said, drily.
“You should try it sometime.”
“Ah, Charles.” Jef shook his head. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Take Manon off my hands.” Charles’s face was grim.“You’re a hot-blooded man.”
“Sorry, old friend. I only have eyes for Adelaide. And—there she is.” His friend walked off without ceremony towards Charles'ssister, and more out of curiosity than anything else, Charles followed him.
“Adelaide,” Jef whispered, worshipfully, taking both her hands in his and reaching up to kiss her on the cheeks. He was almost a full head shorter. “What do we need to do to get rid of this guy?” He jerked his head back towards Charles.
“Jean-François.” Adelaide’s low voice was filled with mirth. “What makes you think I want my brother to leave?”
“Why, so we can talk privately, of course. So I can ask you to accompany me to the spring ball that’ll be held atthe château.”
“Ah.” Adelaide’s eyes twinkled as she extricated her hands from her adorer. Although her brother’s best friend had been perfectly respectful from the time she was married to when she was widowed, his life-long crush on her was an established thing. “Charlie, will you kindly tell your friend that he is much too young for me?” She added with a tinkling laugh, “as much as he flatters me.”
Just then, Charles saw Chastity whisper to her mother, grab her coat and stand. “Tell him yourself.” He left them abruptly and made a beeline for Chastity.
"Mais—c’est qui ça?" he heard his sister asking in hushed tones.
When the viscountmade his way across the room, Chastity found that she could, indeed, blush even more deeply than she already was. She was kicking herself for entertaining hopes, kicking herself for coming, and was furious that her mother was moving with exasperating slowness.
“Chastity,” Charles called out, stopping short when he noticedeveryone’s eyes on him. “Would you…like to see the paintings?”
She tried to slow her heart rate. “I have seen them. They’re wonderful. We were just on our way…”
“Let me introduce you to the artist.” He put his hand on her elbow and nodded to the rest of the table as he steered her towards the doorway. Chastity was thankful her friends didn’t say anything embarrassing before they were out of earshot. “The artist is in the gallery down these stairs.” Charles still had his hand on Chastity’s arm, and he dropped it suddenly.
When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, he escorted her into the nearest room—a small alcove where the Cézannes were hanging. There was a tall, lanky gentleman talking to someone in the archway that led to the main gallery.
Anelderly lady was takingher leave as Charles walked up with Chastity. He gave the introductionsin English. “Mr. Mooers, this is Miss Whitmore. She’s also from New York.”
“Chastity,” she said in a friendly voice, taking his hand.
“Randall. Where in New York are you from?”
“I grew up on 85th and Lexington.”
“We’re on 77th and Lex. Vivi.” He signaled to an Asian woman who was crossing the room with twoglasses of champagne. “This is my wife, Vivienne.”
Chastity peered at her intently for a moment, and then at one of the two portraits hanging to the right. “The portrait,” she said expressively, pointing at the obvious likeness.
