Page 12 of If the Slipper Fits
Lady Wentworth gave her an appraising look. “I’m torn between the rose and the gold silk. Chop chop.”
“Chop chop?”
Her employer gave her an exasperated look. “You must try them both on. My money’s on the gold.”
***
Caden inclined his head at something Harrison asked and forced his face into a politely disinterested mask, the polite part being the main difficulty. He brought the champagne flute to his lips and searched the crowded parlor for a plausible escape. Any excuse to extricatehimself from the foursome made up of himself, Harrison, the besotted greenhorn, and the Misses Egerton and Applegate.
Regardless of the sharp intellect Sterling Randall claimed his younger brother possessed, Harrison seemed oblivious to the ladies’ attempts to out-maneuver one another to capture Caden’s attention. He hoped to make-off before well and truly sabotaging Harrison’s efforts to charm the unremarkable chits.
Caden had seen it time and again. For some inexplicable reason, women flocked to him. All ages, shapes, sizes, and walks of life. He’d long since given up trying to understand the why’s and wherefores, choosing instead to accept what he’d heard too many times to count. He’d inherited his father’s charm.
Where he’d gotten the devil’s own luck—something his father never had—was anyone’s guess.
Charm and luck. Was that the extent of what people saw when they looked at him?
He was, so he’d been told, more than passably attractive. However, for most women, looks did not make up for the lack of a title, of which he had none. Wealth could tip the scales, though for much of his life he couldn’t boast that, either—though he had amassed a substantial base for himself between his quarterly allowance and, again, uncanny luck, both with choosing investments and at the tables.
He would no longer receive said allowance thanks to the recent argument between him and Zeke.
It galled him anew, recalling Zeke's sanctimonious presumption when Caden requested to avail himself of a large sum of money from the family accounts.
True, he’d recently admitted to his brother he occasionally gambled. Also true, he had refused to tell Zeke why he needed the money.
But damn it he’d wanted to surprise Zeke and Kitty as a sort of belated wedding present, and it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he told them what he was doing with the money.
Besides, he’d told Zeke he didn’t gamble with funds he couldn’t afford to lose—and he was not a liar.
So why had Zeke assumed he’d asked for money to cover a gambling debt? Because he expected the worst from Caden whose quote-end-quote lifestyle he did not approve of.
Zeke, the until recent-times world-traveler, adventurer, concerned with no one but himself, suddenly thought to measure one and all by his new and improved moral standards.
Caden would not stomach it. He told Zeke to stuff his brotherly admonitions, along with his quarterly allowance. Now he was free as any man could be. Zeke no longer had any say in what he did or did not do with his life.
So why was he gripping the champagne flute in his hand so tightly it threatened to shatter? He relaxed his hold and forced his mind back on point—women, him, moths to a flame.
Usually, he rather enjoyed his good fortune of the female variety. Then there were situations like this, when a friend had his sights set on a particular female or two,and neither happens to be a tantalizing, amber-eyed mystery woman—and a widow to boot.
“I did so enjoy our exploration of the maze this afternoon, Mr. Thurgood,” Miss Applegate said, batting her lashes.
“As did I,” Miss Egerton chimed, tapping her closed fan to his forearm in an attempt to pull his gaze toward her. “How-ever did you discover the path leading us to the exit so swiftly?”
“The truth is—” that he’d applied all his wit to the task, hoping to resume his conversation with Mrs. Jones. Alas, she and her employerhad quit the scene by the time he’d navigated out of the maze. “—It was as much Harrison’s doing as my own.”
“Oh?” the ladies replied in unison, switching their attentions to Harrison, who flushed a dull red even as an ear-to-ear grin split his face.
“It was nothing,” he denied, puffing out his chest a bit. “Did I mention the maze located at Worley Manor?”
Caden seized the opportunity. He clipped a bow. “If you’ll excuse me? I promised Lord Fenton I’d discuss…” Drawing a blank he coughed into his fist, flashed a grin, and took off for the open terrace.
Half way across the parlor, he skidded to a halt.Her.
He stared at the vision of Mrs. Jones in a curve hugging gown of muted gold. Sans bonnet, she wore her lush hair pulled back, not in any kind of intricate coiffure, but secured in an elegant knot at her crown. A few artful tendrils hung loose to frame her heart-shaped face.
Standing off to the side, apart from the crowd, she looked the picture of grace and, somehow, as if she she’d rather be anywhere else. He half expected her to wedge herself between the massive potted palm whose fronds she fingered, and the carved column it camouflaged.
Where was her tottering, old employer, he wondered, with a snort of laughter, recalling her earlier attempt to rid herself of him.Him.
