Page 21 of Unending Joy
Miss Larkspur giggled. “Oh, Mr. Cunningham, you do tease. Do say you will attend.”
“I must consult my engagements,” he said vaguely, shooting Joy a glance that plainly saidrescue me. But Joy merely smiled into her punch.
“Miss Whitford, your gown is charming,” Miss Larkspur added as an afterthought.
Joy inclined her head. “How kind. Your bonnet is…decorative.”
Freddy coughed into his hand.
She gave him a knowing look. Decorative was as good as sprightly.
Miss Larkspur lingered a moment longer, muttered something about her mother, and finally skipped away like a lark indeed.
“She is making a cake of herself,” Joy said under her breath.
“With too much icing and marzipan,” Freddy murmured.
Joy looked sideways at him. “Is that your type?”
“Lord, no. I prefer my cakes solid and fruity.”
She smirked. “Would you call me a fruit cake?”
“Never. A plum tart, perhaps, with just enough spice.”
Joy laughed, and Freddy smiled, watching her.
In the corner, Thornhill was whispering something to Maeve that made her blush and fan herself with a smile.
“Well,” Joy said, straightening, “I suppose it is time we played the game.”
“I thought we were already.”
Before Joy could summon a witty retort, the butler appeared with a gentleman trailing in his wake—tall, sun browned, with a roguish dimple and shoulders that would not have looked out of place in cavalry blues.
“Colonel Edward St. John,” the butler announced.
Joy’s eyes widened ever so slightly. The gentleman bowed with easy grace and offered Freddy a firm handshake. “Cunningham! I did not expect to see you here.”
Freddy grinned. “St. John! I thought you were off fighting wars or chasing smugglers.”
“Both, if I am fortunate,” St. John replied with a gleam of humour in his hazel eyes.
Joy took a moment to appreciate that he looked every inch the sporting gentleman—a fine, athletic frame, strong hands, a sun-kissed jawline, and a smile to warm a girl on a cold day.
“Introduce me,” she commanded, straightening her spine and stepping forward.
Freddy blinked, then chuckled. “Colonel St. John, may I present Miss Joy Whitford. Joy, this scoundrel is Colonel St. John, a school friend of mine and an inveterate stirrer of trouble.”
“Only the worthwhile kind,” St. John said with a bow. “A pleasure, Miss Whitford.”
“I should hope so,” she said, extending her hand. “If I am to be introduced as a command, I ought to live up to the occasion.”
He laughed. “You may consider me duly impressed.”
Joy tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. Well, she thought, this morning had taken an unexpected turn for the better.
The arrival of Colonel St.John disrupted Freddy’s careful sense of order like a rogue gust of wind toppling a neatly laid deck of cards.
