Page 32 of Unending Joy
She raised an eyebrow, suddenly feeling her confidence return. “Perilous? Colonel, you make me sound ridiculous.”
“Never ridiculous,” he countered warmly, “but certainly intriguing. They are the kind of eyes in which a fellow might happily become lost.”
“I should hope, Colonel,” she retorted in her straightforward way, “you possess better skills of navigation than to become lost so easily.”
St. John chuckled appreciatively. “Alas, I fear I am quite helpless when faced with fathomless blue. You leave me entirely at your mercy, Miss Whitford.”
Joy could not help but laugh softly, feeling the evening grow brighter. “Then I suppose it is fortunate indeed that I have chosen clarity over vanity tonight. At least now I may clearly see where I am going astray.”
“I am happy to lead you about regardless.”
Joy narrowed her gaze. “Are you flirting with me, sir?” she asked boldly yet without guile.
“Ah, Miss Whitford, you charm me to my toes.”
“I would not know, I am sure. No one ever flirted with me before.”
He laughed with a twinkle in his eye that made her heart skip painfully. And for just a fleeting moment, Joy forgot entirely to worry about her spectacles.
Freddy watchedwith narrowed eyes as Colonel St. John was announced, appearing every inch the dashing soldier in his striking Regimentals. Scarlet coat ablaze under the gleam of candlelight, gold braiding impeccably arranged upon his broad shoulders, and boots polished to a mirror sheen, he drew the eyes of every lady in the room. Freddy prided himself on his own dashing appearance but could only compare himself to this soldier and feel lacking.
In annoyance, Freddy watched as St. John wasted no time making his way directly to Joy, his smile disarmingly charming.
Freddy shifted uncomfortably, a faint scowl darkening his brow as he observed the easy confidence with which St. John engaged her. He spoke with an ease Freddy begrudgingly admitted was enviable, the man’s words apparently witty enough to elicit Joy’s laughter—a sound Freddy realized he had always considered exclusively his domain.
“I must say,” murmured a familiar voice beside him, “St. John seems rather taken.”
Freddy turned sharply, startled from his unpleasant reverie to find Rotham watching the scene with amused detachment. Rotham, always so irritatingly knowing, smiled slightly, a hint of a twinkle in his eye as if he deliberately meant to set Freddy ablaze.
“Rather presumptuous, don’t you think?” Freddy grumbled, gesturing vaguely towards St. John. “He scarcely knows Joy.”
Rotham raised an elegant brow. “It seems to me he knows her well enough. Or at least he wishes to. He certainly has her attention.”
“Attention,” Freddy scoffed softly, keeping his voice low. “Joy’s attention is easily won and quickly lost.”
“True enough,” Rotham conceded, smiling indulgently. “But look how she laughs. St. John is doing quite splendidly for himself.”
Freddy muttered darkly, shaking his head. “If one enjoys excessive charm and overly polished buttons. I dare say that uniform is the most interesting thing about him.”
“Jealous, Freddy?” Rotham’s tone teased gently, but the edge of sincerity beneath made Freddy bristle slightly.
“Not in the least,” Freddy lied smoothly, forcing his gaze away from the maddening scene, because he was jealous. “Merely cautious. Joy is—well, Joy is impressionable. I would rather she not have her hopes raised over a charming uniform and shallow flattery.”
“I see,” Rotham replied, still amused. “And your own prospects? Is there any progress worth the mentioning?”
Freddy cast a weary glance around the room. Letty Partridge stood demurely nearby, her appearance pleasing enough in a pale peach gown that flattered her fair complexion and neatly arranged blonde hair. She was perfectly acceptable—exactly the kind of young woman his parents would eagerly usher towards the altar. But Freddy knew well that a single dance or pointed conversation would prompt his mother to have the banns read forthwith.
“Slim pickings,” Freddy muttered.
“Nonsense,” Rotham countered lightly. “Letty Partridge is an admirable choice.”
“Admirable, yes,” Freddy admitted grudgingly, thinkingbut dull.
Soon enough, they were summoned into dinner. The dining room glittered in gentle splendour, a long mahogany table stretching elegantly beneath shimmering crystal chandeliers that cast prisms of light against pale, silk-draped walls. Gold candelabra marched regally down the table’s length, their flames flickering gracefully, illuminating meticulously polished cutlery and gleaming porcelain plates edged in delicate gold filigree. Bowls overflowing with early summer roses and trailing ivy were artfully placed, their fragrance mingling subtly with the rich aroma of the awaiting meal.
Freddy’s spirits sank further upon discovering that he had been strategically placed next to none other than Miss Partridge.
He dutifully offered her his arm, escorted her to the table, and seated himself with a resigned sigh. He knew better than to encourage her excessively.
