“You exaggerate, my lady. And it was entirely my fault. I was absorbed in my research, and oblivious to my surroundings, however beautiful.”
“Oh, pish.” Aunt Hermione gave him a playful tap on the arm.
Charlotte swore she saw a blush steal across the old gel’s cheeks.
“As luck would have it, Moncreiffe is planning to attend the Grishams’ ball this evening, just as we are,” Hermione said, “and has agreed to take us up in his carriage. Isn’t that marvelous?”
Charlotte met Alistair’s amused gaze. “Yes, quite lucky.” She could just imagine how the arrangement had come about. She loved Aunt Hermione dearly, but the woman could be as subtle as a falling wall of bricks.
Hermione looked worried for a moment. “You don’t think you’ll have a repeat of the headache you had last evening, do you?”
