Chapter 7
Aunt Hermione, far from noticing Charlotte’s prolonged absence at the rout, had been engaged in conversation with a distinguished white-haired gentleman. “He still has all his own hair and teeth,” Aunt whispered, indicating the man who was currently fetching her a cup of punch.
“How nice for you,” Charlotte murmured, taking her seat. Her head swam with all that had happened up on the roof and in the stairwell.
Rarely had she experienced such a dizzying gamut of emotions in such a short time as she had with Moncreiffe just now. The usual tedium of waiting and watching changed dramatically with her increased closeness with him, not to mention her heightened awareness of Moncreiffe as a man. A man who’d almost kissed her.
And, unfortunately for her peace of mind, a man whom she
