A Hero for Lady Abigail (A Wallflower's Wish #5) - Maggie Dallen Page 0,22
with Miss Charlotte Ainsworth. He may as well complete his mission. “Miss Charlotte, would you do me the honor of allowing me to claim a dance?”
With a look of satisfaction, she held out the card to him. And though he had a silver case of pencils in his pocket should the need arise, he used the pencil hanging from the dance card by a ribbon to write in his name on the line provided for the next dance.
Which meant he’d only need to stand here for a few more minutes before he could claim his dance and then be done with Charlotte for the evening.
He supposed this party had been fruitful in one regard. He’d realized that he’d been pursuing the wrong woman. What he’d taken to be quiet kindness in Charlotte was actually far less attractive.
But he’d not snub her now. It was neither gentlemanly nor personable and he believed in good manners. “Tell me, how are you enjoying the party thus far?”
“It’s wonderful,” Charlotte gushed. “Most of my friends are here and, thanks to Lady Abigail, we’re delightfully entertained.”
His brows rose even as his lips pressed together. This time there was no mistaking that she was making fun at Abigail’s expense.
Irritation bristled along his skin. Abigail had not done a thing to Charlotte that he could see. In fact, in her own way, Abigail had attempted to help Charlotte, or at least help him gain Charlotte’s attention. A chastisement rose to his lips. “I don’t see—”
“Oh,” her mother interrupted, clearly attempting to deflect the situation. “I’ve just had the most marvelous idea. Charlotte and I wish to take a walk about the estate tomorrow. Perhaps you could escort us, Major.”
“The grounds?” Charlotte huffed.
Alex closed his eyes for the briefest second. Did he wish to spend a few hours in their company tomorrow? Certainly not. Was there a way he could politely refuse the invitation? Not likely. Besides, he’d made his intentions toward Charlotte known to Max and Marigold. It was likely better to spend enough time with Charlotte to make absolutely certain how he felt about her.
Perhaps his dance with Abigail had simply clouded his judgment and Charlotte was actually a lovely girl. He doubted it, but he may as well give her every chance to prove him wrong. “I’d be delighted.”
“Excellent,” her mother answered. Then she clapped. “The dance is ending. You two should start onto the floor so you get a good spot.”
He did as Lady Ainsworth asked and offered his elbow to Charlotte, who slipped her gloved fingers into his arm.
They did, in fact, find a lovely spot on the center of the floor but that was about the highlight of their dance together.
As they began to move, everything went wrong.
From the very first step, Charlotte stepped on his foot. Not that her slippers hurt him in any way but it was...embarrassing.
Twice, one of them missed a step.
It was clunky, awkward, and painfully long. Gone was all the grace he’d so effortlessly experienced with Abigail.
Which meant the joy he’d experienced with Abigail in his arms had disappeared as well. He neither felt light, nor fun. In fact, this dance made him feel weighted down, his limbs disjointed and awkward.
It seemed to go on forever and when it finally ended, he brought Charlotte back to her mother and quickly made his excuses.
He wanted nothing more than to leave this party. He glanced about the room, wishing to catch one more glimpse of Abigail before he left. She’d turned his night upside down, everything he thought he knew proving false and all the solid truths slipping away.
He didn’t see her anywhere.
Making his way out into the hall, he jogged up the grand curved staircase to return to his room. But he stopped short when he arrived at the third-floor landing. Standing along the banister was none other than the woman who had truly filled his thoughts all evening. Abigail.
She smiled when she saw him. “You didn’t stay either?”
He stopped several feet away, just drinking in the sight of her. She looked even more lovely in the dim candlelight, alone in the hall.
For the briefest moment he wondered what she looked like as she prepared for bed, her hair down, her fingers combing through the locks.
He stopped, his hand pressing to his lower chest. “There was little reason.”
“You got your dance with Miss Charlotte, did you?” She gave him a warm glance filled with genuine happiness. “I’m glad for you. You deserve to get what you wish.”
Why was