Senseless Sensibilities

by K. L. O'Keefe

  “Haven’t I?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I hope to remedy that in the future.” Jonathan picked up a flat rock and flung it into the lake. It didn’t skip; it sank straight into the water. Not that he thought it would skip. “But you can’t expect much from me, as I am not a gentleman.”

  Evangeline made a sputtering noise. “You are more of a gentleman than some gentlemen I know.”

  Jonathan sat back and crossed his arms, hiding his missing hand from view. He didn’t want her to see it. As much as he joked about it, it shamed him.

  “How did it go with Lord Fossil?”

  “Lord Fossil?!” Evangeline exclaimed.

  “Yes, Lord Fossil. Or… I suppose you know him as Lord Trevelan.” Jonathan chuckled. “He did come to visit, did he not?”

  “He did.”

  “He is much too old for you.”

  Evangeline rolled her eyes. Why should she discuss her romantic prospects with a valet, even if he was a friend? He had no right to comment on matters of her life. “I don’t expect you to understand my situation, Jonathan. Besides, you have no right. You’re not exactly a young man yourself.”

  “I’m not!?” He frowned. “But I’m younger than the man of your dreams.”

  “Man of my dreams? Lord Trevelan?” She tossed back her head and cackled. Her bonnet nearly flew off her head. “Lord Trevelan is hardly the man of my dreams!”

  “I wasn’t talking about Lord Trevelan,” Jonathan said, reaching over to straighten her bonnet. “I was talking about Nicholas.”

  “You’re younger than Nicholas? Really?” She looked at him with disbelief. “I always thought you were older. I suppose it’s because of your hand.”

  “My hand?” He raised the stump from where he had tucked it away.

  “Yes, your hand,” she said with a nod. “Or lack thereof.”

  Jonathan chucked. Deep down, her words hurt him, but he couldn’t let it show. “You thought I was old because of my missing hand?”

  She shrugged.

  “Oh, didn't you know? A man’s hands do not atrophy and fall off until he is well past the age of sixty!”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Yes,” he answered sharply. “It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my life! Hands aren’t like teeth, you know. They don’t fall off when you get old.”

  Evangeline clicked her tongue in irritation. “I know that! Do you take me for a fool?”

  “No.” He crossed his arms again—not because he was hiding his hand, but because he was genuinely vexed. “You know, most young women would have the good sense not to mention my defect.”

  “Oh, Jonathan!” she chided him. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It isn’t a defect to me. I’ve gotten used to it. Your missing hand does not bother me.”

  He turned away from her, watching the grass sway at the edge of the lake. “It bothers me.”

  “It does?” Evangeline’s eyelashes fluttered with surprise. “Really? But you’re always so light-hearted about it... making jokes and all that. I didn’t think your hand was a problem for you.”

  “It isn’t a problem, but…” Turning to look at her, he managed a flimsy grin. He couldn’t let her think he wasn’t the jovial Jonathan he usually was. “You have to admit, it isn’t exactly attractive. It certainly hasn’t helped me with women.”

  “Well, I like it,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve always had a thing for the macabre.”

  “The macabre?!” Jonathan exploded with laughter.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You, my lady,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. As he did, his thumb made brief contact with her cheek. Evangeline’s skin was just as soft as he thought it would be. In touching her, Jonathan knew he was crossing the line. But he didn’t care. It was worth it. “Somehow, no matter what you say, you always make me laugh.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anne Fremont paced the floor of the dimly-lit assembly room. The sound of her shoes clacking against the marble floor was the only noise in an otherwise silent room.

  “What am I doing? What am I doing?” she murmured to herself, her dress swaying across her ankles as she moved across the room. “I must be going mad! I’ve taken leave of my senses. What is wrong with me?”

  She had been chiding herself for nearly twenty minutes, ever since she agreed to let Nicholas teach her how to waltz. When he asked her the first time, she’d been adamant against it. When he asked her the second time, she gave in. The fact of the matter was, she wanted to be held in Nicholas’ arms.

  “I have no right to want such a thing,” she scolded herself, her whispered words sounding hateful.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see herself as anything more than a plain widow of advanced age, undeserving of a man’s attentions. If she was anything to Nicholas, she was just an impossible conquest—a challenge to be had. Anne refused to be his source of amusement.

  A voice in the back of her head was urging her to lighten up. Dalliance or not, how could she not succumb to him? After forty-three years of unhappiness, she thought she deserved a bit of fun. When would an opportunity present itself again?

  The more she thought about waltzing with Nicholas, the more she thought it would be anything but fun. How could she stand to be so close to him? It would kill her, for sure.

  After a few minutes of pacing, Nicholas arrived. He walked into the room with a carefree swagger. Apparently, her endless rejections had no effect on his confidence. He looked like he had all the confidence in the world.

  “Hello, my lord.”

  “Hello, my lady,” he answered like an echo. “You’re looking particularly lovely this afternoon.”

  Anne’s lips tightened. She never knew how to respond to such a thing. Had her husband ever told her she was lovely? If he did, she did not remember it.

  “Are you ready for your lesson?” he asked. “We’ll have you in top form before your daughter’s party, I assure you.”

  Anne took a step forward and raised her arms, as if dancing with an invisible man.

  “Are you hugging a ghost?” Nicholas chuckled. “My dear, if I am to give you this lesson, you’ll have to get closer to me. I’m not going to be able to teach you if you insist on dancing with the air.”

  “I-I wasn’t,” she stammered. “I was waiting for you to show me what I should do with my arms.”

  Nicholas moved forward, closing the space between them. He laid his hand on her hip and pulled her even closer. He thought he heard her gasp.

  “No wonder this dance is forbidden in some places,” Anne offered her opinion. She could feel her face growing warm. “It’s a bit scandalous, don’t you think?”

  “I think you’re asking the wrong person,” he said with a chuckle, “because I don’t think this is scandalous in the least. I’m enjoying it, actually.”

  “Evangeline would die if she knew I was this close to you,” Anne whispered. “Close enough to feel your breath on my forehead.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Do you expect me to answer that?”

  Anne was smiling. He wondered how long it had been since she truly smiled. “You don’t have to answer it. I can see you are enjoying it.”

  Her smile vanished immediately, as if to prove him wrong.

  Nicholas took her hand, interlocking her fingers with his. “Let me guide you. If you have a good leader, the steps should come naturally.”

  “Won’t it be strange… dancing without music?”

  “I can sing for you, if you’d like.”

  “Please, no,” she laughed. “That’s not to say I wouldn’t love to hear you sing. But this is awkward enough as it is.”

  “Very well.” With that said, Nicholas twirled her around, beginning the waltz. But Anne wasn’t prepared. She stumbled over his shoes.

  “Oh! I’m sorry.”

  “I guess I’m not a good leader.”

  “No, I’m sure yo
u are. The fact is, I’m a terrible student,” Anne protested. “I told you I wasn’t much for dancing.”

  “Nonsense, my lady. Everyone is allowed a fumble at the start. Pay attention to my feet, and try to move as I do.”

  The strength in his voice filled her with confidence. At that moment, Anne wanted only to impress him. She looked down at his feet and started copying his movements, as directed. Soon enough, they were swirling around the room in graceful circles.

  “You’re a natural,” he spoke to the crown of her head, because she was still observing his feet.

  “Surely not.”

  “I knew you would be.”

  “Why do you insist on saying things that make me blush?”

  Nicholas came to a halt. He placed his hand below her chin and lifted her gaze. “Are you blushing?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. “Am I? Probably not. I think I am too old for blushing.”

  “I don’t think so.” As he spoke, Nicholas traced a circle on her cheek with his finger. “You’re looking rather rosy, actually.”

  “Nicholas?”

  A crooked smile tipped his lips. Nicholas liked the way she said his name. “What is it, dearest?”

  “I don’t think I will be able to waltz with you at Evangeline’s party,” she said. “These lessons are useless.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m still in mourning.”

  He wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t. “So?”

  “If they think I’ve gotten over my husband so soon, people will talk.”

  “I don’t care about people.”

  “Really?” Anne asked with a chuckle. “You don’t care about people? No one at all?”

  “I meant… I don’t care what people think. In general,” he clarified. “But I care about you very much.”

  “Do you?”

  “You know I do.”

  In the last few seconds, Nicholas’ face seemed to have moved closer to hers. Their proximity made her stiffen. “Nicholas?”

  “Yes?”

  “I care about you too.” As soon as she admitted this, Anne forgot how to breathe. She stood very still, afraid to move, not even batting an eyelid. When his face descended on hers, she did what was natural. She opened her mouth and accepted his kiss. She indulged in it, and it was scandalously good. In all her life, Anne had never experienced a kiss like this. She wanted to moan against his lips. She wanted to take off her slippers because her toes were tingling. She wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor, and to be gathered up in his arms.

  That kiss was the beginning of her life.

  When Nicholas’ mouth left hers, she kept her eyes closed for several seconds—much to his dismay. He was eager to know her reaction.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Anne said.

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “I… can’t say.” Without another word, Anne turned around and started to head for the door. Her knees were still shaking. “The next time we’re together, we will have to be cordial.”

  “And that is all?” Nicholas shouted at her. He had been very patient with her until now, but this was beyond frustrating. How could she rebuke him, even after their kiss? “What about your lessons?”

  “We should not continue this.” As she said this, she slipped halfway through the door. “Please, Nicholas, I… I’m sorry.”

  And then she was gone.

  “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!” Nicholas shouted. If he’d been close to wall, he would have pummeled it with his fist. He wanted to throttle something. He wanted to dig a hole in the garden and bury his head in the dirt like a seed.

  And what would grow from it? Flowers of stupidity? Ferns of foolishness? He wondered why he insisted on wooing a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. Slowly, but surely, Anne Fremont was killing him. He had never had so much trouble with a woman until she came into his life.

  “Why do I do it?” Nicholas asked himself. “Why do I do it? Is it the challenge? Is that what it is?”

  Nicholas raked a hand through his hair, a bit savagely. What made Anne so special to him? She was pretty, but she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was kind, but her reproachful manner was off-putting. She was poised, but she was almost too poised. Nicholas liked a woman with passion.

  So, what was it about Anne Fremont that made him want to pursue her so desperately? Nicholas didn’t understand it himself.

  He just wanted her.

  And he would have her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  All the local gentry had gathered for Evangeline’s party, though she couldn’t claim friendship with many of them. In fact, she didn’t even recognize half the people in the room. As she scanned the unfamiliar faces, Evangeline realized something very depressing. She didn’t have many friends. Her only real friend was Catherine, who Evangeline hadn’t spoken to in over a month. She expected Catherine to come over and greet her, but the girl never parted from her husband’s side.

  Evangeline frowned. Catherine’s recent marriage made her extremely jealous. “I want to be married, too,” she said with a frown. And she couldn’t vanquish the frown, even as several well-wishers came to acknowledge her special day.

  “Eighteen, are you?” uttered a masculine voice at her side.

  Evangeline turned to the speaker, and was relieved to find another friend in the room. Lord Trevelan was standing beside her. She was also relieved to discover he had somehow managed to conceal his receding pate.

  “Hello, my lord,” she said, and the frown finally left her lips. “You are correct. I am eighteen today.”

  “You’re a young woman now,” said Trevelan. “I remember you when you were just a little girl.”

  “Oh, Lord Trevelan! Must you say things like that? Don’t you think it makes things awkward between us?”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “You remind me that we’re so far apart in age, yet you’re supposed to be courting me,” Evangeline explained. “It seems… odd. And you are courting me, are you not? You made no secret of it when my father was alive.”

  “I count myself as one of your beaux.”

  “Beau,” Evangeline said, holding up a solitary finger. “You are my only beau.”

  “What about the new Lord Penwoth?”

  “What about him?” Evangeline bent her finger, directing her companion’s eyes across the room, where her mama and Nicholas were gazing into each other eyes. “He dotes on my mother.”

  “I hadn’t failed to notice that,” Lord Trevelan agreed with a chuckle.

  “It’s impossible to miss,” Evangeline said with a sigh, though Trevelan seemed to think it was funny. His laughter made her frown reappear. “I can’t say I’m happy about it.”

  “Well, if it means less competition for me, I can’t say I’m not happy about it.”

  “I thought men liked to have rivals,” Evangeline suggested. “It makes them feel more important when they win the hearts of their prey.”

  Lord Trevelan chuckled again.

  “What’s so funny, my lord?”

  “I’m just remembering something your mother said.”

  Evangeline’s frown was joined by a crease between her eyes. “What did my mother say?”

  “Your mother and I were recounting a conversation you had with her. She thinks you claim to know an awful lot about the minds of men.”

  The crease between Evangeline’s eyes didn’t budge. “It’s wonderful to know my own mother is making me look like a fool.”

  “You’re not a fool, my dear. Nor is your mother trying to make you sound like one,” protested the gentleman at her side. Trevelan lifted a thumb and rubbed between her eyes, trying to remove the crease. He didn’t want her scowling at him anymore. “I’m a fool.”

  “Why are you a fool, my lord?”

  “I failed to acknowledge how pretty you look tonight. Not only that, it’s taken me far too long to ask you for a dance.”

  “Si
nce when did you dance?”

  “Since I became infatuated with you.”

  Evangeline didn’t know how to respond to that. She didn’t even know what expression to make, so she raised her dance card, hiding her face from view. “The first dance is the quadrille. Will that do?”

  “Any dance will do, as long as you’re beside me.”

  Evangeline kept the dance card in front of her face, using it as a shield to hide herself from Lord Trevelan. He was saying the most ridiculous things this evening. His lovesick confessions didn’t suit a man of his age and stature. Evangeline was making the wrong man jealous. He was jealous of Lord Penworth! How else could she explain the sudden abundance of drivel spewing from the lips of a man she had known her entire life?

  Trevelan had no reason to feel threatened. Nicholas was pasted at her mother’s side, and showed no sign of removing himself. It wasn’t until twenty minutes later, long after her first dance with Trevelan, when Nicholas finally acknowledged her existence.

  Evangeline’s second dance was with a porous-faced youth named Mr. Cuttlewit, whose name shouldn’t have had the word wit in it at all. Nicholas finally appeared in front of Evangeline at the end of the second dance. Compared to poor Cuttlewit, Nicholas was the handsomest man she had ever seen.

  “Good evening, my lady,” Nicholas said, bowing to her. “You look very lovely.”

  “Thank you, my lord. You look very handsome yourself,” Evangeline responded, a bit unenthusiastically. Handsome or not, Nicholas’ presence was just as stimulating—or un-stimulating—as Mr. Cuttlewit’s. Evangeline had grown increasingly irritated with Nicholas’ lack of interest in her. “It’s very thoughtful of you to have a party in my honor.”

  “It was the least I could do.”

  She had to agree with him there.

  “You wore the ribbon.”

  Evangeline raised a brow. “Pardon?”

  He pointed to a narrow strip of material nestled in Evangeline’s curls. Periwinkle blue in color, the ribbon complemented her dress and hair. “The ribbon I got for your birthday. You’re wearing it.”