He’d told her so.
But after an hour of watching him greet his family’s guests, she was growing impatient. She had danced with three other gentlemen—two of them quite eligible—and George hadn’t once tried to cut in. Not that she’d done it to make him jealous—well, perhaps a little. But she always accepted invitations to dance, from anyone.
She knew she was beautiful. It would have been impossible to grow up with so many people saying so, every single day, and not know it. Annelise was some kind of throwback, people said, her glossy dark locks the result of an ancient Welsh invader. Her father’s hair had been dark, too, back when he’d had hair, but everyone said it hadn’t been like hers, with the shine and bounce and ever-so-gentle curl.
Marabeth had always been jealous. Marabeth, who actually looked quite like Annelise, but just not . . . as much. Her skin wasn’t quite as pale, her eyes not quite as blue. Marabeth was forever painting Annelise as a spoilt little shrew, and maybe it was for that reason that Annelise decided, on her very first foray into local society, that she would dance with every man who asked. No one would accuse her of reaching above her station; she would be the kindhearted beauty, the girl everyone loved to love.
Now, of course, every man did ask, because what man didn’t want to dance with the most beautiful girl at the ball? Especially with no risk of rejection.
This must be why George was showing no signs of jealousy, Annelise decided. He knew she had a kind heart. He knew that her dances with the other gentlemen meant nothing to her. No one could ever touch her heart the way he had.
“Why hasn’t he asked me to dance?” she whispered to Charlotte. “I will perish from the anticipation, you know that I will.”
“It’s his parents’ ball,” Charlotte said soothingly. “He has responsibilities as a host.”
“I know. I know. I just . . . I love him so much!”
Annelise coughed, feeling her cheeks grow hot with mortification. That had come out louder than she’d intended, but luckily no one seemed to have noticed.
“Come,” Charlotte said with the brisk determination of one who has just seized upon a plan. “Let us take a turn around the room. We shall walk so close to Mr. Chervil that he will expire from wanting to reach out and take your hand.”
Annelise laughed and linked her arm through Charlotte’s. “You are the very best of sisters,” she said, quite seriously.
Charlotte just patted her hand. “Smile now,” she whispered. “He can see you.”
Annelise looked up, and indeed, he was staring at her, his green-gray eyes smoldering with longing.
“Oh, my goodness,” Charlotte said. “Just look at how he watches you.”
“It makes me shiver,” Annelise admitted.
“We shall walk closer,” Charlotte decided, and they did, until there was no way they could not be noticed by George and his parents.
“Good evening,” his father boomed jovially. “If it isn’t the lovely Miss Shawcross. And another lovely Miss Shawcross.” He gave them each a tiny bow from his head, and they curtsied in return.
“Sir Charles,” Annelise murmured, eager for him to see her as a polite and dutiful young lady who would make him an excellent daughter-in-law. She turned to George’s mother with the same deference. “Lady Chervil.”
“Where is the other other lovely Miss Shawcross?” Sir Charles asked.
“I have not seen Marabeth in some time,” Charlotte replied, just as George said, “I believe she is over there, by the doors to the garden.”
Which gave Annelise the perfect opening to curtsy to him and say, “Mr. Chervil.” He took her hand and kissed it, and she did not think it was her imagination that he lingered longer than he needed to.
“You are as enchanting as ever, Miss Shawcross.” He released her hand, then straightened. “I am bewitched.”
Annelise tried to speak, but she was overcome. She felt hot, and tremulous, and her lungs felt funny, as if there was not enough air in the world to fill them.
“Lady Chervil,” Charlotte said, “I am so enamored of these decorations. Tell me, how did you and Sir Charles find just the right color of yellow to signify summer?”
It was the most inane of questions, but Annelise adored her for it. George’s parents immediately launched into conversation with Charlotte, and she and George were able to turn ever so slightly away from them.
“I haven’t seen you all night,” Annelise said breathlessly. Just being near him made her shiver with anticipation. When they had seen each other three nights earlier he had kissed her with such passion. It had burned in her memory, leaving her eager for more.