The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(31)
His brow quirked up in question, and he almost smiled—almost. “You’re referring to it as a project, and you have a list of qualifications as in an advertisement for employment? Now who is overly interested in business matters?”
“That is still you, Mr. St. James, but that’s why this task should suit you.” He would help her, wouldn’t he? She didn’t want to be alone in this just now.
He crossed his arms over his chest and settled into a businesslike stance, studying her. “Tell me your list.”
“I knew you would assist me!” She raised her hand and began ticking off items on her fingers. “My future husband must be jovial in spirit. A bright smile that lights the room and a booming laugh wouldn’t be remiss, but that part doesn’t matter as much as the meaning behind it.”
He nodded in understanding. “You want your future husband to have all his teeth. That should be manageable.”
She glared at him for a second. “It has nothing to do with teeth, St. James. Haven’t we discussed this already?”
“Of course. How could I forget? Heartfelt smiles displaying inner joy. Good to know I’ve already been eliminated. Do go on.”
“He must have a noble and honest heart.” She ticked off another finger on her hand.
“Should the gentleman in question leave his shining armor with a footman when he arrives tonight? What of the sword he used to defend the honor of that maiden in the last story?”
“He would never wear something as inappropriate as armor to a ball,” she replied with a grin. “But if it helps narrow the field, I do prefer brightly colored ensembles. Though I’m making an effort to look beyond such things.”
“A Sir Lancelot with large, protruding teeth and bright clothing. He should be easy to find, even in this crush.”
“Perhaps I was wrong to trust you,” she threatened, not meaning a word of it.
“No. You can trust me.” Any good humor St. James possessed vanished in an instant. “A good-natured, honorable gentleman… Someone who will make you laugh, care for you—it’s what you deserve.”
In a sea of unfair words spoken about her sister’s much-deserved happiness this evening, St. James’s comment was a raft that offered rescue from drowning. This conversation with him, these few minutes spent together, was returning life to her limbs and joy to her heart. St. James was truly the most sympathetic and kind pirate she’d ever met.
Roselyn and Evangeline had consoled her over the past day in their own ways, and it had helped. They’d offered promises that life would move on and the sun would still shine, but this conversation was different. This man somehow knew what she needed to hear: that she deserved to feel the sunshine, that she deserved laughter. And just now in the glow of candlelight, it actually seemed possible.
St. James was watching her warily, as if he’d just told his darkest secret and was waiting for a reaction. It was a rare peek into his true thoughts, yet she didn’t understand them. His statement had been about her life, not his. Why would he feel exposed by those words? Whatever his thoughts, this moment between friends was touching, and she found she couldn’t look away.
“Thank you,” she finally said to break the silence.
“I suppose he should have blond hair like Hardaway,” St. James murmured.
“My only true wish is for a good man, an upstanding gentleman with a positive disposition who is in a position to marry. Do you think he exists?”
“Not here,” he said in a low voice, glancing away for the first time in a few minutes to check the door. Likely for the arrival of the lord with whom he was to meet.
“Am I too far in the shadows of the ballroom? Perhaps you’re correct. Mother has warned me that only scoundrels lurk about in corners.”
“You should listen to her,” he said with a meaningful glance at their shadowed surroundings. “The other side of the room seems to hold promise.” He took a step away from her, suddenly looking more sullen than business minded. “I must attend to the matter that brought me here tonight. Will you excuse me? Perhaps I’ll find you later.”
“I could be married by then if I find the right gentleman. Marriages seem to happen rather quickly as of late.”
St. James nodded uncomfortably at her jest and moved away through the crowd.
“I thought it was rather lighthearted, considering the situation,” she mumbled to herself as she watched him leave. At least now she could allude to Victoria’s wedding without speaking around a lump in her throat. She considered it a marked improvement, and it was because of St. James.
She smiled after him and set off for the other side of the ballroom in search of the perfect gentleman to marry.
Isabelle had only been on the edge of the ballroom floor for a minute before her mother caught up with her, with a halfhearted setdown about wandering about alone. Lectures from her mother always began the same way, with a reference to another lady who had been offended by Isabelle’s behavior. In this case the affronted party had been Lady Smeltings.
“Lady Smeltings saw you move to this side of the ballroom and was so concerned…”
Despite giving birth to children of her own, her mother had never seemed certain of what a mother was intended to do, at least to Isabelle. Always looking to those around her to gauge whether she should be outraged by her daughters’ behavior had made her mother a rather inconsistent chaperone. Isabelle supposed everyone had strengths. Her mother’s strong suit was what she supposed it had always been—her youthful looks and ability to bat her eyes over the rim of a wineglass. Her skill had served her well in her younger days. After marriage, however, it had not served her well at all.