Suddenly You(46)

For the next few hours, the dreamlike feeling remained as Amanda danced, drank, laughed, and participated in holiday games. Devlin’s duties as host occasionally took him away from her side, but even when he was standing on the other side of the room, Amanda was aware of his gaze on her. To her amusement, he sent her frankly brooding stares when she talked too long with any particular gentleman, for all the world as if he were jealous. In fact, Devlin actually dispatched Oscar Fretwell to intervene after she had danced twice with a charming banker named “King” Mitchell.

“Miss Briars,” Fretwell exclaimed pleasantly, his blond hair gleaming beneath the light of the chandeliers, “I don’t believe you’ve danced with me yet…and Mr. Mitchell cannot be allowed to keep such a charming lady all to himself.”

Regretfully Mitchell handed her over to the manager, and Amanda smiled at Fretwell as they began a quadrille. “Devlin sent you, didn’t he?” she asked dryly.

Fretwell grinned sheepishly and didn’t bother to deny it. “I was told to inform you that King Mitchell is a divorced man and a gambler, and is very bad company.”

“I thought him quite entertaining,” Amanda replied archly, and moved through the next figures of the quadrille. She caught sight of Devlin, standing in the wide arch between the drawing room and the parlor. Returning his frowning gaze with a cheerful little wave, Amanda continued the quadrille with Fretwell.

When the dance concluded, Fretwell escorted her to the refreshment table for a cup of punch. As a servant ladled the raspberry-colored liquid into a crystal cup, Amanda became aware of a stranger standing at her elbow. She turned and smiled at the man.

“Have we met, sir?”

“To my great regret, no.” He was a tall, rather plain-looking man, his ordinary appearance enhanced by one of the close-trimmed beards that had recently become fashionable. His large nose was balanced by a pair of handsome brown eyes, and his mouth curved in an easy, comfortable smile. A full head of cropped russet hair was threaded with silver at the temples. Amanda judged him to be at least five or even ten years older than she…a mature man, established and quietly confident.

“Allow me to make the introductions,” Fretwell said, adjusting his spectacles more securely on his nose. “Miss Amanda Briars, this is Mr. Charles Hartley. As it happens, the two of you write for the same publisher.”

Amanda was intrigued by the fact that Hartley was also employed by Jack Devlin. “Mr. Hartley has my sympathy,” she said, making both gentlemen laugh.

“With your permission, Miss Briars,” Fretwell murmured with clear amusement, “I’ll leave the two of you to commiserate while I go to greet some old friends who have just arrived.”

“Certainly,” Amanda said, sipping the tart, sweet punch. She glanced at Hartley as his name struck a chord of recognition. “Surely you’re not Uncle Hartley?” she asked in delight. “The one who writes books of children’s verse?” Receiving his nod of confirmation, she laughed and touched his arm impulsively. “Your work is wonderful. Truly wonderful. I’ve read your stories to my nieces and nephews. My favorite is about the elephant who complains all the time, or perhaps the king who finds the magical cat—”

“Yes, my immortal verses,” he said in a dry, self-deprecating tone.

“But you’re so clever,” Amanda said sincerely. “And it’s so difficult to write for children. I could never come up with a thing that interests them.”

He smiled with a warmth that made his ordinary face seem almost handsome. “I find it difficult to believe that any subject would be beyond your talent, Miss Briars.”

“Come, let’s find a private corner and talk,” Amanda urged. “I have many questions I would love to ask you.”

“That is a most appealing suggestion,” he said, presenting his arm and leading her away.

Amanda found his company to be restful and soothing, different in every way from the dazzling stimulation that Jack Devlin’s presence offered. Ironically, although Hartley made his living by writing books for children, he was a widower and had no children of his own.

“It was a good marriage,” he confided to Amanda, his large hands still cradling a crystal punch cup, even though he had drained it several minutes earlier. “My wife was the kind of woman who knew how to make a man feel comfortable. She was very unaffected and agreeable, and never put on the silly airs that most females seem to have nowadays. She spoke her mind freely, and she liked to laugh.” Hartley paused and considered Amanda thoughtfully. “She was rather like you, as a matter of fact.”

Jack managed to extricate himself from a deadly dull conversation with a pair of classical scholars, Dr. Samuel Shoreham and his brother, Claude, both of whom were earnestly attempting to convince him that he should publish their manuscript on Greek antiquities. Striding away from the pair with poorly concealed relief, Jack found Fretwell nearby. “Where is she?” he asked the manager curtly. There was no need to explain who “she” was.

“Miss Briars is occupying the settee in the corner, with Mr. Hartley,” Fretwell said. “She is perfectly safe with him, I assure you. Hartley is not one to make improper advances to a lady.”

Jack glanced at the pair and then moodily surveyed the brandy in the glass he held. A strange, bitter smile pulled at his mouth, and he spoke to Fretwell without looking up.