Page 69
“Perhaps it is a bit—”
“Stunning,” Torr said, holding out his hand to her stepfather. “Torr Derrickson, sir.”
Her father shook Torr’s hand firmly, although he kept looking from Charlotte to her mother as he did so, as if expecting a full-out argument to blow up at any moment.
Torr greeted her mother next, bowing and then kissing her hand with a flourish that reminded her that he was from another time. Her mother allowed it, but her attention was still fixated on Charlotte—and the dress that so offended her.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Graves.”
“A pleasure,” she muttered stiffly. Then, “Charlotte—”
“You don’t want to keep your guests waiting,” Charlotte blurted. “We’ll speak later, Mother.”
“Indeed.”
They walked away, moving down the vaulted entranceway toward the makeshift coat closet, which had been set up along the wall.
“How very . . . efficient.”
Torr didn’t wear a jacket, but he took hers from her shoulders and handed it to the attendant.
“My mother practically has a PhD in party planning.”
The front room had been completely redecorated for the event—high-top tables, a makeshift bar, and subtle but elegant decorations had replaced the usual furniture. The guests were buttoned up, suited up, and as elegantly dressed as one would expect at an event such as this.
Torr whistled. “The Army Depot must pay well,” he said, appreciating the high tray ceiling complete with a painted mural that was supposed to mimic the Sistine Chapel, which Charlotte had always found more than a bit pretentious.
“They don’t,” she said dryly, ordering a Pinot Grigio and Torr’s whiskey from the bartender.
“So, fill me in,” he said as they moved to the side of the room with their drinks.
“Hmmm, let’s see.” She nodded toward the couple entering the room. “The candidate himself—”
“Running for reelection, right?”
She nodded.
“I wonder.” He took a sip of his drink. “What he would say if I told him I spoke to Charles the very same day he signed the charter that granted William Penn this land?”
He never ceased to amaze her. “Seriously?”
His boyish smile melted her heart.
“I was at court having a bit of fun with Captain William Markham’s daughter—”
Nearly choking on her wine, she asked, “Did you say—”
“Yes, sorry. I should have been a bit more delicate.”
Charlotte had conversed with past boyfriends about their previous partners, but none of them had lived more than seven hundred years. The thought of so many exes, particularly given Torr’s reputation for short-lived romances, boggled her mind.
“No need,” she said honestly. “Secrets between us won’t serve much purpose.”
He smiled. “In that case, if I remember correctly—”
“But I don’t need details, thank you.”
Torr winked. “Of course. Forget the captain’s daughter—”
