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“Hmm,” Mother said softly.
“Mother,” Jennette warned. “I am not interested in any man. I leave for Florence in two weeks.”
“So you keep insisting.”
She leveled an ominous look at her mother. Jennette was in no mood to argue with her tonight. Watching Matthew ride with Mary had taken away her pleasant mood today. She had the urge to leave the party completely and return home, perhaps even to Talbot Abbey. There she could lock herself in the old nursery and paint until she had eliminated all her frustrations.
“All done, miss,” Molly stated, then moved away from her to pick up the gowns Jennette had discarded earlier.
“Thank you, Molly.”
Her mother shook her head as she watched Molly picking up three rejected gowns. “Where did you get this propensity for indecision? Your father was never like that and neither am I.”
Jennette almost laughed. Her mother was almost as bad as Jennette when it came to making a decision on fashion. “You know I’m only like this when it comes to what I should wear.”
“Of course,” her mother replied.
“I believe we should make our way downstairs before they start dinner without us.”
Jennette picked up her reticule and walked to the door. She and her mother strolled down the hallway to the marble steps. As they walked down the stairs, the butler opened the front door and a couple entered. Jennette had only met Mrs. Marston once, but with her sturdy frame and flaming red hair, she was difficult to forget.
“Dinner is at eight,” the butler told the couple.
“That barely gives us enough time to freshen up,” Mrs. Marston complained.
“I am sorry, ma’am. Lady Aston insists that dinner always be held at eight.”
Jennette and her mother smiled as they reached the bottom riser.
“Lady Selby and Lady Jennette!” Mrs. Marston exclaimed. “How lovely to see you.”
“And you, Mrs. Marston,” her mother said. “You had best hurry or you shall miss dinner.”
“Oh yes!”
The couple hurried to follow the footman to their room. Jennette and her mother continued on to the large salon where everyone congregated before dinner. A footman passed by with glasses of sherry for the guests. Her mother reached for two glasses then handed one to Jennette.
“Only three more excruciating days,” her mother whispered.
Jennette couldn’t agree more. Three more days and then they would return to London until it was time for her to leave. Hopefully by then Matthew would announce his betrothal to Mary, thus allowing Jennette to leave in peace. No more guilt about what she’d done to him.
Only a lifetime to relive what she had done to John. But once in Florence, she could make a new life for herself. Return to painting and take in the wonderful museums. Perhaps if she found the right man, she might take a lover and maybe, if she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was Matthew making love to her.
She blinked to keep the tears at bay. This attraction to him was absurd. Glancing over, she noticed Matthew lean in closer to hear something Mary said to him. His lips tilted upward as if whatever she’d said held some humor.
“Another sherry?”
Jennette turned with a smirk toward Somerton. He lifted an eyebrow at her in question.
“Thank you, my lord,” she replied and then took the offered sherry.
“What has you with that far-off gaze in your eyes?”
She watched as his attention swung to Matthew and Mary and then back to her. Somerton had a bad habit of seeing far too much. “Absolutely nothing,” she replied.
“You are a terrible liar.” He sipped his sherry. “Besides, I wouldn’t be too distressed.”
“I am not,” she lied again. Well, she didn’t want to feel any misery at their interest in each other.
