By Mary Balogh
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Additional info for A Regency Christmas III
She felt more nervous than she had ever felt before, she believed, even counting her audition and her first onstage performance. Or perhaps it was a different kind of nervousness. “It is a cold night,” he said. ” Not that there had been much chance to notice the chill. A sumptuous private carriage had brought them the short distance from the theater. They had not spoken during the journey. She did not believe it was an invitation just to supper. But she still did not know what her answer would be to the inevitable question.
Dear me,” his lordship murmured. ” “Or such notoriety,” she said with a fleeting smile. “Damme,” Netherford continued, “but one would love to watch you waltz, Miss Heyward. ” There was a general gust of laughter at his words. Julian raised his quizzing glass to his eye and caught a suggestion of scorn in the dancer’s smile. “Thank you, sir,” she said. “You are flatteringly kind. But I am weary, gentlemen. ” And thus bluntly she dismissed her court. They went meekly, after making their bows and bidding her good-night—three of them out the door, one to join the crowd still clustered about Hannah Dove.
But she had reached out a hand slowly, taken the box and opened it. He had watched her almost anxiously. Had he made a mistake in not choosing diamonds or rubies, or emeralds, perhaps? She had looked down for a long time, saying nothing, making no move to touch the contents of the box. “It is the Star of Bethlehem,” she had said finally. It was a star, yes, a gold star on a gold chain. He had not thought of it as the Christmas star. But the description seemed apt enough. “Yes,” he had agreed. He had despised himself for his next words, but they had been out before he could stop them.
A Regency Christmas III by Mary Balogh