Page 14 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

But in her heart, she was celebrating.

Because, at last, she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Charles leaned back in his seat, his gaze drifting towards Eugenie as she sat transfixed by Professor Addington’s lecture.

The glow of excitement in her eyes, the way she absorbed every word with rapt attention—it was utterly charming.

While most students sat half-bored, shifting in their seats or gazing off into the distance, Eugenie leaned forward, hanging on to each sentence as though she were uncovering a great treasure.

His eyes traced the delicate features of her face.

How her disguise had fooled anyone was beyond him.

Even now, a stray wisp of blonde hair had escaped from beneath her ill-fitting wig and he had the strangest urge to reach out and tuck it back.

But that would draw attention. And he had already been looking at her for far too long.

The sound of polite clapping echoed through the lecture hall as the students began rising from their seats. Books snapped shut, chairs scraped against the floor, and conversations hummed in the background as the hall emptied.

Eugenie turned to him, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “That was truly brilliant.”

Charles smirked. “You must have misheard the lecture, then. It was merely on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. Hardly the first time you’ve heard of such a thing.”

“Yes, but Professor Addington has a way with his words,” she countered, her expression alight with admiration.

“I’m truly glad you enjoyed it.”

Before she could respond, Charles looked up to find Addington approaching, his leather satchel slung over his shoulder, and his sharp, assessing eyes fixed on Eugenie.

“Dare I ask how you enjoyed the lecture?” he inquired.

Eugenie sprang to her feet, beaming. “It was magnificent,” she praised.

Addington puffed out his chest slightly, clearly pleased. “I daresay that is quite the compliment. Most of the time, I’m merely hoping the class doesn’t fall asleep.”

“I don’t know how they could,” Eugenie said. “I learned so many interesting things from your lecture. You are a truly gifted teacher.”

Addington chuckled, his gaze flicking towards Charles. “I like this one.”

Charles rose slowly from his chair, glancing around the nearly empty hall before saying, “Allow me to properly introduce you. This is Lady Eugenie, sister of Lord Westcott.”

Addington’s brows lifted in mild surprise. “I take it your brother doesn’t know you’re here?”

“You would be correct in your assumption,” she replied .

Addington adjusted the strap of his satchel. “Your brother is a good man. I’ve heard he’s been making quite an impact in the House of Lords.”

“He is trying,” Eugenie replied, holding his gaze steadily.

Charles narrowed his eyes slightly. He didn’t particularly like the way Addington was looking at her. His interest in Eugenie was clear—too clear. Charles told himself it was merely an observation, nothing more. And yet, the way Addington’s eyes lingered a fraction too long set him on edge.

“Well,” Addington finally said, breaking the momentary pause. “I should be going. It was a pleasure having you in my class, Lady Eugenie.”

“I truly appreciate you allowing me to attend,” Eugenie said.

Addington flashed a smile. “You are always welcome as long as you wear your disguise. Though, I must say, your beauty still shines through.”

Eugenie’s cheeks tinged pink, and she ducked her head slightly. “You are kind to say so, sir.”

“Professor,” Addington corrected gently. “At Oxford, I am addressed as Professor.”

Charles seized the opportunity to interject. “Addington is up for a fellowship.”

Eugenie lifted her chin, her admiration apparent. “I can see why. You are a gifted scholar.”

Addington’s smile deepened. “You truly are a delight, my lady,” he said. “I hope to see you at Lady Winter’s ball this evening.”

Charles half-expected Eugenie to make a face at the mention of a ball, but to his surprise, she merely nodded. “I will be there.”

“Wonderful,” Addington said, his voice turning slightly more intimate. “Perhaps you will even be gracious enough to save me a dance.”

“I would greatly enjoy that,” Eugenie replied .

Addington tipped his head. “Until tonight, my lady.” His gaze lingered a moment longer than propriety allowed before he finally turned and strode towards the door.

Charles watched him go, an inexplicable irritation creeping up his spine. The moment Addington was out of earshot, he turned to Eugenie. “Dare I ask what that was about?”

A small crease formed between her brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Were you flirting with Addington?”

Eugenie’s eyes widened in clear disbelief. “Good heavens, why would you even ask such a thing?”

“It was fairly obvious,” Charles replied, folding his arms.

Eugenie turned fully towards him, hands on her hips. “I was merely being gracious, considering he allowed me to sit in on his lecture.”

Charles gave her a skeptical look. “Is that all it was?”

“It was,” she insisted.

Charles knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Why did it matter to him whom she flirted with? And why did the idea of her dancing with Addington at Lady Winter’s ball send an uncomfortable twist through his chest?

He didn’t have an answer.

And that troubled him more than anything.

“Regardless,” Charles pressed, his tone still edged with irritation, “you should not be flirting with anyone when you are dressed like that.”

Eugenie let out an exasperated sigh. “Again, I was not flirting with Professor Addington.”

Charles studied her, searching for any flicker of insincerity. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but pressing the issue further would likely get him nowhere. “Fine. I shall take you at your word,” he muttered, though his voice came out much gruffer than intended. “Shall we depart? ”

“I think that is wise.”

Eugenie brushed past him, and as she did, a soft, familiar scent drifted in her wake. Lavender. The scent curled around him, light and fresh, yet entirely out of place amidst the old stone and parchment-filled halls of Oxford. Without thinking, the words tumbled from his lips.

“Why do you smell like that?”

Eugenie halted mid-step and slowly turned. “Pardon?”

“That scent. Why do you smell like lavender?”

Her brows furrowed. “And what, pray tell, is wrong with the way I smell?”

He hesitated. There was absolutely no way to answer that question without sounding like a fool. But since he had already made a mess of things, he pressed on. “You smell entirely too enticing.”

Eugenie’s mouth parted slightly in surprise. “Thank you?” she offered, though her tone made it clear she wasn’t sure whether to take it as a compliment or an insult.

Charles shifted uncomfortably. “I only meant that men do not smell like lavender.”

“And what do men smell like?”

He shrugged. “How should I know?” he asked. “I don’t go around sniffing them.”

Eugenie’s lips twitched with barely contained laughter. “Just women, then?”

“I did not sniff you.”

Her amusement only grew. “How else would you have noticed I smelled like lavender?”

Charles clenched his jaw. “You are impossible.”

“And this entire conversation is utterly ludicrous,” Eugenie countered with a wave of her hand. “Can we go now?”

He gestured towards the door. “After you.”

As Eugenie stepped ahead, Charles mentally cursed himself. Their conversation had spiraled into sheer absurdity. Why had he even commented on her scent in the first place? It wasn’t as though men would get close enough to her to notice. At least, they had better not.

They walked down the corridor in silence, Charles quickening his pace to hold the door open for her. Once they stepped outside, Eugenie glanced up at him and said, “Thank you, Charles. Without you, today would not have been possible.”

“I merely asked a friend to let you sit in on a lecture,” he said, attempting to brush off the praise.

“It was more than that, and you know it.” Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “You risked your reputation—and his. For me. And I cannot thank you enough for that.”

Charles met her eyes, something unspoken passing between them. “You are welcome, Eugenie.”

Her lips curled slightly. “I am surprised you called me by my given name and not Mr. Plunkett, given that we are still at Oxford.”

“Would you prefer if I call you Mr. Plunkett?” he asked dryly.

She lifted a playful brow. “Could you not have thought of a better name for me?”

“What is wrong with Plunkett?”

“Nothing, but Anderson or Jones is a much more common surname,” she teased.

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “But you are anything but common, my dear.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Eugenie’s smile faltered, her teasing expression fading into something unreadable. She quickly turned her gaze towards her waiting coach. “Thank you for escorting me,” she said, her voice quieter than before.

Charles clenched his fists, resisting the urge to curse himself. Why had he called her that? My dear? What had possessed him? That was the problem—he hadn’t been thinking.

A footman stepped forward and opened the carriage door. Eugenie moved to step in, but Charles instinctively reached out, his hand gently catching her arm.

“Eugenie…” he began, though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say—only that he needed to fix whatever tension had settled between them. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “You need not trouble yourself over it.”

But even as she stepped inside the coach and the door closed behind her, Charles found that he was troubled.

And he wasn’t sure why.