Page 16 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

With that, she departed, leaving Eugenie alone in her bedchamber. The moment the door clicked shut, she flopped onto her back, staring up at the embroidered canopy above her bed. How could she possibly sleep now?

Charles sat in the dimly lit coach as it rumbled through the darkened streets towards Lady Winter’s townhouse.

The steady clatter of hooves and the soft creak of the carriage did little to settle his restless mind.

His thoughts were still entangled in the moment earlier— my dear?

He had called Eugenie that term of endearment as naturally as breathing.

Why? It was unlike him. And yet, disturbingly, it had felt… right.

A voice interrupted his musings. “You are awfully quiet this evening,” his mother observed from across the carriage.

“I suppose I am,” he responded, hoping a brief answer would deter further questioning.

She leaned forward slightly, her gloved hands neatly folded in her lap. “Anything you wish to talk about?”

“No,” he replied, his tone clipped.

Before she could push further, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of a stately, whitewashed townhouse, its many windows aglow with warm candlelight.

He wasted no time in exiting, reaching back only briefly to offer his mother his hand.

Once on solid ground, she withdrew and smoothed the fabric of her maroon gown with practiced elegance .

“Do you intend to dance this evening?” she asked as he adjusted his cuffs.

“Perhaps,” he said, keeping his answer deliberately vague.

She eyed him knowingly, but he ignored her scrutiny, his patience for conversation already wearing thin.

As they ascended the front steps, the grand double doors swung open, revealing the elegant splendor within—chandeliers glittered above, gilded mirrors reflected the bustling crowd, and the distant sounds of an orchestra floated through the air.

Charles had barely stepped inside when his gaze landed on Viscount Alcott and his younger sister, Miss Charlotte Winslow, standing near one of the pillars.

“Excuse me,” he murmured to his mother before striding towards his friend. He offered a polite smile. “Good evening.”

Miss Winslow turned her bright, blue-eyed gaze on him and dipped into a low curtsy, the movement practiced and graceful. “My lord,” she purred, a coy smile playing on her lips. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

Charles cleared his throat, forcing his eyes upward as he attempted to ignore the rather daring neckline of her gown. “Miss Winslow,” he greeted, before shifting his attention to Alcott. “I’m surprised to see you here this evening.”

Before Alcott could respond, his sister interjected with a playful bat of her lashes. “Oh, I forced him to come,” she admitted. “I am hoping for an evening filled with dancing.”

“I am sure you will have your wish,” Charles said. It wasn’t that Miss Winslow was unattractive—far from it. With her golden hair and fair complexion, she was quite lovely. But Charles had always regarded her as a younger sister, despite her frequent, and rather blatant, attempts to flirt with him.

Holding up her empty dance card, she pouted. “Would you believe I have yet to be asked for a single dance?” she lamented, tilting her head slightly .

Alcott huffed in exasperation. “Good. That might mean this godforsaken evening will end sooner rather than later.”

Miss Winslow turned to him with mock horror. “You promised we would stay until the last dance,” she reminded him before suddenly brightening. “Oh! They have champagne.”

Alcott sighed. “You may have one glass.”

“You are such a tyrant, Brother. What harm is there in having two glasses of champagne?”

“The harm,” Alcott said dryly, “is when you start saying ridiculous things because you’ve had too much to drink.”

Miss Winslow rolled her eyes and brushed past him towards the refreshment table. “You worry too much.”

Alcott watched her go and exhaled heavily. “Do you want a sister?” he muttered. “She comes with a dowry.”

Charles chuckled. “You seem to forget—I had a sister.”

Alcott sobered instantly. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to make light of it.”

“You did no such thing,” Charles reassured him. “I see that your sister hasn’t changed much since I last saw her.”

“If anything, she’s grown more stubborn—” Alcott’s words trailed off suddenly, and his expression turned grim. “Dear heavens, Charlotte is already on her second glass of champagne. Excuse me.”

As Alcott hurried away, Charles continued into the ballroom, barely acknowledging the chalked dance floor. His gaze swept the crowd, searching—until it landed on the one person he had hoped to see .

Eugenie.

She stood near the rear of the ballroom, clad in an opulent gold gown that shimmered under the candlelight. Her blonde hair was arranged in an elegant chignon with two loose curls framing her delicate features.

Her gaze met his across the crowded dance floor and he realized that he had been caught staring. He should have looked away, but instead, he inclined his head in silent acknowledgment.

In response, she smiled. And for reasons he could not fully comprehend, it felt as if the entire room had grown a little brighter.

An unexpected and undeniable urge swept over him—the need to speak with her. To be near her.

As he crossed the ballroom, he searched his mind for something intelligent to say, something that might impress her with his wit or charm. But as he reached her, every clever thought abandoned him. Instead, the first thing that left his mouth was, “This is a crush .”

“It is,” she agreed.

Botheration . Why had he stated the obvious like a fool?

A familiar voice saved him from blabbering like a fool.

“Cousin,” Elsbeth greeted, appearing beside Eugenie. “What a pleasant surprise. You normally avoid these social gatherings.”

“I do not,” he argued, though he knew it was a weak attempt.

Elsbeth smirked. “Yes, you do. You once told me that balls are nothing more than an opportunity for people to be seen in high Society.”

Charles adjusted his sleeve with feigned interest. “I have since changed my mind.”

“Does that mean you intend to dance?” Elsbeth asked, her tone suspiciously innocent. “Because Eugenie could use a partner for the first set.”

“Is that so?” he asked, perhaps a touch too eagerly.

Eugenie’s expression was unreadable as she folded her arms. “You need not concern yourself with me, my lord. I do not require a dance partner out of pity.”

“I would like to dance with you,” he said simply. And he meant it .

She still didn’t look entirely convinced. “Very well, but it is out of protest and nothing more,” she relented.

He extended his hand as the first set was announced. “Out of protest, then,” he teased. “I have danced with young women for worse reasons.”

That earned a small, reluctant smile from her. “I am sure young women flock to dance with you, seeing as you are an earl.”

“Yes,” he admitted wryly. “And that is precisely the problem. Those are the type of young women I have no desire to dance with.”

“You poor earl,” Eugenie quipped, amusement dancing in her eyes as she placed her gloved hand into his.

Charles straightened, puffing out his chest in mock grandeur. “Finally! Someone who recognizes the tragic burden I bear.”

She laughed softly, but as he led her onto the dance floor, her demeanor shifted. Leaning in slightly, her voice lowered to a whisper. “Elsbeth has discovered our secret. She was waiting for me in my bedchamber earlier and somehow deduced that I have been visiting Oxford.”

Charles stifled a groan. Of course Elsbeth had figured it out. She was many things, but a fool was not one of them. It was only a matter of time before she pieced everything together. “And what did you tell her?”

“The truth,” Eugenie admitted. “And she informed me that she will be speaking to you about it shortly.”

“Something to look forward to, then,” he muttered.

The humor in her expression faded slightly. “It is not just Elsbeth I must worry about. I will have to tell Niles what I have been up to, and he will not be pleased.”

“No, he certainly won’t be,” Charles agreed. “But there’s always an alternative. We could elope to Gretna Green.” He cast her a sideways glance, half-hoping, half-joking .

“Do be serious.”

He grinned, undeterred. “You’re right. I am an earl, after all. Quite the catch . You should be the one offering for me.”

Her lips parted in mock disbelief. “And, pray tell, why would I ever offer for you?”

Placing a hand over his heart, he staggered back slightly as if she had just struck him. “You wound me, my lady! Am I not a man worth offering for?”

“I doubt I have wounded your pride.”

Charles sighed dramatically. “You had your chance, Eugenie. Now you must live with regret. No need to beg.”

She laughed, just as he had intended. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he pointed out as he led her to where the other young women were lining up.

Charles bowed slightly before he went to line up with the other men. It was only then that he realized he still had a smile on his lips.