Page 17 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

E ugenie found that she rather liked dancing with Charles. Quite frankly, she enjoyed it far too much. There was something profoundly reassuring in the way he led her across the dance floor, their movements synchronized as though they had been dancing together for years. She felt safe. Comfortable.

But that would never do.

Charles was her friend. And she was certain her feelings were entirely unreciprocated, which was just as well. She would rather have Charles in her life as a friend than risk losing him altogether to foolish, unspoken affections.

As the final notes of the set echoed through the ballroom, Eugenie dropped into a practiced curtsy, lowering her gaze to steady herself.

When she looked up, Charles was approaching with that easy, familiar smile of his—the one that never failed to make her feel as though the rest of the world faded away.

“You dance extraordinarily well, my lady,” he praised, offering his arm.

She accepted it, arching a brow. “You sound surprised. ”

“It is not often that I encounter someone who can match my dancing prowess.”

She laughed. “How very humble of you.”

Charles puffed out his chest, feigning great pride. “The dancing master at Eton was abnormally attentive to me, I’ll have you know. I do believe he once told me I wasn’t the worst dancer he had ever come across.”

“That is quite the high praise,” she teased.

“Indeed,” he replied before winking. “And it certainly helps that I had such a beautiful partner.”

Eugenie felt a flicker of heat rush to her cheeks but refused to let him see how deeply his words affected her. She tilted her chin in mock skepticism. “Flattery, my lord?”

“Did it work?”

“No.”

He tsked, shaking his head. “Pity. I shall have to try harder to win your favor.”

“If you are truly intent on winning my favor, I do have a particular fondness for sweets.”

“Duly noted.”

As they strolled towards the edge of the dance floor, Eugenie’s gaze drifted towards the rear of the ballroom, where Niles and Elsbeth stood in quiet conversation.

It was then that she noticed the lingering stares of several young women—eyes trailing after Charles with thinly veiled interest. She wasn’t surprised.

He was, after all, one of the most eligible bachelors of the Season.

Charles suddenly muttered under his breath, drawing her attention back to him. “Oh, no,” he sighed.

“Is something amiss?” Eugenie asked.

He gestured towards the refreshment table, where Miss Winslow stood sipping champagne, her cheeks flushed with drink .

“It appears Miss Winslow has been left unattended by her brother,” Charles murmured. “And she is drinking another glass.”

Eugenie frowned. “And that is a problem?”

“It is,” he said, his brow furrowing.

Before she could press for further explanation, Charles released her arm and muttered, “Excuse me.”

She watched him stride away before turning back towards her brother. “Why are you two not dancing?” she asked, addressing Niles and Elsbeth.

Niles shrugged. “Elsbeth is not particularly fond of dancing, and I have no complaints.”

Elsbeth gave him an amused look. “I do not mind it, but we are here to chaperone you this evening. There is little time for dancing.”

“You should dance the next set,” Eugenie urged. “I promise to behave. I will not run off to Gretna Green with an eligible gentleman.”

“I don’t know…” Elsbeth hesitated.

Niles slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. “It is only one dance, my love. And I have all the confidence in the world in Eugenie.”

Elsbeth’s face softened. “I would like to dance with you.”

“Then it is settled,” Niles said, turning back to Eugenie. “You will remain here.”

Eugenie glanced towards the French doors. “I might step outside for some air, but I will stay on the veranda.”

Niles gave a nod of approval.

The next set was announced, and Eugenie waved them off with a pointed look. “Go. Enjoy yourselves.”

Without further hesitation, Niles led Elsbeth towards the dance floor, disappearing into the sea of elegantly dressed couples.

Eugenie smiled as she watched them. They were so utterly content together, so in love.

It was the kind of love match she had never truly believed in.

A part of her had always dismissed the notion of marriage, assuming it was impossible to find such devotion.

She was peculiar in her ways; she knew that much. Who could ever love her?

Her gaze wandered across the ballroom, searching for Charles. She scanned the refreshment table, but both he and Miss Winslow were gone.

A strange unease coiled in her stomach. Not that it was any of her concern. But curiosity got the better of her.

Slipping through the French doors, Eugenie stepped onto the veranda. Couples milled about, enjoying the crisp night air, but there was no sign of Charles. Then a burst of giggling caught her ear. It came from beyond the side of the townhouse.

A sudden, inexplicable urgency filled her as she descended the stairs, her slippers barely making a sound on the stone path. Rounding the corner, she came to an abrupt halt.

There, in the dim glow of the lantern light, stood Charles and Miss Winslow—locked in a scandalously intimate embrace.

Eugenie sucked in a breath, the sound betraying her before she could stop herself.

Charles’s head snapped towards her, his eyes widening in horror. “Eugenie.” He wrenched himself away from Miss Winslow, stepping forward as if to explain.

But she didn’t wait to hear it.

Heart pounding, she turned on her heel and fled back towards the veranda.

How utterly mortifying. She had stumbled upon Charles in the middle of a romantic moment, and she had no right to feel so wounded by it.

She reminded herself, again and again, that it did not matter. Charles could be with whomever he wanted. They had no understanding. They were only friends. And yet, no matter how much she repeated it, the ache in her chest refused to fade .

“Eugenie! Wait!”

Charles’s voice rang out behind her just as she was about to step back into the ballroom.

She froze as she debated about what she should do.

Should she turn around and give him the chance to speak?

But what right did she have to feel this way?

He had done nothing wrong. Despite that, the image of him and Miss Winslow, pressed intimately together in the shadows of the gardens, was burned into her mind.

Before she could make a decision, Charles moved in front of her, effectively blocking her path. His breath was slightly uneven, as if he had hurried after her. “Eugenie… you must let me explain.”

She lifted her chin. “There is no need, my lord?—”

“Yes, there is,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “What you saw back there was not what it seemed.”

Her frown deepened. “It seemed as though Miss Winslow’s chest was quite determinedly pressed against yours. Was I mistaken?”

Charles ran a hand through his neatly groomed hair, leaving it disheveled. “No… yes…” He groaned in frustration. “What you saw—what you think you saw—was entirely innocent.”

A sharp pang of irritation shot through her. Did he think of her as a fool? That she had imagined the entire thing? “You do not need to explain yourself to me,” she said curtly.

His hand lifted slightly as if to reach for her before he let it drop. His gaze flickered towards the lingering guests on the veranda before he lowered his voice. “Can we talk in private?”

Eugenie folded her arms, considering him. Charles was always composed, always unbothered. And yet now, he was anything but.

“I suppose,” she said at last .

He gestured towards the far end of the veranda. “It will only take a moment. I promise.”

She walked ahead, her posture stiff. As they reached the quieter, more secluded section, she turned to face him with an expectant look.

Charles looked deucedly out of sorts—his usual confident air was absent, replaced by something far more vulnerable. His hands curled into fists at his sides before he blew out a breath and met her gaze.

“Miss Winslow had too much to drink,” he began. “I thought taking her for a short walk in the gardens might help clear her head. Unfortunately, she mistook my intentions and assumed I was trying to get her alone.”

“Were you?”

“No! Heavens, no!” Charles exclaimed, his frustration evident. “I merely thought the cool air might sober her a little. I did not expect her to—” He paused, visibly uncomfortable, before finally admitting, “I did not expect her to try to kiss me.”

“Regardless, it is none of my concern. You may kiss whomever you so desire.”

Charles’s expression grew even more frustrated. “But I had no intention of kissing her.”

“It did not look that way.”

Charles took a step closer, his voice lowering into something more urgent, more sincere. “You must believe me. I have no interest in Miss Winslow. I think of her as a younger sister—nothing more.”

There was truth in his voice, a raw honesty she found rather convincing. And she wanted to believe him. Truly, she did.

But she could not erase the image from her mind.

Before she could respond, the sound of delicate footsteps approaching the veranda caught her attention.

Miss Winslow .

She glided up the steps with a satisfied smile curving her lips, her eyes bright with mischief. “Lord Bedford,” she purred, tilting her head coyly. “I do hope you will save me a dance later.”

Charles visibly tensed. “I think not.”

“Oh, dear.” Miss Winslow pouted, her eyes turning towards the ballroom. “My brother has finally found me.”

A tall, dark-haired man strode up to them, his expression stormy. “Charlotte,” he said in a low, controlled voice, “where have you been?”

Miss Winslow gave a little, careless laugh. “Lord Bedford and I took a stroll in the gardens.”

Charles lifted a hand, interjecting, “I merely thought the cool air might help her inebriated state, Alcott.”

Alcott’s stern features darkened further. “That is all that I hope happened.”