“I am sorry,” she said softly, “but I was hoping for someone else to claim my hand for the next dance.” Her cheeks grew rosy.
“No one has asked you,” Shelton muttered.
“No, but if I give this dance to Mr. Blakesley then I will not be free if another arrives to ask.”
Roger Shelton’s brow furrowed. “You did not mention this before.”
“Because I did not know the gentleman’s name. One must not speak of a hope to dance with someone to whom she has not been introduced.” She cast a glance in Mr. Norman’s direction. “However, that is no longer a problem.”
“Norman?” the question flew out of Walter’s mouth.
Grace’s head bobbed up and down. “Though it is forward to even admit to it.”
Forward was not the word Walter would use for it. “Well, then, Norman, do not keep the lady waiting.” Walter knew his tone was less than gracious.
Grace put a hand on his arm but then withdrew it quickly. “Do not be discouraged, Mr. Blakesley. It is not that I do not wish to dance with you. It is just that I had hoped to speak to Mr. Norman.”
“You had?” Roger echoed the question in Walter’s mind.
“Yes, I would like some advice.” Her hands were twisting in a nervous sort of fashion. “About a condition.”
What was she about?
“You wish to speak to him because he is a physician?” Mrs. Shelton’s tone was incredulous.
Grace’s head bobbed up and down as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Walter would put ten pounds on it that the chit was lying.
“You did not know he was a physician until just now,” Mrs. Clayton said.
“But he looked like one,” Grace declared.
“He looked like one?” Skepticism filled Roger’s question. Apparently, no one else quite believed Miss Love’s story any more than Walter did.
[from Her Secret Beau]
