Love or Title: The Colchester Sisters by Darcy Charlotte

Author:Darcy, Charlotte
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fair Havens Books
Published: 2019-01-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

“This is an honor indeed, George,” Constance Dalton said as she handed George a cup and saucer. “Two visits in as many weeks. Now either I have become more interesting in my old age, or you want something.” The elderly woman smiled at him knowingly.

“You have seen through me, my dear Constance, and I will not insult you by attempting to bluff my way out of it.” George laughed.

Constance Dalton was a distant cousin to his father, one he had always liked very much. And even when his father had passed away some eight years before, George had been determined to maintain contact with the fiery old lady.

She was a very fine woman and much admired and respected in Hertfordshire. She had always been one to speak her mind and it was clear that it was a trait which was only becoming more pronounced with age. But George liked that in a person, he liked to know exactly where he stood. And anybody in Constance Dalton’s company could always be assured of that much at least.

“You are a good boy, George.” Constance laughed gently. “So out with it, what are you looking for?”

“Information, of a sort,” George began and, despite knowing Constance Dalton so well, he felt a little trepidation. “Information about a young lady, as it happens.”

“Well, I never, George Wentworth has his eye on somebody, does he?” Constance Dalton said in a gently mocking tone.

“I am rather afraid I do, my dear,” George said in an amusing way as if it were more an affliction than anything else.

“Well, who is the young lady? I presume I know her.”

“You are as sharp as ever, my dear. Yes, I do believe you know her rather well. Her name is Esme Colchester.”

“Oh, my dear Esme,” Constance said enthusiastically. “Yes, I know the Colchesters very well indeed. And Esme and her mother regularly come to play bridge.”

“I had thought as much,” George said, his excitement rising. “But do they have a standing invitation, my dear?”

“Of course, they do,” Constance said with some exasperation. “They have been coming to me for years. And Esme is a very fine bridge player, a very clever girl indeed.”

“Which is why you like her, Constance,” he admitted and realized that it felt quite wonderful to speak his feelings for the young woman aloud.

“And when are they next expected to attend? On what day do you play bridge, my dear?”

“On Thursdays, as a rule.”

“And do Mrs. Colchester and her daughter attend every week?”

“Most weeks, but there are never any guarantees. That is the whole point of a standing invitation, is it not? A person may attend or not attend as their mood and circumstances suit.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I take it you are looking for an invitation yourself, George?” she said, her shrewd eyes narrowed into slits.

“Indeed, I am, Constance. You really have seen right through me, have you not?”

“You are still a young man, my dear. It is easy for a woman of my years to see through the male of the species now with the benefit of experience and hindsight.

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