pages, no more than thirty at the most, quite shopworn, and with luck she could finish it before the hero and his viscount friend arrived.
But first sheâd look at the cover again. The baron truly owned one of the most pleasing collections of features sheâd ever seen gathered together all in one place. Hair so thick and blond that it would have to be the envy of all the many women who both dyed their locks and supplemented them with itchy bunches of wool to help conceal the thin patches.
Not that Dany had that problem. When it came to her own hair, the true bane of her existence was its color. Not red, not chestnut, not even orange, thank God and all the little fishies. Her mother (believing herself to be out of her younger daughterâs hearing), had once described the curious mix of red and gold as trashy , the sort of hair that couldnât possibly come from nature, and was favored by loose women who flaunt their bosoms and kick up their skirts to expose their ankles in the chorus in order to delight the randy young gentlemen in the pit at Covent Garden.
Although sometimes Dany thought that might not exactly be considered a bane on her existence, as at least the kicking up of her heels sounded rather fun. To date, the only thing growing up had proved to Dany was that the mere passing of years could turn a femaleâs life into one long, boring existence, with nothing to look forward to but purple turbans.
Sheâd marry somewhere in between some sort of hopeful kicking up of her heels and the turbans, she supposed, although she was in no hurry to please her parents by accepting the first gentleman willing to take her off their hands. She hoped for at least two Seasons before anyone was that brave, anyway.
But on to the baronâs eyes. The engraver had been a tad too generous with the green, but by and large, they were the most compelling eyes Dany had seen outside of her childhood pet beagle, which somehow had managed one blue and one brown eye. And they were sweet, and sympathetic, just like her puppyâs eyes when he wanted to convince her he deserved a treat. Winsome, yet wise, and not a stranger to humor.
Yes, she really did admire the baronâs eyes. They were nearly as fascinating as her own, she thought immodestlyâshe would have said truthfullyâ which seemed to change color with her mood or what she wore. Not that she was in any great hurry to be limited to dowager purple.
His nose definitely surpassed hers. She liked the small bump in it just below the bridge, which kept him from being too pretty. Hers was straight, perhaps a bit pert. In short, it was simply a nose. It served its purpose but would never garner any accolades.
And then there was his mouth. Oh, my, yes, his mouth. Her father had no upper lip, none at all, as if heâd been hiding behind a door when they were handed out. The baronâs upper lip was generously formed, and nicely peaked into the bargain, and his bottom lip full, just pronounced enough that there was a hint of shadow beneath it.
He didnât favor side-whiskers, for which she was grateful, seeing that her brother, Dexter, he of the madly curling black hair, had taken to wearing his long enough to clump around the bottom of his ears, making him look rather like a poodle.
And he was tallâthe baron, that isâso that the top of her head didnât quite reach his shoulders. Ordinarily that would annoy her. Sheâd always thought she would be attracted to shorter men, so that she didnât feel overpowered. But she didnât feel small or powerless beside the baron. She felt...protected. Most especially when he had caught her as she fell and lifted her high in his arms. It had been quite the extraordinary experience.
âI suppose I canât trip again, because that would be too obvious. Pity,â she said to herself, opening the chapbook. It was time to stop thinking and start reading. Time to see just what sort of
Major Dick Winters, Colonel Cole C. Kingseed