It is commonsensical that a young woman of modest virtue will fall deeply and irrevocably in love with the first man to kiss her. After all, he is the only one of his ilk that possesses enough charm and worldliness to lead said young lady astray. So, it struck Ginger Kinsella as rather odd and somewhat telling that she did not love Colin Ashby. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure she actually liked him. Indifferent was the word really. Indifferent and annoyed.
“He’s here you say?”
Gibbs nodded, trying and utterly failing to appear grave. The knowing smirk ruined his chances of actually appearing a stately majordomo. “In the drawing room, miss.”
“Bother,” she said and handed over her hat and gloves.
She stepped to the small gilded mirror, the only ornament in the otherwise drab front hall, and considered her appearance. Entirely too fetching. She frowned, removed a few pins and smacked her cheeks, hoping for the disheveled look. But no, no now she looked just as if she stepped onto one of the dark, winding paths of Vauxhall after a romantic encounter with Sir Colin. Or what she once and he still he considered romantic. She was more than fetching. Now she looked positively willing. Ginger considered the front door and escape.
“Does Mother know he’s here?”
“Oh, undoubtedly.”
Ginger narrowed her eyes at the irascible butler. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“A great many things I imagine.” Gibbs’ face remained impassive as always.
“About this very moment then.”
Gibbs shrugged and she decided not to waste anymore time in his favorite game. Ginger baiting.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just fine.”
She scrapped her hair back and stabbed the missing pins into place. “Don’t let her order tea, Gibbs. Sir Colin isn’t staying.”

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