Warmth shot through Annabelle’s middle at his wink. The man was too handsome by half. And the things he’d said nearly took her breath away. How terribly unexpected of him. Everything he’d listed were all much more interesting than the things the gentlemen of the ton could do. Race a horse. Gamble. Drink heavily. Who cared?
“Those are quite impressive feats.” She concentrated on her feet so she wouldn’t swoon if he winked at her again. She’d never swooned before. She’d always thought it was silly. But then again, she’d never been winked at by David. The man’s hooded eyes and chiseled jaw might make a non-silly lady swoon. Or at least want to swoon, and that wasn’t good, either.
“In the army, I was known for being able to climb the highest tree and run the fastest,” David continued.
“Yes, Marianne mentioned you were a fast runner.” Hmm. She had a scuff on her boot. She’d have to inform Cara when they returned home. What else could she distract herself with?
“Marianne told you that?” His brow was furrowed. He shook his head. “Regardless, something tells me none of those things will be particularly useful to me as an earl.”
“You never know. As the Earl of Elmwood, you may be called upon to whittle something.” She smiled at him.
He shrugged. “If I’m lucky.” But there was a look in his eye that told her he meant it.
She leaned forward to catch his eye again. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You don’t feel as if you have the skills to be an earl.”
“I don’t. You’re teaching me everything I need to know. And everything I already know is useless.”
“That’s not true, at all.” She studied his face. How could this man possibly think he was unworthy of his title?
“Isn’t it? Aside from the waltzing, has there been one thing I already knew how to do? I know how to be an army captain. I don’t know how to be an earl. I was never meant to be one.”
She nearly gasped. “Of course you were meant to be one. You were born the eldest son of the former earl’s only son.”
David shook his head. “I may be an earl by rights, but that’s not what I meant. I mean I’m not cut out for it. I don’t think my father ever intended to tell me the truth. If I hadn’t been a prisoner of war and found by the Home Office, I would still be in the army right now. That’s where I truly belong.”
Annabelle bit her lip. She wasn’t certain what to say. She’d never been in such a situation, sitting next to a man with a title who wanted no part of it. In her world all the men with titles were like peacocks, strutting around with them, proud of them. Well, perhaps Beau and his friends weren’t overbearing about their titles, but they certainly understood their duty, and didn’t want to renounce their positions.
“Perhaps it was meant to be,” she finally said softly. “Perhaps everything that happened has led you back to who you were meant to be.”
He gave her a wan smile. “Thank you. For trying to make me feel better.” He cleared his throat. “That’s quite enough about me. What are you good at, my lady?” he asked, his knife flying over the stick, while bits of bark and thin pieces of wood flew off it.
She laughed. “Oh, I’m ever so accomplished,” she batted her eyelashes at him so he’d know for certain she was jesting. “I can do all the things a young lady of good breeding can do.”
“Such as?”
“I can play the pianoforte with reasonable skill. I can dance all the dances necessary at a ball. I can read and write. I can paint with watercolors. I can even do needlework both plain and fancy.”
“Fancy, eh?” The smile he gave her made her knees wobble.
“Oh, yes, and on top of all of that, I daresay I’m an expert at the art of flirtation.”
“Really?” His brows shot up.
“Oh, yes. I’ve been known to flirt with the best of them.”
“Very well. If you were flirting with me, what would you say?”
She felt her cheeks heat. She couldn’t flirt with him. Not with him. She was actually attracted to him. The whole reason flirting worked was because it meant nothing, one was only engaging in meaningless talk. Flirting with someone she actually wanted to kiss—oh, dear, she wanted to kiss him—was an entirely different proposition altogether. If it were possible to kick herself while sitting atop a fallen log, she would have done it. Why, oh why, had she mentioned flirting? In his presence?
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” she breathed, feeling like a complete fool. “I…I couldn’t possibly flirt with you.”
“Why not?” He looked hurt. “Am I not the sort of chap you’d flirt with?”
Yes, actually. She plucked at the ribbon beneath her chin. “It’s only that…flirting is best done at ball and parties, when I have a fan in my hand.” Dear lord. That was perhaps the silliest thing she’d ever said.
“A fan?” He frowned. “What does a fan have to do with it?”
“Everything,” she rushed to assure him. “I suppose that’s yet another lesson for you. Fans have many subtle meanings.”
Still whittling, David cocked his head to the side. “Fans?” The look on his face was beyond skeptical. He sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but go ahead and tell me. I’ll do my best to try and remember.”
Annabelle cleared her throat, and folded her hands in her lap, beyond pleased with herself for turning the conversation away from a demonstration of verbal flirting. “If a lady is carrying her fan open in her left hand, it means, come and talk to me.”
His brows drew together in a thunderous expression. “Seriously?”
“Yes.
His eyes were narrowed. “How is one supposed to know the message is meant for him?”
“She will catch your eye,” Annabelle insisted, plucking at the collar of her pelisse.
David frowned again. “Very well. What else?”
“If a lady carries her fan in her right hand in front of her face, it means follow me.”
His brows shot up. “Really? What else?”
“If she carries it in the left hand in front of her face, it means she is desirous of an acquaintance.”
“Left hand in front of face. I hope to remember that one, at least.” He chuckled.
“If she draws it across her eyes, she is saying she is sorry.”
He nodded at that, still focused on the stick in his hand.
“If she twirls the fan in her right hand, it means she loves another.”
He winced. “Another good one to remember.”
“If she drops it, she means to say that you shall only be friends.”
His lips formed an O and he scowled. “Too bad.”
Annabelle waved her hand in the air. “Fanning slowly means she’s married, fanning quickly means she’s engaged. And finally, if she touches the tip of the fan with her finger, she is saying…kiss me.”
David’s head snapped up. “Does that happen often?”
“I couldn’t say—these are all more theoretical in nature. I, for one, rarely use my fan for anything more than cooling myself at the opera.”
David laughed. “But you could be telling some poor chap across the way that you’re engaged.”