CHAPTER SIX
Proberta was furious. She paced back and forth in front of the roaring fire Beckworth had built in the drawing room fireplace. After days, even months, of putting up a stoic front regarding her Henley, she now did nothing to hide her indignation. She had been stood up.
Wesley walked over from the bar carrying a crystal glass filled with sweet sherry.
“Here you go, my dear Proberta,” Wesley said, handing her the glass. “This will warm your spirits. Drink up.”
“You’re a fool to think a mere sherry will warm my spirits,” she said sharply. Nonetheless, she tossed back the wine in one gulp, then handed the empty glass back to a stunned Wesley. He returned to the bar, uncertain whether to refill her glass. Proberta watched him go, then quickly grabbed and drank a glass of champagne from the tray that Randolph was passing around. When Wesley returned, she seemed to have softened.
“Thank you, Wes.” She quickly took the glass from him, this time taking a small, albeit significant sip. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I really shouldn't have done that when you’ve been so kind to me.” She took another gulp of the sherry. “I’m just fed up with that cousin of yours.” She moved closer to Wesley so that her arm brushed against his hand. “Yes, I think I am feeling a tad bit warmer after all,” she giggled. “Oh Wes, you do understand women, don’t you?”
