The days leading up to her visit to the Carrington home flew by much too quickly, and as the time grew nearer, Charity began to feel queasy.
"If I come down with the flu, I just won't be able to go," she thought with satisfaction. But the upset stomach never developed into anything serious, so she was stuck.
On the night of the party, Ross picked her up early. She'd worked long and hard on her hair, trying to get it tamed without actually pinning it up, but it was no use. She looked South Seas. She felt South Seas. And when Ross came in and she could see on his face that he thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, she was per plexed.
"I hope you don't expect me to go barefoot," she snapped, then immediately regretted her tone.
She might have saved herself the anxiety, because he didn't notice her crankiness.
"You're stunning," he told her, his eyes shining. "You could wear combat boots and carry it off with that dress on. You're out of this world."
Out of this world. That was exactly what she was afraid his parents would think.
"They're going to love you," he insisted.
She wasn't so sure. Things didn't exactly fall into place once they arrived at the overwhelming Romanesque man sion with the sweeping driveway. A servant in white livery opened her door and helped her from the car.
"Oh, my," she said weakly, looking around like a tour ist at Versailles. She'd known his family was well-off, but this was in another universe from anything she'd ever known.
"Come on in," Ross said cheerfully, seemingly un aware of how awestruck she was. "I'll find Jarvis."
"Who's Jarvis?" she asked, running to keep up with his long stride.
"The butler. He's worked for my parents since I was a little kid. He'll take care of you while I go find out how the land lies."
They didn't find Jarvis, so Ross brought her to the li brary for safekeeping. She looked around at the exquisite leather bindings of the books there. The huge globe in the corner might have been left by Jesuit monks centuries be fore. Portraits hung side by side all around the room, most of them from another age.
"Who are all these people?" she asked, gazing up at the paintings and at the same time holding on to his arm in an unconscious effort to keep him from leaving her alone there.
He looked up and shrugged with unconcern. "Ances tors."
She sneezed. "Look at that," she said as he blessed her. "I guess I'm allergic to ancestors."
"Nonsense," he said, pulling her close to him and dropping a kiss on her nose. "You must have ancestors of your own. Everyone does."