Take My Hand [Bridgerton]

[13. A Meeting of Importance]

It was official, Newton loved Sir Sloane Beckett.

Almost too much, Winnie observed privately, as Newton had hardly paid her any attention since the man had entered the sitting room at the Sheffield House. At first, she thought it cute the way that Newton scrambled over to Sloane on his short legs, but then the dog wouldn't leave his side. Sloane did not care, of course, as he liked Newton and enjoyed playing with him and riling him up. However, Winnie did care.

There were few things in this world that made Winnie Sheffield jealous and not having most of Newton's attention was one of them. It was silly, but she didn't care.

Sloane, of course, did not catch onto Winnie's slightly sour mood as she stared passive aggressively at Newton, who sat on his lap without a care in the world, smiling smugly toward his mistress. They had been chatting about his history with violin and when she wasn't thinking about Newton's newfound hatred of her, she found his stories quite entertaining.

After she called Newton over to her and he settled on her lap, she asked Sloane, "What has been your favorite piece to play?"

Winnie admired the way his face lit up as he spoke about his favorite ballad. It was a good pick, as she quite enjoyed the piece he described, though she wasn't one hundred percent positive that they were speaking of the same song. She softly ran her fingers through Newton's hair as he laid dutifully on her lap, starting to snore as he was lulled to sleep by the repetitive movements.

"No, no, it's this one," Sloane corrected her when she asked. He started humming and she instantly recognized where she had gone wrong.

Even his humming is dreamy, she thought wistfully. She couldn't help it! No, she wasn't interested in Sloane as more than a friend, but she could admit that he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

"Oh, right, I see!" she laughed as she joined him, humming. She didn't have a terrible voice, but she was nowhere near the caliber that Sloane was at. Still, being the gentleman he was, he applauded her.

They laughed together and when they settled down, Sloane steered the conversation toward her.

"Please tell me if I am overstepping, but I was wondering about your dress making."

Apparently, Sloane didn't beat around the bush. Winnie's stomach twisted nervously, but she laughed it off.

"You know, the first question I asked you was your favorite color," she pointed out.

"I apologize," Sloane smiled and gestured to her purple day dress. "Is it purple? You wear a lot of it."

"Purple looks best with my skin," Winnie told him, lifting her chin slightly. He was close, though, as it was her second-favorite color. "Blue–light blue, that is–is my favorite."

"Ah, I see," Sloane took a sip of tea and quickly popped the rest of his biscuit into his mouth, chewing thoroughly. "But the dress making...?"

"What is it that you want to know?"