He held out his glass to tap and looked surprised at my hesitation. What, I wondered, would he say when he discovered how old I really was? Would he accuse Destiny of deliberate deception? I expected he would be drained in disappointment if I were in any way beyond his reach.

Until then, enjoy the moment, I thought.

I smiled and tapped his glass.

We drank, not taking our eyes off each other.

“So,” he said, getting into his food and gazing about, “how is it that these young Southern gentlemen aren’t hovering around you like pigeons hoping for a crumb of a smile? Is something lacking in the water here?”

“Maybe they’re afraid,” I said, nibbling at my food. My stomach was in knots of nervousness now. This was the first time I was eating alone at a table with an older, unmarried gentleman.

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Being pecked,” I said, and he leaned back to laugh.

“Fools,” he said. “They’d never enjoy anything as much. Anyway, I’m certainly not complaining. The moment I saw you, I was afraid you were already tethered and tied to someone.”

“I am most certainly not.”

Did I say that too quickly? I wondered.

“Then I am truly blessed tonight,” he said, sipping his champagne and smiling at me through those beautiful and sexy eyes. “It makes me wonder how even a kiss could bring me more pleasure than simply sitting here and gazing at you.”

Was I blushing?

No man, of course, no boy, had ever complimented me like this, I thought. A kiss? Tethered? His words were full of sexual suggestions. If I even had an ounce of doubt whether I could compete with the young, unmarried women who were years older, that ounce was gone. I had read enough social instructions and paid enough attention to older girls to know how to carry on a conversation confidently with a young, handsome man I had just met. Even if he learned my age in the next ten minutes, he would express his disbelief.

“What is it you do, Mr. Garland Neal Foxworth?”

“Oh, a little of everything these days. I’ve opened two additional cloth factories in Richmond, bought a lumber mill in Fishersville a few months ago, and”—he hesitated and looked around to be sure no one was listening to our conversation—“invested in your father’s bank. That’s why I am here, why I was invited. It’s not my first bank,” he added. “But I’ve put enough money in it to have a seat on the board.”

“You look too young for all that.”

“Yes, I do, don’t I?” he said, smiling.

Could I have met someone more conceited than I was? I had to laugh as well, but he didn’t know, of course, that I was laughing more at myself as I thought, I might have met my match.