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armand dubois.
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When she turned in the direction of the voice, her sequins and little semi-gemstones rustled around her torso, and she found Charles standing a distance away, tall and broad and flanked currently by another gentleman in a suit even more immaculate than his. He wasn’t tall. Or as broad, except around the shoulders. And he looked not a day older than twenty-five, without a hint of stubble; there was no coarseness about him at all. None.
Immediately, Sylvie took a shine to him, a real liking different from anything she’d ever taken to a man before. He seems nice, she thought. Yes, he seems ducky.
“This is Armand Dubois,” Charles introduced him, no pomp or fanfares. “My business partner; his father owns, among other things, some fine coffee plantations in East Africa.”
“Abyssinia,” Monsieur Dubois clarified, smiling. He also had a nice smile.
“I used to lead expeditions to Africa,” Sylvie found herself telling him, adding quickly at his briefly uncertain glance sideways at Charles who was a second and a lot of self-control from rolling his eyes at her, “in my imagination.”
“Oh,” Monsieur Dubois replied, “did you like it there?”
Sylvie beamed at him.
Immediately, Sylvie took a shine to him, a real liking different from anything she’d ever taken to a man before. He seems nice, she thought. Yes, he seems ducky.
“This is Armand Dubois,” Charles introduced him, no pomp or fanfares. “My business partner; his father owns, among other things, some fine coffee plantations in East Africa.”
“Abyssinia,” Monsieur Dubois clarified, smiling. He also had a nice smile.
“I used to lead expeditions to Africa,” Sylvie found herself telling him, adding quickly at his briefly uncertain glance sideways at Charles who was a second and a lot of self-control from rolling his eyes at her, “in my imagination.”
“Oh,” Monsieur Dubois replied, “did you like it there?”
Sylvie beamed at him.