As his youngest sister, Rowena, was only thirteen, he had at least five years grace before he succumbed to the duty of his title and took a wife. His gut clenched when a sudden realization hit him. The crop of ladies he would be considering at that time were currently little girls who still played with dolls.
Dear God.
The concept made him slightly nauseous.
No.
When the time came, he would find a spinster—or a widow.
CHAPTER 2
When Charlotte and her sisters arrived home and explained the condition of Charlotte’s dress to Aunt Poppy, they learned she was well acquainted with the duchess of Wolverton. In fact, she informed them, they were scheduled to attend her at-home day on Tuesday. Aunt Poppy assured them their visit would remove any ramifications from her disastrous encounter with the duke. It had, after all, been an accident that few had witnessed.
Still, Charlotte’s pulse leapt into her throat on Tuesday afternoon when their aunt’s carriage rattled to a stop in front of the imposing townhouse that dominated the square. She worried her lower lip and shot a glance at Elizabeth. Her sister had not been introduced to the duchess during her Season since a bout of family illness had prevented the duchess from coming to London the prior spring. Elizabeth adjusted her gloves as she always did when nervous, and Charlotte took heart that she was not the only one with qualms.
“Come along, girls.” Aunt Poppy smoothed her auburn hair beneath her hat and rose from the seat opposite Charlotte when the footman opened the carriage door. “Just be yourselves and don’t spill your tea.” The laugh lines around her hazel eyes deepened when she chuckled. “We shall have a lovely visit. Her Grace is still as charming as she was at our come-out when she was just Miss Holcomb.”
Before Elizabeth rose to leave her side, Charlotte whispered, "Do you think we’ll meet His Grace, again?"
"I don’t think so. At-home days are mostly female venues." Elizabeth murmured, "His Grace will be at his club or remain in his study."
Cold shivers chased across her flesh every time Charlotte’s thoughts returned to the moment she’d looked into those brilliant blue eyes, then learned who he was. How should she greet him when they encountered each other? For, as an acquaintance of the duchess, it was simply a matter of time before they crossed paths. Would he acknowledge their chaotic encounter or would he pretend he’d never seen her before? Since they’d not been formally introduced, that was a possibility. She was, after all, not a remarkable person, and he was a gentleman of vaulted rank.
Charlotte straightened her posture when she followed Elizabeth from the carriage. Her eyes widened when she saw pedestals, topped by fierce stone wolves, fortified each side of the broad portico.
Wolves, not lions.
Queasiness gripped her middle and she swallowed hard.
The butler led them up the broad staircase to the drawing room and opened the doors to announce them. The scents of beeswax, fragrant Darjeeling tea, and floral perfumes floated across the threshold and Charlotte relaxed her grip on her reticule when she breathed in the aroma so like Mama’s sitting room before she took ill. Mama had always told her not to worry about expectations, just to be the best she could be.
Tall windows provided soft light into a large, elegant room containing pale rose and cream upholstered furniture, and thick patterned rugs of deep rose and sage green. A dozen or so ladies of varying ages occupied the room. Her Grace, a lady of medium height with kind blue eyes and dark blonde hair rose to greet them.
"Lady Elsworth, how good of you to come."
The duchess quickly performed the formalities between her guests, then directed Aunt Poppy to a settee beside her chair. Lady Anne, who resembled Her Grace, guided Elizabeth and Charlotte to join two ladies of their own age.
Elizabeth took a seat beside Lady Millicent Littlemarsh who’d had her come out with Elizabeth the year before. Charlotte sat across from Lady Jane Pomphrey, a young woman with bright red-hair, and who Lady Anne teased for turning down several offers over the past two Seasons. That fact struck Charlotte as a luxury few, herself included, could afford. At least, she amended, so long as she was sure the gentleman was truly kind and honorable. If she waited too long she might become a pitied, fussy spinster like Miss Smythe-Morton back home.
“I believe the offers were made with an eye toward my dowry and with little concern for my company as a wife,” Lady Jane explained. “Papa has been most patient with me, but I suspect that will not last if I do not accept someone this year.”
Charlotte sympathized with Lady Jane’s doubts but knew fortune hunters would not be of concern for her sisters or herself. Though respectable, their dowries were modest.
“I only seem to attract unimaginative gentlemen with no sense of humor” Lady Millicent said with a wry grin. Both ladies were childhood friends whose country homes neighbored the Wolverton’s primary estate. Sweet-faced and slightly plump, her brown eyes sparkled with mischief when she lowered her voice and confided, “But this Season I've arranged for Madame Fochet to adjust the necklines of my ball gowns to be a bit more daring than usual in anticipation of catching the eye of a bolder suitor than I have so far." She checked that her mother was still engaged in conversation, then added, "Papa will be fit to be tied of course, but I have noticed that the truly interesting men only dance with those who look a little scandalous."
"That is because they believe those women will not expect a wedding in exchange for a kiss... or more." Lady Jane said bluntly. "Ladies who show more than is proper do not gain husbands, they lose reputations."
"I didn't have her cut it as low as the demi-monde,” Lady Millicent protested, “nor shall I lose my reputation by displaying a bit more bosom. Even Papa will only bluster until Mama reminds him this is my second Season. But I hope it will attract the attention of some of the rakes who stand at the periphery of their family's ballrooms." She giggled. "You know they say a reformed rake makes the best husband."
"The problem with that saying is that most rakes never reform,” Lady Jane retorted. "Just look around the ballroom next week and you will see a dozen married rakes. Observe their wives. Then decide if you want to flirt with rakes and hope for reform."
Charlotte silently agreed. Though she hadn’t observe London society, she’d learned from childhood experience that exterior charm and attractive features could hide inner cruelty, and even dangerous threat. Her thoughts flew to the solitary rider in the park. Her scalp hairs tightened, and goose flesh prickled her skin. She knew better than most how deceiving a handsome face could be.
Mention of ballrooms led them to a discussion of Almack’s, their modiste fittings, and the latest styles until Aunt Poppy signaled it was time to go. Before they left it was agreed that Anne and her friends would have luncheon at Aunt Poppy’s before going shopping together for dancing slippers the next day.
They had reached the base of the stairs when the door on the ground floor opened. A hint of sandalwood and starch drifted across the entry hall when the duke stepped through from the street. Charlotte’s hand clutched the newel post, and she exchanged an alarmed look with Elizabeth.
The duke’s expression warmed when he saw Aunt Poppy, and he greeted her with a pleased smile. “Lady Elsworth, it is good to see you. I hope your family is well. What do you hear from Edward? I believe he serves with the 43rd on the Peninsula, does he not?”
“He does.” Aunt Poppy told him. “We had a letter from him last week, but he doesn’t write as often as we’d like.”
The duke’s eyebrows lifted slightly when he noticed Elizabeth and Charlotte beside her. He handed the butler his hat and walking stick. "My stepmother mentioned that you were sponsoring your nieces this year. Won’t you introduce us?"
Aunt Poppy did the honors and Charlotte’s cheeks burned when Aunt Poppy commented, “Though I believe you recently encountered one another at the park.” Her smile teased even though her words held a light caution.
The duke tipped his hea
d in acknowledgement. His eyes lost some of their warmth and his lips tightened. “An incident that is best forgotten. I should have remained on the horse path, and the dog should have been controlled by a footman until properly trained.”
“With luck and a strong footman,” Aunt Poppy agreed, “future outings should be uneventful.”
They took their leave and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. He had asked for formal introduction when he could have ignored her.
She hoped no other catastrophes threatened her Season.
CHARLOTTE MOUNTED THE stairs to the Wolverton ballroom a fortnight later, determined to appear calm and sophisticated, though anticipation made her pulse beat like a hummingbird’s wing. She’d been nervous when presented to the queen earlier in the week, but the ritualistic formality of that occasion had tempered her emotions. This, though—this ball—was the real beginning of her Season. She was no longer a child, but a young woman about to take her place in society. London Society. Breathe.
Elizabeth had described the splendor and excitement of a London ballroom—the glitter of jewels, the clouds of mixed scents, the beautiful gowns—but she had not prepared Charlotte for the disconcerting sense of unreality that spun round and round in her mind, as though she witnessed the crowd from afar. Hearing people’s voices, but unable to distinguish the words. Breathing the scents, but unable to take a deep breath. Climbing the stairs, but unable to step smoothly.
The duke headed the receiving line at the landing, the duchess and his sister at his side. Polite and affable, but slightly distant, his interaction with his guests underscored the aloof superiority of his rank.
Though she’d crossed the titles Wolverton, Ravencliffe, and Norcross from her list, a few peers remained, and she hoped to be introduced to them in the near future. Might it be possible tonight? She took in the grand crowd making their way up the stairs and admitted her list was no more than a fantasy of silliness. Titles had a certain security to them, but she’d do better to encourage a younger son who would be a kind, considerate companion.
It struck her to wonder, as she watched His Grace greet his guests—Did a duke feel as much pressure to choose his future match as did the ladies he met felt to gain one? Foolish thought. Of course he did. He was a duke and it was his duty to continue his title and family name. A glimmer of sympathy rose, and she wondered if he found it tedious to be on every lady’s list of hopeful matches, for surely, he was. He’d been on hers, sight unseen.
Ahead, Lady Jane Pomphrey reached the landing and he said something to her. Charlotte sighed. It was a pity that His Grace overwhelmed her senses with disquieting flutters. When he smiled widely at something Lady Jane said, the flutters took flight and pushed her heart into her throat. Dear heavens. He had dimples. Not the little poked-in-the-cheek kind, but long melt-your-bones charming ones. Oh dear. Breathe.
Uncle Aubrey and Aunt Poppy reached the landing when Lady Jane and her family moved on. Charlotte adjusted her reticule to the crook of her arm and smoothed her white silk gown. "Lord and Lady Elsworth,” Wolverton greeted Uncle Aubrey and Aunt Poppy with another of those polite near-smiles. "How good of you and your nieces to come."
He turned to Elizabeth and Charlotte, bowing over their hands. "Miss Longborough and Miss Charlotte Longborough."
He barely made eye contact, but Charlotte swallowed the absurd impulse to giggle. She never giggled. But if he had sent her a dimpled smile, she feared she would have lost the battle and given the impression she had more hair than brains.
The duchess greeted her and she curtsied. Lady Anne, dressed in a cream satin and lace gown with yellow trim, also curtsied, and murmured, "We'll talk when I have finished greeting everyone."
Charlotte entered the ballroom proper, and took in the opulent elegance of her surroundings. The room abounded with jonquils, primroses and deep yellow hothouse roses, “Oh, how lovely,” she murmured to Elizabeth. “It is as though spring has blossomed indoors.”
Cream and yellow brocade curtains framed the tall windows and shimmered in the light cast by several large chandeliers. Wall sconces and mirrors added to the warm glow.
Elizabeth followed their aunt and uncle deeper into the ballroom, then commented, "I’m glad Lady Anne didn’t feel the need to dress the footmen to match her color theme.” She glanced around as though she checked to see if anyone might hear her, then lowered her voice. "Last year I attended a ball where the hostess dressed the footmen in all pink to match her theme. They blended in with the decorations so completely it was most startling when one appeared at your elbow with a tray." She chuckled when they strolled past a footman in dark blue livery. "You never saw them coming."
When Lady Anne approached them a quarter of an hour later, she was in the company of her brother and Lords Ravencliffe and Norcross. The duke made formal introductions before the musicians struck up an introductory tune and the guests took their places for the first set. The duke led his sister to the floor as guest of honor. Elizabeth accepted Lord Norcross and Charlotte agreed to partner Lord Ravencliffe.
Charlotte found Lord Ravencliffe’s conversation pleasant, and he was kind enough not to refer to the incident at the park, for which she was most grateful.
Her attention often wandered to where His Grace danced with Lady Anne. She hoped no one noticed, and attributed her slight breathlessness to the dance. When the set ended, they returned to where her aunt stood with the duchess. The others joined them, then Lord Norcross claimed Anne’s next set and Lord Ravencliffe bowed to Elizabeth before leading her off. Charlotte smoothed her gloves and pretended she didn’t know she and the duke were left standing beside each other.
"Will you do me the honor, Miss Longborough?"
"Of course, Your Grace." Charlotte strove to keep her expression composed, but alarm made her scalp prickle and her stomach flipped over. What if she stumbled and made a cake of herself again? She’d completed one set without mishap or clumsiness, but something about the duke made her feel like she’d spun around in circles until she scarcely knew where to put her feet. Her stomach threatened to rebel. She took a fortifying breath and placed her hand on his arm to be led to the floor.
LUCIEN HADN’T INTENDED to dance with anyone other than his sister during the evening, but it would have been awkward had he left Miss Longborough without a partner. Excusing himself would have implied he found her unacceptable, something he was loathed to do without cause. He glanced sideways at her when he led her to the dance floor. Their dance had nothing to do with wide gray eyes or a bosom that needed no grass stains to attract a man’s attention. He had acted out of civility and manners, nothing more.
Unfortunately, once the set was over, he would have to dance more sets than he’d planned. She must not be considered to have been singled out, either. The gossips would delight in turning simple courtesy into rumor.
The music began.
For the first few steps they remained silent, then Miss Longborough asked, "Are you acquainted with the Duke of Everham, Your Grace?"
"I am. Why do you ask?"
"I had hoped you might introduce us," she said. "I understand he is fond of dogs."
He didn't miss the hint of humor in her eyes when she answered.
"Oh, that he is," he assured her. "I believe he brings five or six to his town house each Season and keeps an average of twenty-five or thirty at his country establishment at all times."
Her eyes rounded for a moment before she narrowed them. "I believe you are jesting with me."
"I am wounded, Miss Longborough," he said gravely. "I would never deceive a lady. Everham has raised dogs since he himself was a pup." They separated, circled and returned to bow and curtsey before progressing down the line. Her disbelief amused him. At least she was no fool. Everham’s obsession with his dogs did skirt the improbable. "He raises bird dogs, though." He informed her while he circled her around to the music. "I doubt he'll take your beast."
"I don't wish him to take my dog," Her eyebrows raised as th
ough surprised at the suggestion. "I wish to see if we would suit."
"You wish to see if—“ Humor fled and a shaft of exasperation raised his ire. "I do not play cupid, Miss Longborough." Impertinent chit. They reached the end of the row and circled back to the beginning.
"I do not expect you to, Your Grace."
"I should hope not."
He looked down and into the gray eyes that met his with a hint of mirth. Surely, she couldn't mean for him to introduce her to a rival—Rival? He frowned. How absurd. He had no interest in Miss Longborough. At least, he acknowledged in light of his physically half-roused state, not beyond the normal reaction of a male to the attractive bosom of a female.
When they met at the top of the line she told him, "Introductions are the only way one can make new acquaintances and form friendships as well as attachments, Your Grace. And you must admit the purpose of the Season is to allow ladies and gentlemen to meet one another."
Lucien recognized her determination and knew, too, that the primary reason Everham was unmarried had everything to do with his utter focus on his dogs and their training. The man smelled of dog at the best of times... and of wet, foul, rolled in something dead, dog at the worst. It would serve her right if he did introduce them.
"Very well, Miss Longborough. Should he attend any of the Seasons' events at which we are all in attendance, I shall make him known to you." Her pink lips drew into a slight pout and Lucien had a sudden urge to taste that lower lip.
"He is not here, tonight?"
"He sent his regrets. His favorite bitch is about to whelp." He experienced a flash of smug satisfaction that Everham attended few social functions when in town, restricting his activities to parliament and the sporting set.
Scandalizing the Duke Page 2
