by Regina Scott
He shouldn’t have done it then. He refused to do it now. “No,” Matthew said. “Now, pray excuse me, my lord. I’m learning to be a gentleman, and I have an appointment with a lady. You wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
Harding eyed him a moment longer, then leaned back and stepped aside with an incline of his head. He said nothing more as Matthew exited the shop.
But as Matthew headed for the milliner’s, he couldn’t shake the feeling he hadn’t seen the last of the haughty lord.
~~~
Charlotte could not help but be pleased with their progress over the next week. Clothes had been ordered and were being delivered bit by bit. New furnishings graced the sitting room, which had been stripped of its weary wallpaper and repainted a warm cream. The new maid, Betsy, had helped clean the rooms and stood ready to answer the door, black dress covered in a white apron and blond hair covered by a ribboned cap.
Meredith and her beau the solicitor Julian Mayes were to join Charlotte and the Batemans for dinner as Ivy and Daisy’s first engagement. Ivy had been concerned about the dining room, but Charlotte had seen no need to do more than polish the cherry table and harp-backed chairs in the teal-papered space.
“I take it this dinner means we are formally out,” Ivy said that evening. Charlotte had found her protégé in the kitchen overseeing the last of the meal preparations. The grey-haired Anna was hurrying about from the fire to the sturdy table in the center of the room to the sink against one wall as if she couldn’t decide what to do first.
“Yes,” Charlotte said, taking Ivy’s arm. “And that means no more serving. You are the lady of the house, Ivy.”
Ivy resisted the pressure. “Mind the roast,” she instructed Anna. “You know it won’t cook evenly in that fire. And be sure to cut from the ends and the middle so our guests can have their choice.”
Charlotte tugged, and Ivy removed her apron and allowed herself to be led from the kitchen.
“I understand what you and Matthew hope, Miss Worthington,” she said, pushing her heat-limp blond hair away from her face, “but I can’t just abandon my chores. My family must eat. The house must be kept clean.”
“You have two serving women,” Charlotte reminded her. “They should be cooking and cleaning for you.”
“But I like to cook,” Ivy said with a smile. “And Tuny would be so sad if I didn’t bake cinnamon buns once in a while.”
“Once in a while,” Charlotte stressed. “I’m certain your brother would agree that you are meant for finer things.”
“He likely would,” Ivy said as they started up the stairs to where Meredith’s maid Enid waited to help the girls dress for dinner, having finished early with her mistress. “Matty has always wanted the best for us, and he’s worked hard to make sure we had it.”
Charlotte saw that in how he related to his sisters. The quartet had obvious affection for each other. He’d also brought them to London, given them a home. Now he was doing what he could to give them a better life.
“Your brother is a good man,” Charlotte said as they reached the chamber story.
“He is,” Ivy said. “That’s why I’m glad the prince will honor him. I like seeing him happy.”
At moments, Charlotte wondered if Matthew’s oldest sister wasn’t too accommodating. “I like seeing you all happy,” Charlotte assured her. “What makes you happy, Ivy?”
Ivy paused before the bedchamber door. “I’m happiest when my family is happy, Miss Worthington. It’s as simple as that.”
Simple was hardly the word. The Good Book advised to love one another, but loving someone and making them happy wasn’t always the same thing. Charlotte had tried to make her family happy, first her father and then her brother. She’d found the task daunting at times and frustrating at others. She could not imagine attempting to please three very different people in one household.
As she and Ivy came into the room, Enid was attempting to show Betsy how to pile up Daisy’s hair and curl a few tendrils around her face. Meredith’s dark-haired little maid had visited earlier in the week to advise on which fans and reticules ought to go with which pelisses and shawls and how to keep gloves up properly. Ivy had soaked in the information like water on wool, but Daisy always seemed to have a contrary opinion. It was no different now.
“Where’s the rouge?” she demanded as Enid stepped back.
Ivy frowned. Charlotte came farther into the room Daisy shared with Tuny and met Enid’s gaze in the mirror. “Ladies generally do not use an excessive amount of cosmetics, Daisy. A healthy regimen is the best way to ensure rosy cheeks.”
As Daisy’s eyes narrowed, Enid leaned closer. “But if you’re having a peaked day, Miss Bateman, you can always pinch your cheeks a bit. That generally perks them right up.”
Daisy squeezed her cheeks with her fingers, then turned this way and that as if to admire the effect. Charlotte drew in a breath of relief. Perhaps everything would continue to go well after all.
As if to contradict her, from downstairs came the deep bellowing bay of a hound.
Chapter Six
Daisy turned to meet Ivy’s gaze. “I told you this would never work.”
“What was that?” Charlotte asked as the bay came again.
Ivy’s look to Charlotte was apologetic. “Tuny was offered a dog.”
“And Ivy agreed,” Daisy complained with a roll of her eyes.
Now came cries of dismay, the crash of crockery, punctuated by yips and yaps.
“Come with me,” Charlotte ordered.
They found the dining room in chaos. One end of the tablecloth had been pulled nearly to the floor, and the plate that had been set there lay in shattered pieces among the folds. Anna was defending the door to the kitchen, roasting fork in one hand like a sword. In the corner, Matthew’s youngest sister sat in a puddle of gingham, arms around the neck of a massive hound.
“Return to your work, Anna,” Charlotte told her. “And don’t open that door again until I tell you it’s safe.”
With a grateful nod, Anna did as she was bid.
Charlotte approached the pair on the floor. The hound raised its wrinkled head, sniffed, and bellowed again.
“Let me,” Ivy said, joining Charlotte. She knelt beside her sister. “Tuny, you promised to keep him in the yard until we talked to Matty.”
“Bit late for that,” Matthew said, striding into the room. Mr. Ponsonby hadn’t finished his wardrobe yet, but the black coat and breeches outlined his muscular form well. He took in the situation with a quick look. “How did we acquire a bloodhound?”
“Mr. Winthrop says he’s too old to be of any use,” Petunia said. “I won’t let him put Rufus down. He’s a good dog.” She hugged him tighter as if sure he would be ripped from her arms.
Matthew joined Ivy in kneeling beside her and ran a hand over the hound’s black and tan coat. Beneath a wreath of folded skin, deep brown eyes turned rheumy regarded him solemnly.
Matthew rocked back on his heels. “Did Mr. Winthrop say you could bring him home, Sweet Pea?”
“Yes,” Petunia said with a hitch in her voice. “So long as you agreed to keep him. I knew you would. I’ll take good care of him. He won’t be any bother.”
Charlotte could not be so confident. Already Rufus was drooling on the floor.
Daisy made a face. “I’m not sharing a room with a hound. He brays like a donkey.”
“The yard is a little small for such a big dog,” Ivy ventured, look kind as she rose.
“Then I’ll walk him around Covent Garden,” Petunia declared.
Charlotte tried to imagine the massive creature fitting in among the flower sellers, merchants, and pedestrians thronging the area around the Covent Garden theatre. Should he catch a scent that intrigued him, if that big nose was still capable, he could flatten little Petunia in his rush to follow the trail.
Matthew stood, gaze thoughtful. “What do you think, Miss Worthington? Would a knight own such a noble hound?”
Pe
tunia released the dog to scramble to her feet. “Oh, please say yes, Miss Worthington.”
“Please say no,” Daisy muttered, twitching her new tulip pink skirts aside.
Rufus heaved himself to his feet. His back was still straight, his head as high as Charlotte’s waist. He took two steps to reach her side and pressed against her as if seeking comfort or vowing protection.
Charlotte patted the wrinkled shoulder, heart melting. “I think Rufus would make a fine addition to any gentleman’s household.”
Petunia squealed and gave a hop. Rufus opened his mouth, turned up his chin, and howled, the deep sound echoing through the house. Ivy’s eyes widened. Daisy clapped her hands over her ears.
Matthew laughed. It was by far the finest sound Charlotte had heard in a long time, the warmth and delight lifting her mouth along with her spirits. If a dog brought him such joy, she would find him a dozen.
He was more focused on the one at the moment, patting the hound’s head with a smile.
“You’ll need to let him out, make him a bed in my study,” he told Petunia. “I won’t have him on the beds or the new furniture.”
“Thank you,” Daisy said fervently, lowering her hands.
“And if he requires a walk, perhaps you can take him, Matty,” Ivy put in. “Even in his old age, he’s too big for Tuny.”
Petunia bristled, but Matthew nodded. “Agreed. And he can stay with me when you’re having your lessons with Miss Worthington.”
Charlotte patted the dog again. “A fine plan. Perhaps you could take him out now so that we can have our dinner.”
Still chuckling, Matthew led the hound out through the kitchen, earning a scold from Anna. Petunia happily agreed to take her meal with her new pet.
Charlotte was just glad the rest of the evening went smoothly. Even Daisy seemed a bit hesitant at first when Meredith in her usual lavender—this time an evening gown with pearls studding the gold stitching on the bodice—and Mr. Mayes in a black tailcoat with satin lapels greeted them. Charlotte could imagine the solicitor was well versed in putting people in their places, with that artfully mussed red-gold hair and warm brown eyes. But he went out of his way to be charming, and Meredith was complimentary of Ivy and Daisy. Charlotte was more concerned about Matthew and was pleased to find that he and Mr. Mayes got on well, talking about politics and her brother Worth’s balloon with equal ease. The second step in her plan had been accomplished.
The third step, hiring a dance master, proved more difficult than Meredith had suggested. The best were engaged for the Season, helping those making their debuts remain current on the latest dances and instructing older ladies on changes. Charlotte attempted to teach the girls herself, but with no piano, she found it hard to keep the time.
Meredith came to her aid once again, offering the use of a pianoforte standing in an otherwise empty room on the second floor of her home. Matthew brought Ivy and Daisy over for practice. With Meredith playing and Charlotte guiding, they still made it through only a few steps. Daisy kept bumping into Ivy, and Ivy kept compensating for her sister.
Charlotte threw up her hands. “There’s nothing for it. We must have a dance master.”
Matthew, who had been leaning against the wall, arms across his chest, dropped his hands and straightened. “Why? Can’t be all that hard to learn to dance. It’s just a lot of hopping about.”
“Would that it were so,” Charlotte informed him. “But every piece of music has a set pattern, and there are dozens of pieces, any number of which might be played at a particular ball.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” he grumbled. “Dancing should be about moving to the music.”
Meredith trilled a chord on the piano. “Indeed, sir. Perhaps you should take over instruction.”
He shook his head.
Daisy nudged Ivy, but her gaze was on her brother. “Come on, Matty. Show them how it’s done.”
“Are you opposed to dancing after all?” Charlotte asked, confused. “Do you know how?”
His mouth quirked. “In a way.” He stepped forward. “Ivy—clap.”
His sister brought her hands together in a solid drum of a beat. Daisy joined in. Matthew began tapping one foot in time, back straight, hands on his hips. Then he leaped into the air, landed on one foot, and spun.
Charlotte stared.
He was power, he was grace, he was dance personified. His feet flicked out right, left, right again. He turned in mid-air only to land and rise again. She had never seen anything like it. She couldn’t look away.
He landed, brought his feet together, and bowed. “There, now. See? Not so difficult.”
Ivy and Daisy applauded. Charlotte joined in. Pink crept into his cheeks.
Meredith rose from the bench. “Quite the display of manly prowess. A shame few could match it. Perhaps that’s why balls are often so dreadfully dull. I will ask Mr. Cowls to renew the search for a dance master. Come along, girls. Fortune is no doubt concerned that we have left her out this afternoon. We will take tea with her.”
Ivy and Daisy followed her from the room.
Matthew remained in place until Charlotte reached his side. She managed to do so with some aplomb, praying he could not hear the fluttering of her heart.
“That was impressive, sir.”
He shrugged. “Something we used to do in Birmingham to pass the time. I take it that’s not how you all dance.”
Charlotte smiled. “No. That’s certainly not how the gentlemen dance at the balls I’ve attended.”
He tucked her arm into his. “Perhaps you’re attending the wrong balls.”
“Perhaps I am.” She held him in place before he could lead her across the landing to the withdrawing room. “I must thank you for something else as well. You have been very patient with all this.”
He raised his brows. “I was never known for patience.”
“And yet, you haven’t protested as we changed your house, changed your routine.”
He shifted on his feet. “As long as I don’t have to light on those spindle-backed chairs in the sitting room, I’ll be fine.”
She’d been afraid the little gilded chairs might look too fragile to him. He probably didn’t much like the new cream paint with the gold etchings either.
“You needn’t sit on them,” she told him. “The room was designed to appeal to the ladies who will be visiting your sisters.”
A frown threatened. “Haven’t seen any of those yet.”
“They’ll come,” Charlotte promised. “Gentlemen too, if I’m not mistaken. And what news of your new wardrobe?”
He tugged at his cravat. “The coat will be ready in a few days, I’m told. But I’d prefer a less restricting neckcloth. What about the Belcher?”
Charlotte reached up and righted the white muslin. “Too messy with all that pattern. And you look so handsome in a starched white cravat.”
He watched her. “Do I now?”
She found herself caught in his gaze, once more unable to look away. She made herself drop her hands and step back. “Certainly. Why else would gentlemen put up with the things?”
He shrugged again. “Well, I suppose the inconvenience is worth it if it pleases the ladies.”
It pleased this lady a great deal, but she would not say that aloud.
~~~
Matthew wasn’t sure why he’d shown off like that in front of Charlotte and Miss Thorn. When he’d worked as a carter, he and the lads used to lark about from time to time, dancing around a bonfire to the tune of Patrick Monaghan’s trusty pipe. He’d never danced in front of a lady before.
But she hadn’t protested. Indeed, the look in those grey eyes had held fascination, awe. She’d called it impressive.
That was heady stuff.
The arrival of the dance master in their lives, however, put him in his place.
The sandy-haired Mr. Durham was slender and polished in his long-tailed coat, breeches buckled at the knee in gold, and stockings as white as his perfectly tied cravat
. He met Matthew with a sniff of his long nose and a curl of his lip that suggested he smelled something that had been left out too long.
But he positively gushed over Ivy.
“So graceful, so demure,” Matthew heard him tell Charlotte. “A gazelle on the dance floor. I predict good things for her.”
He was less kind to Daisy. “You are gliding through the steps,” he informed her, “not stomping grapes like an Italian farmwife.”
As if to spite him, Daisy had stomped all the harder, until the floors trembled.
“Pay him no mind,” Matthew had told his middle sister as they left Miss Thorn’s. “We hired him, not the other way around. He ought to be worried about pleasing you.”
Daisy gave his arm a hug. “Thank you, Matty. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”
He smiled as she disengaged. Ivy might be all quiet kindness, but Daisy was all brash determination. Someday, the rest of the world was going to realize that.
But he hadn’t expected that recognition to come in the form of a letter.
It was Thursday, which meant Charlotte was in residence. He had joined her and his sisters in the sitting room, standing by the hearth rather than perching on the gilded chairs, while she went over shaking hands and bowing and curtseying again. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of it. Daisy didn’t want to try.
“The prince can jolly well bow to me,” she said with a toss of her brown curls.
Ivy and Charlotte both protested that, and in the hubbub, Matthew caught sight of Betsy in the doorway. The maid was pale, her whole body trembling as she clutched an envelope to her chest.
“Betsy.” Matthew’s sharp call brought quiet to the room. “What’s wrong?”
She held out the note as if it weighed far more than it should. “This just came, sir, by way of a footman all dressed in green and gold.”
Ivy recovered first. She crossed to their maid and accepted the envelope. Breaking the seal, she pulled out the square of vellum. Matthew could see the gold border from the hearth.
