by Diana Quincy
“Ah, Camryn, do join us,” said Gibbon. “We could use your noble outlook.”
“As cousin to an earl, you’re hardly part of the working class,” he said in wry tones.
“Sadly, blue blood alone does not put food on one’s table.”
Camryn snorted before settling a mesmerizing amber gaze on Charlotte. “Miss Livingston, forgive my lack of manners.” He bowed, his rumpled tawny hair in pointed contrast with his impeccably tied cravat. “I trust you are recovered from your fall?”
Charlotte’s pulse somersaulted under his keen gaze. He had a way of looking at a female that made her feel like the only person in the world. “Yes, my lord, thank you for your concern.”
“So, what say you about the happenings at Marsden, Camryn?” asked Gibbon.
The marquess settled into a chair. “The perpetrators are no better than footpads who must be dealt with swiftly and severely.”
“The risings are a reaction to the loss of wages,” Charlotte said heatedly.
“Miss Livingston, surely you comprehend these acts are primitive responses to progress. Machinery is here to stay and more will inevitably follow. The operative class must change with the times. There is no alternative.”
“Easily said by a man who stands to gain significantly from the advance of machinery,” Gibbon scoffed. “Your factories can now produce large quantities more cheaply and quickly, boosting your profits considerably.”
“Despite producing inferior articles,” Charlotte muttered.
“All of the workers must learn a new skill.” Crossing an ankle over the opposite knee, Camryn drank from his brandy. “Progress is not an easy journey, but it must be undertaken nonetheless.”
“That same progress threatens the very hierarchy that places you at the top of society,” Charlotte said. “One day soon wealthy merchants could be on an even footing with a peer of the realm.”
The way Cam’s provocative amber-green eyes seemed to continually assess her warmed Charlotte’s cheeks. “As I said, Miss Livingston, no one can stop progress, not even the peerage. We must all adapt, including the machine wreckers.”
Hartwell appeared. “Forgive me for stealing Camryn for a moment. There is an urgent matter we must discuss before supper.”
Camryn rose. “Of course, if you will excuse me.”
Gibbon watched them go. “I wonder what urgent matters Camryn has with His Grace,” he mused to no one in particular.
Martin relaxed back into his chair. “It is my understanding Hartwell is joining Camryn in the textile business. I hear they have recently acquired another cotton mill.” The tradesman gave a cynical smile. “I never thought to see the day when the loftiest members of the peerage would dirty their white gloves by dabbling in trade.”
“Not only lords of the realm but cotton lords as well,” Gibbon said. “It appears even the most esteemed members of the peerage are anxious to be on the profitable side of progress.”
…
Throughout supper and afterward, Cam was surprised at the significant masculine attention directed at Charlotte. Gibbon sat to her right side while Martin claimed the left. Another gentleman Cam wasn’t acquainted with sat across from her, listening to Charlotte discuss her latest writings on the advantages of educating all children no matter what their station in life.
He had no explanation for his attraction to her. Since Willa’s house party, he’d danced with some of the Ton’s most sought-after lovelies at the few social events he’d forced himself to attend, mostly for political reasons. Yet his thoughts kept returning to Charlotte.
Fashionable society’s incomparables, with their fancy dresses, opulent jewelry, and ornate hairstyles, suddenly struck him as garish and overwrought in comparison to Charlotte’s natural simplicity. Their coy behavior and flirtatious laughter left him longing for a certain bluestocking’s plainspoken manner. Even though the lady in question had shown she could be too forthright. And maddeningly wrong in her assumptions, especially about him.
The men surrounding her this evening paid rapt attention when she spoke. He appreciated their interest. His blood warmed at the way those lucent azure eyes sparkled with intelligence, her lithe body vibrating with energy and intent.
“The American Thomas Jefferson has long argued for a public education system,” she said to the men around her.
“The Americans?” The man Cam didn’t know scoffed. “Surely you’re not suggesting we follow their lead. Theirs can hardly be deemed an orderly society. There is no peerage there. Really,” he sniffed, “they are practically savages.”
The corners of Charlotte’s plump mouth lifted. “Savages who could soon have a better educated and more informed citizenry than we have here.”
Cam didn’t notice Willa slip beside him until she spoke. “They seem quite enthralled by her.”
“Apparently.”
Willa crossed her arms. “She’s quite sought after, you know, by a certain type of gentleman.”
“And what sort of gentleman might that be?” Cam asked in a flat tone that invited no follow-up conversation.
Not that that would dissuade his cousin from making her point. “A learned sort. A gentleman who appreciates her intellectual pursuits.”
“Just as I appreciate yours?” Hartwell asked, sidling up next to his wife and slipping his arm around her waist. Beaming, she relaxed her body into his.
Cam looked to the ceiling. “Really, Hart, the last thing I need to witness is you pawing my cousin in polite company.”
Hartwell’s answering laugh was soft and low. “Oh, Cam, you’ve no idea.”
“Do behave yourself.” Willa’s ears blushed as she pulled away to go and join a group of ladies seated near the window.
Reluctantly releasing her, the duke turned to Cam. “Miss Livingston certainly commands attention, wouldn’t you say, Cam?”
“I suppose.”
“She appears to be drawing your interest.”
There was no use denying it. “I’m not quite sure why.” He exhaled through his nostrils, still mystified by his attraction to her. “She’s hardly my type. I normally shag girls who are a bit more fleshy, shall we say.”
“Yes, but what one seeks out for a little slap and tickle is far different from what you desire in a life’s companion.”
Life’s companion? “Why do you presume I seek a wife?”
“Oh, you don’t have to be looking,” the duke said in mild tones. “When your time comes, fate manages to find you all the same.”
Cam’s gaze ran over Charlotte’s willowy form. “And does this fate also alter one’s tastes in females?”
“Who can say? Perhaps a man doesn’t truly know what his type is until he meets the right woman.”
“Interesting theory.”
“Thus far, you’ve purposely consorted with certain females who only serve to fulfill your physical needs.”
Who now bored him senseless. Unlike Charlotte, who intrigued him for some unaccountable reason. “Are you suggesting I now need more than just a good shagging?”
“A meeting of the minds can be as seductive as a mingling of the flesh.” Hartwell shrugged as if it were all the same to him. “Perhaps she appeals to all of your senses, not just the physical.”
“When did you become so wise?”
“Around the time I married your cousin,” the duke said as he drifted away to mingle with his other guests.
Cam continued to observe Charlotte from a safe distance while nursing his brandy. He’d always assumed a lack of eligible suitors accounted for her spinster status. In the glittering atmosphere of the Ton, he’d mistaken her clean simplicity for plainness, but others had not made the same error. This evening, she shined, appearing to be in her element as she commanded attention and interest. Charlotte Livingston was a diamond who could easily be mistaken for plain glass if one didn’t look carefully enough to appreciate all of her brilliant facets.
Before long, the object of his admiration artfully detached h
erself from her circle of admirers. She mingled a bit before discreetly slipping out of the room. No one else appeared to notice. Eager to get her alone, Cam saw his chance. He stole away a few minutes after Charlotte so as not to draw attention to their mutual absence. Looking around the small garden, he saw no sign of her. The only activity seemed to come from the direction of the mews where the horseflesh was kept. The sound of her voice, along with the pungent, grainy odor of hay and horses, drifted out to greet him.
“Willa has asked me to spend her confinement with her at Fairview Manor,” she said. “So I shall be able to see you all summer.” A man responded in a low murmur that was impossible to decipher. He approached quietly, already quite certain of whom he would find Charlotte speaking with.
He peered in undetected from among the shadows just in time to see Charlotte embrace Nathan. The stable boy again. A territorial flash of anger swamped him, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest. He fought the urge to pounce on the servant and thrash him for touching a lady in such a familiar way. Not just any lady. Charlotte.
What the devil was going on? Would the sister and daughter of a baron actually dally with a servant? Cam withdrew as quickly and quietly as he had come, slipping back into the townhouse to rejoin the other guests. He busied himself chatting with a small group that included Willa and Hartwell, and pretended not to notice when Charlotte reappeared a short time later.
She smiled, approaching their group. “Willa, it’s a most lovely evening.” A blind, jealous fury took hold of Cam. He rose without speaking and gave Charlotte his back, turning to leave the room. He heard her sharp intake of breath at being given the cut direct.
Willa gasped at the obvious slight. The chatter in the room quieted. Hartwell’s somber voice followed Cam’s retreating form. “Miss Livingston, perhaps you’d care to take a turn about the room with me.” The Duke of Hartwell offered the power of his rank to protect Charlotte’s reputation in front of guests who witnessed Cam’s deliberate insult.
He didn’t bother to wait for Hartwell’s Indian butler to fetch his greatcoat. After murmuring a few words to the man, he bounded down the front steps just as Willa appeared on the threshold.
“Your Grace, the Marquess of Camryn has been called away,” the butler said to Willa.
“Indeed?” muttered Willa. She raised her voice calling out into the night. “He is not going to evade me that easily.”
…
“More coffee if you please,” Cam grunted to a footman the next morning as his cousin strode in unannounced.
“What in heaven’s name was that all about?” Willa asked without preamble. She slid into a seat at the breakfast table next to Sebastian, which prompted him to look up from his newspaper.
“Why do I even have a butler?” Cam grumbled to no one in particular. “By all means, do join us, cousin.”
“Smythe knows he doesn’t have to announce me,” she said, referring to his butler. “Why would you embarrass Charlotte in that manner?”
“I must remember to have a word with my butler.” Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The image of Charlotte embracing the stable boy sloshed around in his mind. “I’m afraid I can offer no excuse. I will, of course, apologize to Miss Livingston at the earliest opportunity.”
“Which will be next week at the Fulsome-Thrusby ball.”
Sebastian’s astute emerald gaze flickered between the two of them. “And what precisely is Cam apologizing for?”
“I hardly know myself,” said Willa with obvious exasperation. “He gave Charlotte the cut direct last evening.”
“I see.”
“You don’t see anything,” Cam said curtly. “And don’t give me that look. Why are you here anyway? Why do you have bachelor’s quarters if you are never there?”
“You invited me. We have a standing weekly breakfast appointment and have for some time.” Sebastian disappeared behind the newspaper. “As I recall, it was your idea.”
“You haven’t explained your behavior,” Willa said.
“Nor do I intend to.” Still leaning back in his chair, Cam clasped his hands behind his head. “Suffice it to say that I will offer the necessary apology.”
The footman entered with a cup of steaming chocolate for Willa. Cam waited for him to withdraw before speaking. “I see your stable boy, Nathan, is in town with you.”
Willa’s brows drew together. “What has he to do with anything? And he is the coachman.”
“From stable boy to coachman in the space of one month?” Cam’s mood blackened. “That’s laudable progress.”
“Hart is impressed with his command of the horses. And Nathan is very good with numbers and calculations as well.”
Irritation flared in his chest. “Is he new to Hartwell’s employ?”
“Why is Hartwell’s coachman of sudden interest to you?”
“Why indeed,” echoed Sebastian from behind his newspaper.
“No reason in particular.” Ignoring Sebastian, he injected the words with casual interest. “I suppose it is because he seems a cut above the usual servant. His manner of speaking is almost like a gentleman’s.”
Willa reached for a sweet bun. “Oh, that’s because he was educated by a governess with Charlotte and her brother, the baron.”
Cam leaned forward. “How did that come about?”
“You should ask Charlotte about Nathan if you can manage to be civil to her.” Willa chewed her roll with robust appreciation. “She is well acquainted with him. They grew up together.”
“How so?”
“I believe I heard he was the son of a footman at Shellborne Manor. Apparently, Charlotte’s father appreciated his keen mind and grew fond of him.” She sipped her chocolate. “He allowed Nathan to join in on the children’s lessons with their governess.”
“Interesting,” said Sebastian from behind the newspaper.
“So Miss Livingston received her empathy for the plight of the working man from her father. How did he come to be in your employ?”
“Nathan? It was at Charlotte’s request.” Willa finished her chocolate and leaned back. “Oh no, now I feel impossibly full.”
“Miss Livingston asked Hartwell to hire Nathan?”
“Why? Are you thinking of trying to steal him away?” Willa eyed him suspiciously. “Are you in need of a coachman?”
“Perhaps,” he lied.
“Yes, I am certain that is what motivates his interest,” said the wry voice behind the newspaper.
Willa stood up, bringing both men to their feet. “I must go. I have an appointment at my modiste. Absolutely nothing fits anymore now that I am increasing.”
“And yet you remain the most beautiful woman in London,” Sebastian assured her.
“Such a liar. You truly are a saint.” She gave him a peck on the cheek before taking Cam’s arm so he could escort her out.
She rattled off final instructions as they walked through the foyer and stepped out into the cool air. “Now remember, you should dance with Charlotte at the Fulsome-Thrusby’s next week.”
Cam lifted a brow. “I recall agreeing to apologize. However, I don’t recall agreeing to dance with Miss Livingston.”
“Nonetheless, your gaffe was a large one,” she said in a clipped tone that brooked no nonsense. “Dancing publicly with Charlotte will lay to rest any gossip about the cut you gave her last night. It is the least you can do.”
Chapter Five
“There, this ice blue is the perfect complement to your eyes,” Willa said to Charlotte. “You must stop dressing as if you are in mourning.”
“Really, Willa, this sort of elegant creation suits you. It is too much for me.” Struggling not to fidget while Willa’s maid fussed with her hair, Charlotte tugged her new gown upward in a futile attempt to cover the top surges of her breasts. “This neckline is scandalous. I look like a courtesan.”
“Nonsense, it is far more modest than most gowns, mine included,” Willa said. “Yo
u’ll look perfect at the Fulsome-Thrusby’s ball. And you hair is most becoming in that fashion.”
“Not that I can tell since you won’t allow me to look in mirror.”
“Be patient. Clara is almost finished. I want you to get the full effect.” Charlotte answered with a scowl, wondering how she’d ever allowed Willa to talk her into all these fripperies. Earlier in the week, the duchess had dragged her to the modiste, convincing Charlotte to order several gowns and day dresses in vibrant fabrics and flattering styles. It was all far different from Charlotte’s usual sensible attire. Although she cared not at all about being in the first stare of fashion, Charlotte had gone along, mostly because it was far easier to agree with Willa than to naysay her.
“You certainly are taking a great interest in my appearance for the ball,” she said. “Might I ask if there is a reason?”
“You hide your loveliness behind those sad colors,” Willa said. “I have a strong desire to see you in shades that are more becoming to you.”
Clara finished her ministrations and nodded to the duchess.
“There, it is done,” Willa said with a bright smile. “Now you can look.”
Turning to assess herself in the duchess’s dressing room mirror, Charlotte froze, at first not recognizing the attractive woman staring back at her.
Small strings of pearls were woven into her hair and the high-waisted gown Willa selected for her shimmered when she moved. Her usually lifeless skin looked almost luminous. Who knew the color of one’s gown could make such a difference? With her loosely upswept locks and artfully styled gown, she almost looked pretty. “Oh my.”
“You look so handsome.” Willa clapped her hands together with exuberant delight. “Your dance card will be full once all of the gentlemen see you looking so lovely.”
“You are far too optimistic.” She eyed her friend with skepticism. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you are trying to see me wed at this very late date.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Willa fussed with her gown, avoiding eye contact. She wore a dramatic red dress that artfully hid her expanding belly while highlighting her glowing alabaster skin and shining chestnut curls.
