by Alec, Joyce
Her cheeks fired with heat.
“Ah, Charlotte, there you are,” Lady Perrin smiled, reaching for her hand. “I must introduce you to the Marquess of Withington.”
“My lord,” Charlotte murmured, dropping into a curtsy. “It is nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Indeed, it is,” the marquess replied, with a smile that warmed his eyes. “You must forgive me for finding out who you were, Miss Richardson. For you did not give me your name the last time I saw you.”
His smile broadened as he spoke, making her well aware of what he meant. Her cheeks burned all the hotter, as Lady Perrin gave her a somewhat curious look.
“Indeed, that was my oversight,” Charlotte mumbled, not quite sure where to look.
“Better that we do it the appropriate way, is it not?” the marquess replied jovially. “I am acquainted with Lady Emma’s father, although I have never been formally introduced to her. However, I found out from a friend that she had a stepsister and that you were both present this evening. Lord Martin was able to point you out, and I thought it best to greet Lady Perrin first, so we might be introduced properly.”
Charlotte’s smile was a little strained, aware that she was going to have to explain all to Lady Perrin later on. “That was very good of you, my lord,” she answered, finally managing to look into his face. “And may I thank you again for extraditing me from a rather difficult situation.”
He inclined his head, although his sharp blue eyes never left her face. “It was my pleasure,” he replied softly. “Now, I do hope you have one dance left free?”
“A dance?” Charlotte repeated, as a tingling began to crawl up and down her arms.
“If you would be so inclined,” he said and smiled, his eyes on her dance card. “Although I believe I may be a little too late in requesting the pleasure of your company.”
As though in a dream, Charlotte lifted her wrist and allowed him to peruse her dance card, her stomach churning with a mixture of delight and embarrassment.
“There,” he murmured, setting his name down on the only two dances remaining. “A quadrille and a waltz, Miss Richardson. May I say I am looking forward to both with great anticipation.”
“As am I,” Charlotte repeated, mechanically, not truly aware of what she was saying. Her mind refused to work as the marquess gave her a deep bow and took his leave of both her and Lady Perrin.
“Goodness!” Lady Perrin exclaimed, the moment the marquess was out of earshot. “Whatever happened to you, Charlotte?”
“Happened?” Charlotte asked, her eyes still on the marquess as he greeted some friends of his. “Oh, do you mean how does he knows who I am?”
Lady Perrin let out a quiet laugh, drawing Charlotte’s attention. “Yes, Charlotte. That is precisely what I mean. I was just sitting talking to Miss Judith—another companion, you see—when the marquess begs my pardon for interrupting and enquires as to whether I knew a Miss Richardson. When I said I did and that I was your stepsister’s aunt, he looked most delighted and then asked if you were quite all right!”
Charlotte recalled the surprised expression on the marquess’ face as he’d opened the door to find her trapped inside. “And what did you say?” she asked quietly.
“I said yes, as far as I knew, you were just fine.” Lady Perrin frowned, her eyes a little suspicious. “What happened, Charlotte?”
Charlotte bit her lip, not wanting to tell tales on Lady Emma. “Lady Emma and I had something of a disagreement,” she began, carefully. “Unfortunately, that disagreement ended with me being stuck in a room on the balcony.” Her color rose, as she saw the astonished expression on Lady Perrin’s face. “The marquess heard me knocking on the locked door and opened it for me, that is all,” she finished, hoping Lady Perrin did not ask for the details.
“I see,” Lady Perrin replied softly. “And might I guess that your dear stepsister had something to do with you being trapped?”
Charlotte lifted one shoulder, feeling a little uncomfortable. “It is of little consequence, Lady Perrin. I only missed two dances, and the gentlemen in question accepted my apologies without any difficulty.”
Lady Perrin nodded slowly, her expression growing a little grim. “Lady Emma is a selfish creature, but you appear strong enough to withstand her,” she answered after a moment. “And now you have been introduced to a marquess, so it is not an entirely bad outcome.”
“No,” Charlotte murmured, a sudden thrill of delight running through her as she glanced down at her dance card and saw his name there. “No, it is not at all upsetting, I must admit.”
“Just as well you have been given permission to waltz,” Lady Perrin quipped, with a quick smile. “I am glad to discover all is well, Charlotte. Do enjoy the rest of your evening and allow me to keep an eye on Lady Emma. I will ensure she does not attempt such a thing again.”
“Oh, please, do not say a word to her,” Charlotte begged, not wanting to put yet more enmity between herself and her stepsister. “It does not need to be said.”
Lady Perrin shook her head, her lips thinning. “Allow me to be the judge of what does or does not need to be said to Emma, Charlotte. On you go now, your next dance partner is waiting for you, I believe.”
A little worried, Charlotte had no choice but to leave Lady Perrin to do what she thought to be right, turning on her heel and seeing that Lord Waters was now waiting for her, his arm held out for her.
“Good evening, Lord Waters,” Charlotte said, as cheerfully as she could. “It is our dance, is it not?”
“It is,” Lord Waters replied with a bright smile. “Allow me to lead you onto the dance floor, Miss Richardson.”
Charlotte smiled and did as he bade, her mind still on the Marquess of Withington as she mentally counted how many dances she had yet to do before it would be his turn. She could hardly contain her excitement at being in his arms, her cheeks flushing at the thought. Lady Perrin was quite right. This evening had turned out wonderfully.
5
“Who was it you said you danced with?”
Phillip grinned lazily, nursing a glass of brandy. “A Miss Richardson, stepsister to Lady Emma.”
Lord Kinsley made a noise of comprehension, his eyes fixed on Phillip’s face. “It appears she has made something of an impact on you.”
Phillip snorted, disregarding the idea entirely. “I should not say that much, Kinsley. It was just an interesting evening, that is all.” He laughed aloud, unable to help himself at the recollection of finding her within the small room. “After all, it is not often that one finds a lady trapped somewhere!”
“So, you came to her rescue, did you?” Lord Kinsley replied slyly. “My, my! A veritable knight in shining armor then.”
“You are doing it much too brown,” Phillip retorted, unwilling to admit that the lady had, in fact, been in his thoughts since the ball two nights previously. “I simply wanted to ensure she was all right after what must have been a distressing episode.”
“And so you danced with her twice, did you?” Kinsley asked, raising his brows. “I would have thought you would have been able to discover how she was without going that far.”
Phillip could not help but laugh aloud, aware of where Kinsley’s probing questions were going. “Enough, Kinsley,” he said, putting up his hands in jest. “That is more than enough. Allow me to have enjoyed dancing with the lady, but ask me no more about it, I beg you.”
Kinsley chuckled, his eyes bright. “Then you will not mind that I have invited her here this evening.”
Blinking, Phillip gazed at his friend. “Invited Miss Richardson?”
Raising his shoulders, Kinsley grinned back at him. “Well, not just Miss Richardson, but also her stepsister, Lady Emma, and their companion—an aunt, I believe.”
“Lady Perrin.”
“Yes, that’s the one,” Kinsley replied immediately. “A widowed aunt, I think. Anyway, they have accepted and should be here within the hour.”
Phillip did not know
what to say, a little frustrated at his friend’s schemes. Kinsley was to have a musical evening, and Phillip had expected only a few acquaintances to attend. A small gathering meant that he would not have to endure the overemotional attentions of any particular young ladies—for Kinsley had made sure to only invite those who would not behave in such a way. Now, however, Phillip could not tell what the evening would be like. In addition, while Miss Richardson had occupied his thoughts somewhat, Phillip was not exactly sure that he wanted to see her again so soon. His continued fixation on her was a little confusing, even to himself, and he had hoped for a few days in which he could forget about her completely, but Kinsley had seen that he simply could not do that.
“You need not look so frustrated,” Kinsley said mildly. “The girl is not likely to drag you away from the rest of the guests and then cry foul in the hope of capturing your hand.”
Phillip’s brow furrowed. “You do not know that for certain,” he replied quickly. “I do not know that for I have only danced with her twice and had a very brief conversation with her. Who knows what she could be seeking?”
Kinsley let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes at Phillip. “You do not need to believe that every eligible young lady will do what your Miss Thackery did,” he said firmly. “You are being quite ridiculous, Withington.”
At the mention of Miss Thackery, Phillip felt his entire body tense. He did not easily forget the young woman who had tried to capture him with her wiles—especially since she had very nearly succeeded. It had been before he was the marquess, but evidently being the heir was more than enough for Miss Thackery. He had been both young and foolish back then and was not about to be taken a second time.
“You treat them all as though they are each another Miss Thackery,” Kinsley continued, evidently unaware of Phillip’s hackles rising. “Enjoy their smiles and their attentions, but do not allow yourself to be as easily led as you were before.”
“Enough talk of Miss Thackery,” Phillip grunted, getting out of his chair. “Leave her be, Kinsley. You know I dislike speaking of her.”
Kinsley muttered something under his breath, but he did as Phillip asked.
“I had best go ensure that all is ready for my guests,” he said, gruffly, leaving the room. “Do not look so sullen when my guests arrive, Withington. You will never capture Miss Richardson’s heart if you do not at least smile a little.”
Phillip said nothing, his mouth pulling taut. He did not want to capture Miss Richardson’s heart—at least, he did not think that he did. Confusion continued to reign, as he threw back the rest of his brandy, resisting the urge to pour himself another one. It would not do to be in his cups when Miss Richardson and the rest of Kinsley’s guests arrived.
The truth was, Kinsley was quite right when he said that Phillip considered all eligible women to be the same as Miss Thackery. Why should he not? As far as he knew, all the eligible young ladies of the ton had only one thing in mind: status. They were all social climbers, wanting to marry well so that their family line might continue to do well. There was no talk of love or happiness or even affection, rather just a calculation of how good a connection it would be to have a marquess for a husband.
When Miss Thackery had first set her eyes on him, Phillip had been less than entranced. She appeared too doe-eyed, too innocent for his liking. There was something in her eyes that he had never quite been able to make out, but he had accepted her acquaintance without too much consideration. She was, after all, just one of many young ladies who sought an acquaintance with him.
What he had not expected was for Miss Thackery to try and trick him into matrimony. Apparently upset over his lack of specific interest in her, the lady in question had come up with a plan. One evening, at a ball thrown by Miss Thackery’s father, a footman had approached Phillip with the news that his friend, Lord Kinsley, required him urgently in the library. Phillip had not stopped to question it and had hurried off towards the library at once—only to see Kinsley wandering along the corridor with a lady on his arm.
In some confusion, Phillip had questioned Kinsley as to what the matter was, only for his friend to deny all knowledge of sending a footman for him. The lady on Kinsley’s arm had insisted on accompanying them, and then Phillip and Kinsley made their way to the library. On opening the door, they had found Miss Thackery in a state of undress, evidently waiting for him.
Phillip had never been more grateful for his friend’s presence. Miss Thackery had shrieked in horror, whilst the lady on Kinsley’s arm had gasped in shock—although a brilliant smile had then spread across her face. Rumours and gossip ran all through society within hours.
It had been more than clear to Phillip that Miss Thackery had intended to snare him into matrimony, using her state of undress as a reason to cry foul. Had he fallen into her trap, he might now have found himself wed to her; but instead, it had led to her own downfall. Miss Thackery had been taken back to her father’s country estate, and—even though a great deal of time had passed between that occasion and now—Phillip had never heard of her again. He could not feel any kind of sympathy for the girl, however. It had all been entirely of her own doing.
Wandering to the window, Phillip looked out at the street below, seeing the lamplighters already at work. Was Kinsley right in telling him it was time to start enjoying himself once more? Was there anything wrong in enjoying a lady’s attention without allowing himself to become entangled with her?
A grimace on his face, Phillip let out a long sigh, his eyes still on the lamplighter below. It was impossible to separate himself from his title, and even if a lady appeared affectionate enough towards him, there was no guarantee that she would have any kind of genuine feelings for him. That was the one thing Phillip wished for—not that he was asking for love, but, at the very least, that his wife would have a fondness for him and not just for his title.
How was he to find such a lady? It seemed an almost impossible task. Yet, Phillip decided that he would do as Kinsley requested and actually attempt to engage with the eligible young ladies who would attend that evening. There would be no shame in getting to know Miss Richardson a little better, and Phillip had to admit to himself that she was the only lady to catch his eye in as many months.
“Withington?”
“Yes, Kinsley, I am coming,” Phillip muttered, as his friend wandered into the study, looking at him expectantly. Suddenly he wished he had allowed himself another brandy. Phillip felt as though he was walking a tightrope, walking a path he had not experienced for some time. How was he to separate those who might truly have some affection for him against those who only wanted his wealth and status? Passing a hand over his eyes, he bit back a groan, as Kinsley chuckled, slapping him hard on the back.
“Come now, Withington, they will not tear you to pieces,” he said, moving him towards the door. “Some of my guests have already arrived, including your dear Miss Richardson.”
“She is not my anything,” Phillip retorted, with a little more bite than he had intended. “Do not torment me this evening, Kinsley. Allow me to talk to whom I want without any interference, I beg you.”
Kinsley’s expression grew suddenly serious, and he paused for a moment. “Of course, Withington,” he said, quietly. “I have only ever wanted this for your good, I promise you.”
Phillip sighed, appreciating his friend’s candor. “I know that, Kinsley. I just have the feeling I am about to sail into uncharted waters.”
Kinsley’s grin returned. “But uncharted waters are always filled with adventure,” he chuckled, walking along the hallway towards the drawing room. “Prepare yourself for a little more excitement than you are used to.”
Straightening his shoulders, Phillip drew in a sharp breath and tried to relax, surprised at how nervous he suddenly felt, as though he were preparing to meet a pack of wolves ready to tear him apart.
“Courage, man,” he muttered under his breath, before striding into the drawing room.
6
&
nbsp; Charlotte was aware of the very moment the marquess stepped into the room, although she ensured that she did not look his way. She did not want to appear overeager, especially when various other ladies began to move towards him as one. Trying her best not to roll her eyes at their grasping behavior, she walked in the opposite direction, finding an old acquaintance to talk to.
It was not as if Charlotte did not wish to speak to the marquess, for she most certainly did, it was more that she did not want to treat him in the same way as everyone else did. Their behavior was embarrassing, she had to admit, and she did not want to ever appear to be in the same camp as them. But then again, gentlemen of high title usually appreciated being lauded in such a way.
As her acquaintance was speaking, Charlotte could not help but look over her shoulder at the marquess. The marquess was practically surrounded by ladies and, much to her surprise, did not look to be enjoying the situation. His lips were pulled tight, and he was frowning. There was no laughter coming from him, no broad smiles with which to encourage the ladies to continue in their attentions. His eyes did not focus on one particular person, but rather roved restlessly around the room, and he shifted from foot to foot, as though eager to get away.
Charlotte was astonished. This was not something she had expected. A marquess—or any man of good breeding and high title—would normally devour any attentions given to them, whereas he appeared to be doing exactly the opposite.
“I must say, it is a surprise to see Lord Withington like this,” commented Charlotte’s acquaintance. “I would have expected him to hurry away like he usually does.”
Charlotte’s attention was caught by the comment. “Whatever do you mean?”
Her friend laughed. “You have not known the marquess for long then. He does not behave as many other gentlemen do. He does not encourage the eligible ladies but rather insists on walking away from them. That is why I am so surprised to see him still engaging with them instead of finding his solitude as he normally does.”
