“But you’re not eighteen anymore, Charlotte,” her cousin protested. “You’re a grown woman. Surely you want something more meaningful than the mere glitter of life in the ton?”
“There’s nothing wrong with glitter,” Charlotte objected, her pout dissolving into another frown. “It’s bright and pretty and it entertains.”
“It’s also shallow, unsubstantial, and unimportant. Oh, Char, I want you to be happy, but I don’t see how that’s possible if all you want—”
“WIFE!”
Gillian rose as the voice in the hall took on a strident note. “Blast! I really have to go now. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Crouch and the other staff will take care of you here at Britton House for as long as you like, and I’ll have the household funds put at your disposal. If you get in a terrible bind and need advice, write to me.”
“It will take forever to hear from you, not to mention the fact that you’ll only lecture me and say improving sorts of things that are of no practical use whatsoever.” Charlotte plucked at the ugly trim on her equally ugly gown and tried not to covet her cousin’s smart green-and-white-striped gown with matching green pelisse.
“It wouldn’t hurt you in the least to listen to a bit of improving advice, Charlotte. Do think about what I said—I wouldn’t wish for you to be in another unhappy marriage, but it’s the only solution I can see.”
Charlotte nodded sadly and accompanied her cousin to the hall, kissed Gillian’s and Dante’s cheek, tried not to flinch under the earl’s stern, disapproving look, and rallied a smile and a wave as the last of her familial connections drove off in a sleek black-and-scarlet coach.
“She’s left me here alone with no one but the servants. Damnation!” Charlotte swore as the carriage disappeared from view.
“Ye can say that again,” a voice muttered behind her, but when she spun around to pin the ears back on the speaker, she was faced with a line of servants wearing faces so innocent they could have doubled for cherubim.
“Hrmph,” she snorted, eyeing the collected servants. “Much as I would like to dissolve into tears over my desperate and completely tragic situation, I shall give in to a well-earned megrim at a later time. Right now I have a more important dish to fry. Crouch, fetch me writing paper, and have the footmen standing at the ready.”
“Eh…fish to fry, d’ye mean, m’lady?”
Charlotte raised her brows in the manner that had never failed to intimidate Graveltoes, her father’s butler, but it appeared that the giant pirate the Westons employed was made of sterner stuff. No doubt it was the hook that made him feel superior. “I simply do not understand this unreasonable fixation you and Gillian and others have with something so unimportant as language, Crouch. It’s unwholesome. I urge you to get over it. And don’t think you can put on airs as you do with Gillian, I shan’t tolerate it as she does. I’ll have enough of that as I contrive to make my stunning reappearance in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the ton.”
She shooed Crouch on his way and marched upstairs to take possession of Gillian’s personal sitting room. It wasn’t going to be easy reestablishing herself after the scandal, but that was four years ago, and certainly people must have forgotten the details by now. With a little finesse and sweet-talking to the right matrons, the doors would surely open to her again. It wouldn’t be pleasant to be forced to listen to lectures by the very same women who had called her foolish and headstrong all those years ago, but she could endure a few “I warned you!” comments if necessary. Besides, there were the gentlemen to think of—she had charm and vivacity, and despite her cousin’s doubts of the effectiveness of a pretty face and a neat ankle, Charlotte had always found she could have her way if she fluttered her eyelashes and dimpled just so.
“It will be as easy as taking honey from a flea,” she predicted, sitting down to write her letters.
***
“I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it! How dare she refuse me a voucher! How dare she tell me I am not welcome to her blasted masquerade ball next week! How dare she tell me that no polite person will recognize me!” Charlotte ripped a cream-colored sheet of paper to shreds and threw it into the unlit grate. “Who would have thought that Lady Jersey had a memory like…like…like a lion?”
“A what?”
Charlotte made a dismissive motion with her hands as she paced by the figure sitting in the blue-and-gold brocade chair in her cousin’s sitting room.
“A lion, Caro, a lion. You know, one of those big gray beasts that lives in Africa. They have prodigious memories.”
Lady Caroline Beverly looked confused. “Are you sure? The lion I saw at the menagerie was sort of a yellowish-brown color and no bigger than a very small pony.”
Charlotte spun on her heel and paced a line back toward the fireplace. “Brown, gray, it doesn’t matter. They come from Africa, and they have excellent memories. Just like Lady Jersey.”
Caroline frowned. “I thought Lady Jersey’s family came from Devonshire.”
Charlotte stopped pacing, put her hands on her hips, and glared down at her friend. “What on earth does Lady Jersey’s family have to do with anything?”
“You mentioned it! You said she came from Africa just like the lions.”
“There are times,” Charlotte said, breathing heavily through her nose, “when I find myself regretting that I returned to England. Memory, Caro, I likened Lady Jersey to the lion because it has an exceptional memory. Just as she has.”
“Oh. Does she? What about?”
Charlotte tossed up her hands and resumed pacing, reminding herself not to snap at the only person who had responded to her plea for help. “I can’t afford to be discriminating,” she muttered.
“No, you said you were quite pockets to let, but that doesn’t explain why you’re upset with Lady Jersey’s memory.”
Charlotte took a deep, deep breath, and sat on the love seat next to the brunette. “Caroline, listen to me very carefully. You remember four years ago when I left England to marry the Conte di Abalongia’s eldest son?”
Caroline nodded her head. “Yes, of course I do. It caused ever such a scandal! Mama said it would all end in sorrow and that you’d come to a bad end, and for me not to even consider running off with Raoul the drawing master, which of course I wasn’t considering because dearest Algernon was about to offer for me, and why would I want to be married to a drawing master when I could be a viscountess instead? Although Raoul did have the most attractive mustache—do you remember it? The ends came to two lovely points. And of course dearest Algernon tried to grow one just to please me when I admired Sir Ralph Henderson’s mustache, but he did not seem to have much luck at it, although I rubbed pomade onto his lip faithfully every night.”
A small headache pulsed to life at the front of Charlotte’s head. She opened a window that looked out onto the tiny garden below and welcomed the sweet summer air, tainted though it was by the ever-present hint of coal.
“I must admit I was glad when he gave it up. The pomade smelled of garlic, and you know, really, it’s impossible to go to sleep when the person next to you has a garlic-perfumed lip.”
The headache blossomed into something deeper. “Caroline, do you think we could get back to matters at hand—namely, that Lady Jersey has poisoned everyone’s mind against me by recalling my romantic and dashing elopement all those many years ago?”
“Oh, but it isn’t Lady Jersey,” Caroline protested, smoothing the soft gray kid of her gloves. “At least, that’s what dearest Algernon said two nights past when we were at the opera and he was talking to Lord Collins. Have you seen your brother since you’ve come home again? He has the most divine mustache with just the shortest little beard, which I don’t quite like, but I think you will find his mustache is all the rage. Many of the gentlemen are adopting them now. Except, of course, dearest Algernon. I told him I simply cannot endure more sleeple
ss nights smelling the garlic on his lip.”
Charlotte frowned in concentration as she picked through the other woman’s mental meanderings. “What did my brother say to Lord Beverly?”
“About his mustache? Well, it seems he uses a special pomade that contains the glands of a—”
“No, what did Matthew say about me?”
Caroline pursed her lips as she searched the dark, dusty hallways of her memory. “Oh, yes, that. Evidently when dearest Algernon mentioned that I was calling on you today, Lord Collins told him not to allow it, that after The Event your father had made sure you weren’t accepted in Polite Society, and he had taken it as a sacred duty to see his father’s wishes carried out, and that he would be contacting Lady Jersey and other preeminent matrons to let them know of his feelings. So you see, it’s not Lady Jersey’s fault at all that you received so many cuts yesterday when you went out. I suspect it was all your brother’s doing.”
“That beast!” Charlotte stood, her hands balled into fists as she stomped over to the fireplace. The stomping didn’t make her feel the least bit better, so she spun around and stomped to the other side of the room, anger seething from every pore. “I knew he wouldn’t do anything to welcome me back into the family, but to deliberately sabotage my chances, why, that’s…that’s…that’s a calligraphy!”
“A catastrophe.” Caroline nodded. “Especially if you hope your plan to find a husband goes forward. What gentleman will offer for you if he knows your brother does not recognize you?”
Charlotte snarled silently and strode by, two fingers pressed to her forehead.
“Of course, you could always look outside of the ton for a husband,” Caroline said tentatively.
Charlotte drew to a halt before her and gave a haughty glare down her nose. “Bite your tongue, Caro! I am an earl’s daughter, the widow of the heir to a count, and I shall be a nobleman’s wife, so help me! No, I shan’t look outside of the ton, but I will defeat my brother nonetheless.”
A look of interest sparked in Caroline’s dark gray eyes. “How will you manage that?”
“It’s evident that Matthew will not be quiet about my arrival in London. No doubt he’s been carrying out his plans to keep me from my rightful place by spreading this foul slander at his clubs, filling the ears of all of the eligible gentlemen with warnings against me.”
“I could ask dearest Algernon if he has heard anything,” Caroline offered helpfully.
“Mmm.” Charlotte twisted her borrowed handkerchief as she paced, her mind a whirl of thoughts. “There must be someone imperious to Matthew’s evil plan. Who’s in town, Caro? Unmarried and wealthy and titled gentlemen only, of course.”
“Impervious.”
“Who?”
“The word is impervious, not imperious.”
Charlotte paused to glare. “Not you as well? What happened while I was in Italy? Did some sort of language plague strike everyone?”
“But—”
“Did you or did you not agree to help me?”
“Yes, of course I did, but—”
“Even after my brother warned your husband about you being seen with me?”
“Yes, I told you that I reassured dearest Algernon that you were blameless—”
“Then would you kindly construe your mind to matters of importance, and not blether on about silly things such as mere words!” Charlotte shot her a penetrating glance before turning to the window to breathe in calming gulps of air.
“Constrain, not construe,” Caroline said softly.
Charlotte spun around. “What?”
Caroline blushed and lowered her eyes to the gloves twisted between her fingers. “Nothing. What did you want to know about the gentlemen?”
“Everything. Who is in town now, who has a fortune and title, and of course, whether they will look good against me.”
“Whether they will look good against you?” Caroline blinked in surprise.
“Yes, yes, will they look good against me! That is to say, will our appearances complement one another? Will we have handsome children? I must have a husband who will give me handsome children. Can you imagine having ugly children?” She shuddered. “It wouldn’t be tolerable at all. Therefore, I must select a husband who not only has the fortune and position I require, but he must also have looks that will complement my own.”
Caroline gaped at her openmouthed.
“Come along, Caro, I don’t have all day, I have to make plans. Who of the gentlemen in town possesses suitable fortune, rank, and appearance to meet my needs?”
Caroline snapped her mouth shut. “I…you…well…there’s Sir Everett Dillingham.”
Charlotte seated herself on the love seat and picked up an ebony-figured fan. “Everett? Is he still alive? Too old, Caro, much too old. He must be all of forty, if he’s a day! Think of someone younger.”
“Well…” Caroline sucked on her lower lip in thought. “There’s the Marquis of Chilton’s son. He’s cutting quite a swath in town.”
“His eldest son? The Earl of Bramley? I thought he married Lucy Gordonstone?”
“Not his eldest son, his youngest. Lord Thomas.”
Charlotte stared at her friend in horror. “Thomas? He’s nineteen!”
“Well, you said you wanted someone younger.”
“Not infantile! I’m three and twenty, Caro. I would like a husband of an age with me, not one who still rides ponies!”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t think of anyone else.”
Charlotte snapped her fan closed. “Then think harder. I’m not an unreasonable woman, there must be someone with the title, fortune, and appearance to satisfy me.”
“Well,” Caroline drawled the word out as she eyed her friend carefully. “I did hear that there was a gentleman in town who might suit, but he doesn’t attend many functions.”
“All the better.” Charlotte smiled, her dimples flashing. “He shan’t object to my making a splash in Society as is my due. What is his name?”
“I’ve heard it said that he has a terrible temper, and Mama once told me that he fought a duel over a lightskirt.”
“That shows he has passion and an interest in matters of the bedchamber. I swear, it will be a nice change from Antonio. Who is this gentleman?”
“Being an earl, most of the mamas have him in their sights,” Caroline warned. “You will have heavy competition for his attention.”
Charlotte’s dimples deepened. “Let me worry about that. Who is this charming earl?”
Caroline hesitated, watching her friend warily. “It’s someone with whom your name was linked five years ago.”
“Really?” Charlotte drummed her fingers on the arm of the love seat. “An earl? I don’t remember attaching an earl to my court before I met Antonio. Which earl?”
“He wasn’t in your court, as such,” Caroline replied carefully. “The attraction was more one-sided…”
A face began to appear in the mists of Charlotte’s memory. A long, lean, rugged face, perhaps not handsome by conventional standards, but a face that had great character, a face that had haunted her dreams for the last five years.
“…although some said you would do the impossible and he would make you an offer…”
It was his eyes that she remembered the best. Deep, dark sapphire blue, almost indigo at times, with a distinctive black ring. Framed by two dark blond brows a few shades darker than her own hair, those eyes could pierce through even the most formidable appearances to see the soul.
“…but then your cousin married and he returned to his estates in Scotland. I’m speaking, of course, of—”
“Alasdair McGregor, Lord Carlisle.” Charlotte breathed the words as Caroline was about to pronounce them.
“Yes,” Caroline agreed, still watching her friend closely. “The only man you were interested in that Seas
on.”
“Alasdair,” Charlotte murmured, seeing again the face of the handsome Scot. “He was so very handsome, so dashing, so enigmatic. Everyone wanted to be seen on his arm, all the ladies fought to catch his eye.”
“He seemed fond of you,” Caroline said slowly.
Charlotte closed her eyes, swaying a little as she remembered the pleasure of dancing with him, of having him next to her as he drove her through the park. Once she thought he was going to kiss her, but they were interrupted before she knew what it was to feel his lips upon hers. “Alasdair McGregor. He was everything I wanted in a man.”
She opened her eyes to find Caroline’s knowing gaze on her. With a lift of her chin she rose and went to the window, staring blindly out at the garden as she played with the curtain tie. “And he still is.”
Two
Alasdair McGregor was being hunted.
It had been a familiar sensation the last few days since he’d arrived in London. Mornings brought with them chits who mysteriously twisted their ankles on the steps leading to his front door (whereupon the chits immediately pointed out the necessity of a lengthy recuperative period inside his house). Afternoons occasioned women he was riding past suddenly falling into the miscellaneous bodies of water found in London parks, resulting in them screaming and thrashing about and calling upon him for assistance. And evenings drew to a close as warm, scented bodies of unentangled widows insinuated themselves into his bed without regard to minor points of etiquette such as invitation or inclination.
Dare had seen thirty-two summers in his lifetime, was tall and broad enough in the shoulders as to cause the uninvited widows to lick their lips in anticipation of the pleasure to be found in his bed, and held the title of seventh earl of Carlisle, all of which made him fair game in the eyes of women of the ton, particularly those in the market for a husband.
“Batsfoam?”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I have a peculiar prickling sensation on the back of my neck.”
Noble Destiny Page 2
