“Yes, Father,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek. “Tomorrow we will take the waters,” she said. “Rest well.” She hoped the healing waters of Bath would make her father feel better. She blew out the candle and let him to sleep in peace.
~.~
Chapter Two
The concert that evening was attended was attended by no more than twenty couples. Still, it was overcrowded for Charity’s taste because most of the guests were not her friends. Her mother was overjoyed with the new selection of acquaintances, for there were several gentlemen to whom her daughter had yet to be introduced.
Under what rock her mother found the rogues, Charity was not certain, but none were husband material. Even her mother had to agree to that, but she did insist that Charity practice her wiles since she had been out for three seasons and was well on her way to begin a spinster, if she could not manage a bit more effort. When her mother was finished cataloging what was wrong with her, Charity hardly felt in a joyous mood to attend the gathering.
Oh how she longed for the gay parties with Lavinia and Julia, but both were now married and Charity was left to her own devices and her mother’s machinations. “I wish the Poppy sisters were invited,” she told her mother and Lady Shalace replied that Charity should cultivate more friendships among the daughters of the peerage.
“Yes Mother,” she intoned. She missed her friends to distraction, but she did her best to be cordial with the gentlemen to whom she was introduced.
Charity attempted to appear intrigued and even forced a wide smile whenever her mother’s fingers would pinch the back of her arm. The sharp gesture was the matriarch’s covert way of guiding her daughter’s behavior and correcting her mistakes.
Charity was glad for the length of her gloves which would cover the red mark that must be developing after a half dozen moments of such instruction.
If only she were chaperoned by Julia’s elder sister Jane. The she would not have to fake a smile. She would be truly gay.
She longed for the days when Julia and Lavinia were at her side. Even Amelia’s company would be preferable. They had such fun. Charity had always surrounded herself with a bevy of friends. Now there were none and she simply felt lost without them. The hollow feeling inside, she realized was loneliness, even amidst the small gathering at the soiree.
Her mother taunted her with the possibility that she may remain a spinster and truthfully, the thought brought a spark of fear to her breast.
The other ladies were married and although Lavinia was in Bath, she was not at this soiree. Julia would not arrive in Bath for several days, and even if she did, she was never one to enjoy outings. She had her own husband and household to attend to now. They had little time for their unencumbered friend and everything had changed. This year was nothing like the pleasant summers past when the young women had been nigh on inseparable and mostly left to their own devices. Now that they were busy with their own homes; she rarely saw them. She so missed her married friends. Charity sighed with sudden debilitating melancholy.
“Darling,” her mother offered an arm and a false smile though her tone suggested annoyance. Charity allowed herself a shamed grimace as the most recent gentleman turned away to find a more willing partner. “You really must do better. Once the crowds descend upon Bath I shall not be ever present to guide you. How can I trust that you will not go brushing aside every gentleman who offers you a cool punch?”
“I have a glass,” Charity replied cheekily, raising her drink to prove that she was not in need of another.
Lady Shalace’s eyelids flickered as she collected her temper. “Then you might have set it aside or watered the ferns,” she groaned. “Anything but deny the offer.”
“That seems a waste,” Charity mumbled too low for her mother to hear. The truth was that Charity had wanted neither the libation nor the gentleman who offered it. Sir Charles Marbury was a loathsome creature who lost more to the tables than he had to spend.
Charity’s dear friend, Mr. James Poppy had warned her of the scoundrel two summers past and she was certain the man saw little more in her than the weight of her coin.
Mother might have been aware of that if she spent more time learning of a single gentleman rather than tossing her daughter at them all. Charity felt a frown forming between her brows as she her mother gave her a slight push towards the growing crowd.
“Wrinkles,” her mother whispered, and Charity smoothed the frown from her face. “Charity,” her mother informed her seriously. “There may be none here that have caught your interest, but you might hone your charm for the evening.” Lady Shalace then informed her daughter that she would be watching from across the room. Charity expected a full report on her failures when they reconvened in the carriage later that evening.
With another sigh, Charity tipped her drink into the nearby potted plant and turned to join the fray with as much false pleasantry as she could muster.
She scanned the crowd obediently, though there were few of worth in attendance. That is until Charity’s gaze was drawn by a young gentleman who was surrounded by doting women. Although his back was to her at the moment, he seemed to be quite the center of attention, flanked by Miss Macrum and another woman she did not know.
Lady Charity’s eyes narrowed as she took in the gentleman. He looked familiar, though she could not immediately place him, that is until he turned and she caught sight of his startling green eyes. Then she could not mistake him: Neville Collington, The Earl of Wentwell.
They had danced this summer past and his emerald gaze had burned over her skin. Now, those same eyes brushed over her like a physical touch, and she looked quickly away lest he see she was watching him.
She peered at him from behind her fan. He was dressed in the finest silk coat which had been trimmed to perfection. Charity could almost see the muscles beneath the silk. She felt her heart beat increase with just the appearance of the man. Every inch of his stature exuded charm and nonchalance. Lord Wentwell was too beautiful to be real. His smile was confident as he stood entirely at ease amongst the party guests.
He gave all appearance of being engaged in the conversation with the lady he was with, yet his mind was elsewhere, other than on the lady before him, Charity was sure. He looked every inch the rake the Ton accused him of being. She was not usually so cautious, but she remembered Julia’s conundrum with rakes last year. In truth Lady Charity only danced with Lord Wentwell, to distract from her friend, Julia’s troubles.
The fact that he was embroiled in rumor for most of last summer, made the dance even more sensational. Charity recalled him clearly: his broad shoulders and his hand warm upon her glove as they danced. His firm yet confident attitude bordered on arrogance as he led her around the dance floor. She and the gentleman had only danced once, but that once had made an impression. She had found herself quite out of her depth with his banter. She was breathless in his arms, afraid she would disgrace herself and could barely answer his quips. She was no better than a tongue-tied ninny held captured by his deep green gaze.
When the dance ended, Lord Wentwell had been spirited away by some other female before Charity could regain her poise, and ever since she had avoided his company for fear that she might next be caught in a rumor, or perhaps it was because he made her feel naïve and childish.
Charity dropped her shoulders and prepared to slip away when a slight cough reminded her that her mother’s watchful eye would not waver. She pasted a smile on her face, and without ado, turned in the opposite direction of Lord Wentwell to find a safer partner for her conversation.
That partner appeared in the form of Colonel Ranier, a portly gentleman of uncertain age who made her feel comfortable. She needed no guile to entertain him. Colonel Ranier, was a decorated war hero and a genuinely nice man, if a bit boring. Charity greeted the man warmly and was welcomed into the conversation.
The opening ball was the topic of choice. Charity found that she was a willing participant, for she too had looked forwar
d to the event, if only to see who might be summering in Bath this year. Surely there would be some younger girls she could befriend. She would enjoy helping them on their way to matrimony. She beamed at the sudden thought. The summer was not wholly a loss. She might still enjoy her holiday if she could find someone with which to share it.
She was just starting to enjoy herself, and became engaged in an animated conversation about Commander’s Beresford’s and Amelia Atherton’s upcoming nuptials, when she had the uncanny feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced behind to see none other than Neville Collington, The Earl of Wentwell studying her. For a moment, she was flustered and had to ask the colonel to repeat himself, but she rallied. Neville Collington had disconcerted her last summer, but she was better prepared now. She would not let him unbalance her again. He was just a flirt and a pretty face. She was a lady of the Ton. She would remain cool and aloof.
Colonel Ranier was telling a particularly funny story about Commander Beresford and Captain Jack Hartfield. Luckily she heard the story earlier from Lavinia, the new Mrs. Hartfield, and could nod and smile in all the right places without paying the colonel much mind. All the while she covertly watched Lord Wentwell from behind her fan.
~.~
Neville Collington was used to being the center of attention. As an unmarried member of the peerage he attracted more than his fair share of female notice. It was no surprise that the Earl found himself engaged in conversation with several young ladies. He often found such diversion entertaining, but none present were enough to hold his attention today. He wondered how he might manage to extricate himself from their company including that of the grasping Miss Macrum. The woman was tolerable when accompanied by Miss Danbury, but no longer. He sighed and scanned the room, wondering if he should just take his leave. His brother Edmund had been unwell all week, and Neville could not enjoy himself when his thoughts were with his sibling. He hoped that his mother did not have issue with his brother this evening while he was away. Danvers was ill-equipped to handle the situation. Wentwell had just finished his drink and was searching for the hostess to give his regrets when he spotted the lovely and curvaceous Lady Charity Abernathy speaking with a woman who, from the similarity of form, could be none other than Lady Charity’s mother The Countess of Shalace. The Lady Shalace was equally curvaceous, but certainly not as lovely in deportment or in disposition as her daughter.
Lord Wentwell knew his own mother disliked Lady Shalace for exactly the sort of maneuvering that Miss Macrum attempted with him. It was well known, according to his mother that The Lady Shalace, the former Miss Lovell had caught herself an earl using less than proper methods. Trapped was more like. Well, the lady’s daughter was certainly not going to manage the same with him, Lord Wentwell thought, no matter how beautiful she was. He was wise to the feminine maneuverings. Still he did find Lady Charity intriguing. Watching her, she seemed nearly as frustrated with the evening as himself, or perhaps that was just her mother’s hovering.
Last summer Lady Charity had all but thrown herself in front of him when she thought he might ask her shy friend for a dance. Contrary to her expectation, Lord Wentwell had not been about to ask the reticent lady to dance. Timidity did not interest him. One had to admire the bravery of throwing one’s self into the proverbial line of fire for the sake of a friend, and yet once dancing Lady Charity seemed to lose her nerve. At least she seemed a bit more subdued as he brought her blushing into the conversation and the flush on her pale skin had been most alluring.
Once she found her voice, Lord Wentwell realized the Lady Charity had a rapier wit and a fresh perspective on the pomp of the Ton. His quips were met with such stark honesty. He found the Lady amusing and laughed aloud not once but several times at her candor. It had been a long while since he had felt such joy. Lady Charity had provided a refreshing outlook, and in the paucity of lively attendants at this particular soiree, she was the brightest among them.
Lady Charity turned abruptly from her mother. If possible, her eyes were brighter than he has imagined. She blinked rapidly, and with a quick glance around the room, chucked the entirety of her drink into the decorative fern that graced the archway. With her cup still in hand, she turned and joined in conversation with the Colonel Ranier.
Wentwell paused. He knew Colonel Ranier from the short time he was engaged in His Majesty’s Service. It would be easy to insinuate himself into the conversation if he wished to reacquaint himself with Lady Charity. He decided he did. She snapped her fan open bearing it before her as if it were a weapon. In fact he decided, she was perhaps the most enticing woman he had seen for quite some time. He would be remiss if he did not renew their acquaintance.
~.~
Chapter Three
Lady Charity glanced again at Lord Wentwell and realized he was moving in her direction. She felt dizzy, like a small bird about to be pushed from the highest branch. Charity ground her teeth. Her palms had begun to sweat beneath her gloves in a most unladylike way, and she felt as if she could not get a full breath around her stays, which were not in any way too tight.
“I say, Wentwell,” Ranier said jovially. “You have met the Lady Charity Abernathy, have you not? Her father is The Earl of Shalace. Marvelous chap.”
Charity held out a hand, but narrowed her eyes. She expected the gentleman to fail to recall their dance last summer. Surrounded by ladies as he often was, it would be a surprise to Charity if he could recall more than one pretty face in the myriads with whom he danced and flirted.
“Of course,” he offered, a slight bow in Charity’s direction. “I was honored to partner the fair lady this summer past. Though I am afraid we have not had the occasion to renew our acquaintance since.
Charity smiled, flattered that he remembered her. “It is lovely to see you again, Lord Wentwell,” she replied inanely while her muddled brain tried to think of something more worthwhile to say. She could hear her mother’s voice in the back of her mind, even though Lady Shalace was well outside of speaking distance, the coaching gave Charity something to latch onto. She obeyed the instruction that she knew would be given.
Charity straightened her shoulders, sand took a breath. The action thrust her bosom forward and she held her empty glass in both hands, just below the sightline of her breast. One glance by the gentleman would give ample view of both. As predicted, Wentwell’s gaze took in the sight, and in fact lingered there until his gaze bordered on scandalous. Luckily the neckline of the dress was fairly sedate by her mother’s usual standards. Mother wanted to save the truly titillating dresses until the opening ball. Thank heavens Charity had managed to have the most revealing of the garments altered before arriving in Bath.
Lord Wentwell, face broke into a grin showing perfectly even teeth and a dark glint in his eye, but instead of offering to fill her cup, he simply commented upon it saying, “I see that you are without refreshment, Lady Charity.”
“So I am,” she said, raising the glass slightly and Colonel Ranier hastened to say that he would oblige her. Taking her cup, he made haste to see it refilled.
Charity could nearly feel her mother’s triumphant grin behind her. Rather than bask in her success, Charity felt soiled with the ease of manipulation as the colonel hurried away. She was of the opinion that Lord Wentwell had also manipulated the situation to be alone with her.
She disliked the façade and Lord Wentwell was certainly in the thick of such things. It would not do to tempt him, or herself considering his rakish reputation. Still, as far as Charity was aware, no official scandal had taken place around the gentleman, only whispers of impropriety, but nothing proved. Besides, he was good friends with Lord Barton, Patience’s older brother, and no one was more upright than Reginald.
A little flirtation would not cause harm so long as scandal did not ensue. She took up the fan at her wrist, waving it artfully in front of her breast, both drawing Wentwell’s attention and hiding herself from view. His gaze followed the path of her fan and burned across her skin
like a physical touch. He was absolutely solid beside her in that moment. She could smell the scent of him and feel his heat even in the summer evening. She was quite sure that Neville Collington was capable of ruining a woman. In fact, she was sure he could manage it without even applying much effort and that was the issue. One look and a woman could find herself lost in those penetrating green eyes.
~.~
Lord Wentwell brought his eyes firmly back to Lady Charity’s face. Hers was quite a beautiful face, with full lips and eyes as blue as the sea. He smiled down at her. “Are you terribly parched, my lady?” Wentwell asked expecting to catch her in a falsehood, and apply his charm.
“A drink would indeed be pleasant,” she replied smoothly. Not exactly a lie, he realized, as she tossed a look over her shoulder to her mother. “It is uncommonly warm, and Colonel Ranier is kind to fetch me a drink,” she said as she fanned herself.
“Implying that I am not kind?” Wentwell replied, one eyebrow raised.
“A lady would not say so.” She fluttered her fan artfully, or perhaps she was just a bit nervous, her eyes passed over the other guests, perhaps looking for Ranier. An unaccustomed stab of jealousy flashed through him. He wanted her eyes on him.
“And yet you think it, do you not?” He said drawing her deep blue eyes back to his face. “Oh, Lady Charity, you wound me.”
“By my thoughts? I think not.” She laughed lightly, falsely, with just the right amount of levity for a lady. “In fact,” she continued. “I think it would take more than my mere words to do you harm. I believe you are well protected by hubris.”
“I would not wish you any ill, even an ill thought, Lady Charity. An inspiring thought I would hope to stimulate. An amusing word I would cherish, but I would never wish you ill.” He took a beat as he twisted his signet ring on his hand. “Nor would I get you a drink,” he said, raising his eyes to hers.
The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel Page 2
