Hugh took a deep sip of brandy, as his friends continued the conversation on to matters political. This project of Dubarry's might be an irritant, but at least it might distract him from obsessing over his red-haired enchantress from earlier. Or perhaps not, he thought, as he once again pictured how her hips had swayed, as she had walked away from him.
Chapter Three
"I can't find Aunt Phoebe's Fifi anywhere!"
Violet Havisham cast a despairing look around the cluttered drawing room of Havisham House. Her deep, blue eyes—so dark that they might almost have been the same violet of her name—scoured the room, in search of the elusive Fifi, but to no avail.
"I don't understand how a dog that has been dead for a decade can go missing so often," Julia Cavendish, also styled as Lady Julia, grumbled, as she assisted Violet in her search. Julia was down on all fours on the floor, as she peered under the sofa, hoping that the preserved pooch might somehow have found her way there.
"It's Sebastian," Violet replied, with a sigh of irritation, "He takes great delight in moving poor Fifi to this place or that, to add credence to Aunt Phoebe's ridiculous notion that the dog's spirit still lingers within her mottled remains."
Charlotte struggled to control the smile which tugged on her lips; though Sebastian's trick was rather juvenile, and a little bit cruel, she could well imagine Violet's eccentric aunt in raptures over the idea that poor Fifi's spirit still inhabited the moth-eaten piece of taxidermy.
"Oh," Charlotte gave a gasp, as she spotted a pair of glass eyes winking out at her from behind the leaves of a potted ficus, "There she is!"
Charlotte pointed and Violet pounced upon the plant, rummaging through the leaves until she managed to extract the tiny terrier.
"The intrepid explorer returns," Violet said affectionately, as she rubbed the inanimate dog's fur, "Thank goodness for that—and thank you Julia, for your efforts. I'm afraid that your dress has come out the worst of your search."
All three ladies glanced down at Julia's beautiful gown, a day dress of light blue material sprigged with a pattern of white blossoms, which was now covered in dust from her time on the floor.
"Oh, dear," Violet continued absently, "I'm certain that Dorothy said she had swept the rug yesterday."
Dorothy was the elderly Lady Havisham's lady's maid and was every bit as eccentric as her mistress.
"She's afraid that if she allows any of the younger maids in, that they will upset the ornaments and fiddle with the ambiance," Violet continued, apologetically, waving a careless hand around the room.
"The ambiance of chaos?" Charlotte asked delicately, as she crept her way through the muddle of furniture, ornaments and potted plants which littered the room. Interspersed between all the objects were piles upon piles of books, which Violet had informed them years ago could not be moved. Aunt Phoebe had a classification system for her collection of novels which, though mysterious to outsiders, Violet said was actually quite sensible.
"Or it would be sensible," she had corrected herself, many moons ago on Charlotte's first visit, "If she used shelves instead of the floor..."
Still, despite the disorder of the room, it had a homely feel. Aunt Phoebe was a fan of chintz, overstuffed cushions, and roaring fires, so one always felt comfortable, if not overwhelmed, by the clutter. One of Violet's half-finished paintings could always be found by the bay window, which overlooked the leafy square, while her harp stood sentry by the fireplace, gathering dust.
It felt, to Charlotte's mind at least, like a home. Unlike her own home, in which everything was grand, shiny and new, but lacked warmth. Perhaps, had her mother survived childbirth, there would be more feminine touches in Ashfield House, but as Brandon had chosen the decor alone, dark woods and paintings of battles abounded.
"Well," Charlotte said, as she finally reached the settee, "Shall we get down to business? What did you both think of Glenarvon?"
Charlotte glanced at her two friends; Violet, stood by the fireplace, still clutching Fifi, whilst Julia was seated in the Queen Anne chair, whose missing leg had been replaced with a stack of books. Two pairs of eyes, one violet, one blue, met hers, before they hastily looked away.
"Well," Violet began, nervously stroking Fifi's fur, "I did begin it, but then..."
"I had every intention," Julia added, sincerity written upon her beautiful face, "But then..."
Lud. Charlotte sighed deeply, though she was unsurprised by her friends' mumblings. Three seasons ago, they had arranged a weekly meeting—ostensibly for the discussion of books—but each week Charlotte often found that she was the only one who had bothered to read the prescribed text.
"Well," she said, throwing her copy of Lady Caroline Lamb's work onto the cushions, "If no one else has read it, I suppose there is no point in discussing it. Though, I will say that if Lady Lamb did base the character of Ruthven on Byron, then he is a most despicable creature indeed."
"Well said," Violet said, as she set Fifi down on the floor and tripped across the room to sit beside Charlotte, "Now, shall I call for tea and cake?"
"It wouldn't be a meeting of the Witty Wallflowers without cake," Julia smiled.
"Are we witty this week? I don't think I have any sparkling conversational pieces to offer you, if we are," Charlotte said, as Violet rang for Dorothy.
"Well, last week we were wondrous," Julia replied, "And all three of us were far from wonderful, what with our streaming noses and sneezes. There is no expectation to actually live up to the sobriquet of the week, Charlotte; have no fear."
"Thank goodness for that," Violet added, as she sat back down, "For we are running out of adjectives that begin with a "W". I shouldn't like to try and become a Warty Wallflower, when the time comes."
"My mother thinks me a Withered Wallflower," Julia sighed, idly plucking at the torn cloth of her chair, "She and Papa have decided that they shall find me a husband before the end of this season, before I am officially placed on the shelf."
The idea that anyone would consider Lady Julia a spinster, even at the age of two and twenty, was so ridiculous that Charlotte almost laughed. Ever since her first season, Julia had been the belle of every ball she attended; her spun-gold hair, delicate features, and porcelain skin saw to that. True, she had earned herself a reputation as fussy, given the number of proposals she had turned down, but no one would ever think the ton's most beautiful bloom as withered. Even if she reached the age of seventy, Charlotte knew that men would still be throwing themselves at Julia's feet.
"Have they anyone in mind?" Charlotte asked, nervous that Lord and Lady Cavendish might already have a suitor lined up to claim Julia's hand. The Wallflowers were a trio, to think that one of them might be plucked so soon was unbearable.
"Not yet, but they are looking," Julia said darkly, frowning for a moment before her face relaxed back into a smile, "Now, enough about me. Tell me what has been happening with the two of you since our last meeting?"
"I can't speak for Cat, but I was busy not reading Glenarvon," Violet said, with a mischievous glance at Charlotte.
"I was also busy, but I still found time to read it," Charlotte replied, laughing despite herself, "Though I must say that I was not quite able to focus on it properly, given all the drama at home..."
"Drama?" Violet whirled around in her seat to look at her with surprise, for Charlotte was not the dramatic sort.
"Drama of the highest order," Charlotte confirmed with a sigh, before she quickly explained her current plight.
"So, you have to find a duke and make him fall in love with you?" Violet surmised as Charlotte finished, her dubious tone not inspiring much confidence in Charlotte.
"It seems so," Charlotte said, slumping her shoulders in defeat, "If Papa had only said that any young buck would do, I would not feel so despairing. A second son with a need for a fortune would be easy to entice; a duke is another matter entirely."
"Balderdash," Julia interrupted her, confidently, "You have everything to recommend you to
a duke; beauty, breeding, and a brain."
"Most men take umbrage with the brain part," Charlotte said dryly, her mind briefly thinking on the darkly handsome stranger from the day before. She guessed that he was the type of gentleman who saw women as mere ornaments and did not think a female was good for anything, except giggling in his presence and fluttering her eyelashes. He had probably thought her a bluestocking, which in most men's eyes, was almost on a par with being the devil himself, Charlotte thought with a frown.
Not that Charlotte cared what the handsome stranger had thought of her, of course.
"The thing one must remember with it comes to dealings with men," Julia said wisely, interrupting Charlotte's musings, "Is that they are not picking you, you are picking them. Don't wonder what they want from a partner, think on what you want."
Julia's advice was most practical, Charlotte thought, and were she searching for a husband, she would certainly heed it. But she was not searching for a husband, she was searching for a duke.
"I suppose I should like him to be young enough," Charlotte offered, as her friend reached for one of Violet's pencils and her sketch pad.
"Young," Julia said, as she scribbled on the page.
"Not that I have anything against older men," Charlotte garbled, "It's just that dishonesty is bad enough, without leading an octogenarian on a merry dance. Younger men's feelings are more robust..."
"Robust," Julia echoed, still scribbling.
"Your suffering would be eased if he were somewhat handsome," Violet added, "In your eyes at least."
As the artist amongst the trio, Violet had a great appreciation for beauty, though she often found it in the strangest of places. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, Charlotte was sometimes wont to think that Violet might be slightly short-sighted. From her individual taste in fashion, to Bagpipes, the lion-esque stray cat Violet had found in Hyde Park and brought home, the bar for Violet's vision of beauty was set quite low.
"Handsome," Julia noted, as she added the third requirement to the list.
"I would like him to be kind," Charlotte said, but noted that her friend did not scribble this down.
"I'm afraid that kindness is a foreign concept to most men," Julia sighed, "But especially high-ranking ones. A kind-hearted duke would be impossible to find. We have young, robust and handsome, that will have to do."
"Local," Violet added with a squeak, as she waved Dorothy into the room, "There's no point in deciding upon a duke who has ensconced himself in the Hebrides. A duke-about-town is what's required."
"Local," Julia said, with a note of finality, as she scribbled down the final point, "Well, if this what you require, then I'm afraid that I have only one answer for you."
"Oh?" Charlotte raised an eyebrow in question.
"He will have to be one of the Upstarts."
"One of the what?"
"The Upstarts," Julia said, raising an eyebrow in surprise, "Honestly, Cat, how can you not have heard of them? They're only the three most eligible single men in all of England!"
Charlotte racked her brain to see if she could recall having ever heard mention of these upstarts. Her Grandmama was forever wittering on about this lord or that, but Charlotte had developed a selective deafness whenever the topic of marriageable men came up. And she was not one for the gossip pages in the broadsheets, preferring instead the meat of political articles.
"If they haven't made a splash in the House of Lords, then I'm afraid that they have slipped my notice," Charlotte said, feeling decidedly pious. She took great pride in the fact that she was above the ton's vapid obsession with the aristocracy.
"The only splash Lord Montague has ever made, was when he ended up in the Serpentine after losing control of his Phaeton during a race," Julia said, with a sniff of distaste, "I feel we should leave him off the list. You're far too good for the likes of him."
Charlotte had never heard her friend discuss anyone in such disparaging terms, and she was about to enquire if there was some history between the pair, when Violet interrupted.
"Orsino is far too formidable a figure to try and fool," Violet said, her brow furrowing into a frown, "Honestly, Cat, he is a beast of a man. He's at least six foot four, with a fearsome scowl. I saw him riding in the park last week and it was like witnessing Hades emerge from the underworld; he's that frightening. You don't want to end up like poor Persephone now, do you?"
"I hardly think Orsino will abduct Cat and make her his wife," Julia interrupted, rolling her eyes with amusement, "Though you are right, Violet, he is quite fearsome. I wouldn't like for Charlotte to have to cross him. We shall strike him from the list, which just leaves..."
Charlotte waited with bated breath for her friend to reveal the name of the man she must try and entice, feeling slightly nervous. If the Upstarts consisted of a Hellion and a Beast, what would their third member be like?
"The Duke of Penrith," Julia finished, with a satisfied smile, "He is everything you said you can tolerate; young, local, handsome and robust. The only problem I can envisage, is that he has a reputation as being rather proud. You might have to bite your tongue for a few weeks..."
Violet gave a rather unladylike snort of laughter at Julia's comment, which she hastily tried to disguise as a cough when she caught sight of Charlotte's outraged expression.
"Forgive me," Violet said, though her lips were still smiling, "I just find the idea of you biting your tongue for anyone amusing. You are wonderfully headstrong, Charlotte, and so certain of your opinions—"
"Stubborn, one might say," Julia added, with a mischievous smile.
"I am not stubborn," Charlotte stubbornly replied, before dissolving into laughter as she realised that she had just proved their point. She was stubborn and headstrong, her father had been calling her that for years, but when she firmly believed in something, she would defend it to the end.
"We adore you for your resolute spirit, Cat," Julia said firmly, "And would never wish for you to change, but you see Penrith is..."
"Is what?" Charlotte probed, as Julia trailed off doubtfully.
"Well, he's a Tory," Julia said, whispering the word 'Tory' as though it was a particularly distasteful epithet—which to Charlotte, it was. "And I know how strongly you feel about politics."
"I can bite my tongue," Charlotte said firmly.
"And not your thumb, if he utters something outrageously elitist?"
"If it means that Bianca can make her come-out and I might be allowed to retire to gentle spinsterhood in peace, then I can do anything I put my mind to," Charlotte replied, tilting her chin proudly.
"Wonderful," Julia smiled, "Now we just have to devise a plan to get you two to meet. I know my brothers have seen him riding in the park in the mornings. Perhaps you might bump into him there?"
"Will he not be at Almack's?" Charlotte asked with a frown; she did not like the idea of having to stalk a duke about town.
"Pfft," Violet replied, "The Upstarts would never deign to set foot in the place. Their elusiveness is part of their desirability."
"So, I have set my sights on a slippery duke. Wonderful," Charlotte said with a sigh, turning her head as the door to the drawing room was thrown open.
"Ah, if it isn't my Wilful Wallflowers," Sebastian, Violet's twin brother cried, as he spied the three ladies inside.
"Today we're Witty, Sebastian," Violet replied, with a sniff, at the same time as Julia exclaimed, "We are not wilful!"
"You three are the most wilful, obstinate ladies that I have ever had the pleasure to meet," Sebastian said, as he sauntered into the room and reached for one of the iced fancies on the table. "Not one of you has bent to your relatives' scheming to marry you off in all the three years I have known you. A more impressive display of iron-will I am yet to encounter. I tip my hat to you all."
Sebastian gave a theatrical bow before them, snatching another fancy from the table on his journey back to an upright position. Charlotte smiled; Sebastian was always filled with a restl
ess, exuberant energy, which was quite in contrast to his sister's more quiet character. Like his sister, however, Sebastian took a rather unconventional approach to life; preferring the company of artists, writers and actors, over the other young-bloods his age. He was also the only male that Charlotte had ever heard quote A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, which had endeared him to her even more.
"You may keep your hat on, brother dearest," Violet grumbled, as he squashed in beside her on the settee, "You've just interrupted our plotting to find Charlotte a husband."
"A husband?" Sebastian raised a dark eyebrow in Charlotte's direction, his violet eyes—so like his sister's—sparkling with interest.
"Well, not quite," Charlotte clarified and she hastily explained her plight again.
"If it's a faux-beau you need, I would be happy to lend my services."
Charlotte smiled at this gallant declaration; she had been right in thinking that Sebastian would be game for a lark like this. Except, now it wasn't a lark, but rather a painful pursuit of an elusive duke.
"I'm afraid that only a duke will do, in my father's eyes," Charlotte said, apologetically, not wishing to insult her friend.
"Ah, as the heir to an old but impoverished baronetcy, I probably do not fit the bill," Sebastian did not seem in the least bit insulted, "Tell me, which duke have you set your sights upon?
"Penrith," Violet supplied, through a mouthful of cake, "Though he never sets foot in Almack's, so Julia has suggested that Cat throw herself in front of his horse one morning."
"That would definitely grab his attention," there was a flash of white teeth, as Sebastian smiled. "Though, perhaps, you might leave off taking such drastic action, until I have made enquiries into where else you might meet him."
"Oh, Sebastian, thank you!" Charlotte cried, grateful for both his help and the fact that she might leave off beginning her plan for another day or two. Though she had feigned bravado for her friends' sake, Charlotte was really quite nervous about pursuing this Penrith. She was not naturally flirtatious, nor did she possess a come hither gaze, and she feared that any efforts on her part to entice Penrith would be met with very public humiliation.
Tamed by a Duke (Wilful Wallflowers Book 1) Page 4
