What Not to Bare

by Megan Frampton

  She withdrew from the circle of his arms, feeling her whole body immediately mourn the lack of contact. Reinforcing the need to make the most of her time with him by reminding her just what she’d feel like when he had gone.

  Way to remind herself of that pain, she thought ruefully. By making her feel the pain directly.

  One could not say she evaded her problems.

  “I will see you this evening, then,” she said, running her palms down her gown. “You do promise you will be as you are? That is, you won’t panic again? Because that hurt. A lot. I do not wish to hurt like that again.” At least, not until he left.

  Leaving her to face the future alone. Because the past few days had more than convinced her that there was no settling. Not when this was possible.

  Not quite the future she’d envisioned for herself when a young girl, but then again, plans did tend to change as one grew older.

  He put his palm on her jaw, sliding his fingers until he cupped her chin in his hands. “I promise, Charlotte.” He looked as though he wanted to speak more, but he just closed his mouth—that delicious, glorious mouth—and shook his head, closing his eyes as though in pain.

  She leaned up and placed a quick kiss on that mouth. “Thank you, David. Until this evening, then,” she said as she turned to walk toward the door.

  She looked back at him as she put her hand on the doorknob. He was looking at her, looking so fearsomely handsome and gorgeous and beautiful, and yet that wasn’t all she saw when she regarded him. Now she saw the man underneath, the man with the hard-to-come-by laughter, the man who had self-doubt, who wanted to be valued for more than just what met the eyes.

  What Not to Bare

  Dear Ladies:

  Clothing can be used as a disguise, as a way to hide who you are as well as reveal who you believe you are.

  Underneath, however, there is no hiding. So what this young lady would suggest—no doubt scandalously—is that you make certain you like the real contents of the male you are looking for, prior to choosing just one.

  We are not suggesting anything beyond looking, but if there is some touching of the goods in question, that could perhaps be more informative than just what you view with your eyes.

  Or, at the very least, next time a gentleman portrays himself one way or the other, using his clothing or his charm (or lack of charm!), ask yourself: What is he hiding? And how can I find out what the truth is?

  The Fashionable Foible

  Chapter 19

  “How is the column going, then?” Anne reached up and put a strand of Charlotte’s hair back into place, then continued without waiting for a reply. “I know my mother loves reading it, she claps her hand over her mouth in shock, so I can tell it’s delighting her.” Anne’s face was alight with glee, an expression that made her features almost sparkle.

  “Do you read it also?”

  Anne’s eyebrows rose. “Of course! Do you think I would miss the opportunity to know something nobody else does, and get to chuckle at the results? My favorites, as I presume are yours,” she said with a naughty grin, “are the ones that discuss gentlemen’s clothing. I read them, then I wonder how you know such things, and then I realize I do not want to know.”

  That reminded her—she still had to figure out what he looked like under there. For the column’s purposes, as well as her own. Fine, she scolded herself, mostly her own.

  “You likely do not want to know. Or risk holding information that would be very scandalous if it were discovered.” Charlotte plucked a bunch of grapes from the tray of a passing footman. She plucked one off and held it out to Anne. Her friend took it and popped it in her mouth.

  Charlotte gestured with her grape. “Actually, perhaps you can help me. I am in need of some material for the column. Maybe you can make some notes on things that strike you? You and I do not always attend the same parties, and it would be good to have a different perspective than my own.”

  Anne looked surprised. “Help you with the column? That sounds as though it could be fun,” she said in a hesitant voice.

  “Just be careful nobody discovers your notes. More people would believe you are writing the column than I am,” Charlotte said, shooting a pointed glance down at her gown.

  Anne smiled at that, her eyes already alight with what Charlotte thought was excitement. If Emma ever had another emergency, perhaps she could ask Anne to write the column next time. “You can even start this evening, if you’d like,” Charlotte said. “At your own party, wouldn’t that be fun? Speaking of which,” she said, finally popping the grape into her mouth, “what is the purpose of your mother throwing this party this evening? I am very grateful you are having it, as our mothers will be too busy complaining about us to worry about what we are doing, and who we are dancing with, so it will be a relatively easy night. But I just wonder why?”

  Anne frowned. “She thinks if she throws an enormous party, the right heiress will come along and be amenable to Charles. As though having a fortune means that you are an idiot.”

  Charlotte punched her friend in the arm. “Hey, watch yourself! I am an heiress, remember.”

  Anne grinned and rubbed her arm. “I remember. Why else would I have said it?”

  Charlotte grinned back, then both ladies lost their smiles as they heard a voice behind them. “Good evening, Lady Charlotte.” Lord Charles stepped in front of them both, his face bearing that unctuous smile.

  At least Charlotte thought it was unctuous; perhaps he always looked that way. Permanently unctuous? Permunctuous?

  She tried not to giggle as she thought of it; she knew Charles would not like it at all if she laughed at him. He didn’t like her even without the laughter.

  “How do you do, Lord Charles. Your mother has quite outdone herself this evening with the party. I was just complimenting Lady Anne on it.”

  And, indeed, the room was splendid. Ornate, golden sconces had been placed every six inches or so on the walls, creating the illusion that it was daylight, when it was already well past ten o’clock. There were rose petals scattered on the floor, which looked lovely, and a veritable army of footmen kept emerging bearing delicious-smelling food. In addition to the aforementioned grapes.

  There was a small group of musicians hidden behind a curtain, so it seemed as though the music had just been summoned. The dancing had not yet started in earnest, but the guests were arriving in droves, raising the volume and the general excitement to a fevered pitch.

  “Mother has done well, hasn’t she?” Charles replied, surveying the room with as much satisfaction as if he had laid every petal down on the floor himself. “There are only a few weeks in the Season remaining. She wanted to leave a lasting impression.”

  Only a few weeks left. That made her anxious, for so many reasons.

  One of which appeared to be arriving. Anne pinched her, and they both looked to the door.

  “Lord David Marchston,” the butler announced, as though the sudden intake of feminine breath—and a few masculine breaths as well—hadn’t just heralded his arrival.

  David stood still for a moment, just casting his gaze over the crowd. How must it feel to know one is welcome at whichever group one chooses to approach?

  She would have to ask him.

  She couldn’t suppress her own sigh as he spotted her and smiled, that slow, teasing smile that crept up her spine and down to other parts of her that she wasn’t quite certain how to refer to, except for knowing that they weren’t referred to in polite company.

  Making the appeal of impolite company even more … appealing.

  “That man wouldn’t be nearly as popular if he hadn’t been absent from town for so long,” Lord Charles said in a disgruntled tone of voice.

  “That, and he is the most stunning man any of us has ever seen,” Anne added in a soft voice meant only for Charlotte’s ears.

  Charlotte smothered a chuckle.

  David made his way over to them, stopping to greet Lady Silver and a few others, until he
finally arrived at their group.

  “Good evening, ladies, Lord Charles,” he said, casting Charlotte a quick, conspiratorial glance.

  That look reminded her of just what they’d been doing recently—as though thinking about it weren’t consuming most of her waking hours, anyway—and she felt herself flush.

  “Lady Charlotte has already promised me the first dance, but can I persuade you, Lady Anne, to give me the second?”

  Anne smiled as she glanced over at Charlotte. “Yes, thank you, Lord David. That would be delightful.”

  Lord Charles’s face showed just what he thought of all the pleasantry. If he looked like that around any prospective heiresses, he would have a difficult time convincing them to marry him—he looked like a sulky child.

  But it definitely was an improvement on that unctuous smile.

  Meanwhile, more guests were arriving, and Charles and Anne were called to their mother’s side to say hello, leaving Charlotte and David by themselves, albeit standing in a great mass of people, most of whom now had rose petals stuck to their clothing and shoes.

  “I am surprised to discover I will miss this when I return to India,” he said, leaning in close to her ear so she could hear him. It seemed as though every guest was intent on exclaiming very loudly about one thing or another, so what had been a relatively quiet room was now bedlam.

  I will miss you, she wanted to say. “Why are you surprised? You didn’t enjoy the parties and such when you were last here?”

  “Last time I was in London was ten years ago. My brother had just succeeded to the marquessate, and he had fallen in love with someone my mother did not find suitable.” David’s tone of voice revealed what he thought about his mother’s judgment. “So it was my responsibility to ensure James could court the lady without interference, which I did by causing a great scandal.” He chuckled at the memory.

  While Charlotte was immediately consumed by jealousy, never mind that she had been thirteen years old at the time and had no idea if the scandal involved a woman. Though she would have to guess it did—this was Mr. Gorgeous, after all. “Is that why you went into the army? Because of the scandal?”

  “No, actually.” He paused, and Charlotte was aware of the moving of tables and general escalation of excitement; it seemed the dancing was about to begin. “I joined because I wanted to do something beyond be another gentleman at parties.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “You are hardly just another gentleman. You know that, don’t you?”

  He looked embarrassed. “Well, yes, you know what I feel about … about this,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward his face. “That is why it felt even more important that I do something meaningful. Until I got injured, I was. And after, when I was sent to India, I was even more useful. Not to mention that I fell in love with the country.” His tone sounded so wistful, she wished she could just take him to the docks and get him passage on the first boat back. Even though that would mean their mutual adventure would end that much earlier.

  “What do you love about it?”

  His lips quirked into that crooked smile. “What don’t I? It’s … it’s just so beautiful, and the people are generous, the food is delicious, and I get to feel useful.”

  “Useful.” Charlotte considered that as it applied to her own life. Was she useful at all? If one didn’t count keeping her mother occupied with finding her a husband, she was entirely not useful. Unuseful, in fact.

  If she were beautiful, at least she could be useful as David was, in being an ornament to a ballroom. She darted a quick glance down at the gown she’d chosen to wear that evening, a riot of flowers against a striped background. She was definitely not an ornament. Most of the people here likely thought she was an eyesore.

  Charlotte was opening her mouth to ask him if he thought she was an eyesore when they turned at the sound of a voice, a lovely, dulcet-toned voice.

  “Lady … Charlotte, is it? And Lord David. How nice to see you this evening.”

  She was as lovely as her voice. Darn it. She wore something that Charlotte just knew was the height of flawless fashion, even though she would have added a few bows and perhaps worn more festive shoes. But given that the lady was supposed to be in mourning, she looked incredible. More than incredible.

  It was awful.

  “How do you do, Lady Radnor?” David’s words were clipped.

  “Fine, thank you. And Lady Charlotte, how are you?”

  I was fine until you arrived. “Excellent, thank you. Lord David was just telling me about India and how much he enjoyed living there. What did you like best about it?”

  If Lady Radnor ever needed to find a career, she would be a grand success on the stage—her expression was as melodramatic as any Charlotte had ever seen at Drury Lane.

  “Nothing. It was hot, and uncomfortable, and the food was horrible, and we got the news at least six months late, and—”

  “The news from England, that is,” David interrupted, still in that clipped tone. “The news from India was quite prompt.”

  “And it was impossible to socialize when the rivers flooded, and,” she continued, as though David hadn’t said anything, “well, I could just go on and on.”

  Please don’t, Charlotte thought. Not when he is standing here having just spoken in such glowing terms about how much he loved it.

  “But enough about that,” she said. Could she read minds? “Tell me, what is there to see in London? I’ve only just arrived, as I’m certain Da—Lord David has told you.”

  “No, actually he hasn’t mentioned you. At all,” Charlotte said.

  The only sound was Lady Radnor’s sharp intake of breath. A poisoned apple, indeed.

  “As to what to see,” Charlotte went on, “many young ladies have been viewing the statues at the British Museum, mostly because many of the young men are also there viewing the statues. And of course there is the theater, and parties, and all sorts of amusements during the Season.”

  This was quite possibly the most boring conversation Charlotte had ever had, and that included the ones with Mr. Goddard.

  Thankfully Anne returned from wherever her daughter-of-the-hostess duties had taken her. “How do you do, Lady Radnor? We met at the Millers’.”

  “Of course,” Louise said, but with an expression that indicated she had no recollection whatsoever of meeting Anne.

  It must be nice, Charlotte thought, to be so beautiful that you didn’t have to worry about being rude. People just thought it was charming when you forgot things, not a sign of a confused mind. She’d have to ask David if that had ever happened to him.

  The music began, and David turned to Charlotte, holding his arm out to her. “Our dance, I believe?”

  Charlotte felt Louise stiffen next to her, and deliberately placed her fingers on his sleeve. “Thank you, yes.”

  They walked onto the dance floor, with Charlotte feeling as though a palpable silence had settled over the crowd. Yes! she wanted to shout, he is taking me onto the dance floor, and no one had to coerce him.

  At least not recently. That reminded her—she’d have to speak with her uncle soon about his attempts to increase her popularity.

  He drew her into his arms, and she looked up into his face. Now that she knew him better, she was less struck by how he looked and more by how the expression in his eyes altered depending on what emotion he was experiencing.

  Right now, for example, it appeared to be relief mixed with anticipation.

  “Were you well-acquainted with Lady Radnor?” she asked as they began to move.

  “Right to the point, as usual,” he said, both eyebrows going up as though in surprise. Although that he should be startled by anything she might say now was a surprise. Another oxymoron! “We … yes, we were acquainted.” His voice was strained, and of course Charlotte knew.

  “You had an affair with her, didn’t you?”

  His eyebrows had now descended so much it appeared they were making an assault on his nose. “You should
not say such things.” Then he paused, and she saw his mouth curl up. “But this is you of whom we’re speaking, so normal rules of conversation don’t apply. You don’t ask other gentlemen with whom they’ve … that is …” He cleared his throat, and Charlotte felt sorry for him. It must be difficult, after all, to converse with her without entirely breaching all the usual rules of Society.

  “Who they’re engaging in congress with?” she finished brightly.

  Now it seemed as though he couldn’t speak.

  “Of course not, you asked me not to, and I promised,” she said, patting him on the back—perhaps he had something stuck in his throat? “Anyway, no one would blame you if you did. Lady Radnor is beautiful,” she added in a wistful tone.

  He took that moment to glower at her. Actually glower. “I have asked you not to denigrate yourself so. You are beautiful, Charlotte. When will you believe that?”

  All sorts of answers—entirely inappropriate answers—came to mind at his question, but she couldn’t even voice them all inside her head, much less speak them out loud. If she did, she would just burst into flame and fly up in ashes to the sky.

  Instead, she drew a deep breath, banishing those images to somewhere else. “I believe at one point you said I was ‘not ugly,’ which is a far cry from being beautiful.”

  At this, he stopped dead in the middle of the dance floor, causing a collision of all the couples around them. “Come,” he said, holding his hand out for her. “I will fetch you a glass of water, if you are feeling faint.”

  She opened her mouth to deny feeling faint—she’d never felt better, actually—but snapped it shut again when she saw the look in his eye. “Oh, yes,” she murmured, lowering her head as she followed him off the dance floor to the ever-present terrace.

  What would she do without terraces? Did all young, unmarried people—bachelors and whatever you would call her, as she wasn’t yet a spinster, but definitely wasn’t married—know about this terrace thing?

  It was awfully handy when one wanted to have a private conversation.