With that, they both burst into laughter, and Charlotte was glad for the momentary release of tension Amelia and her brothers had provided. Amelia held Charlotte’s injured hand on her lap and gently massaged her fingers.
“Amelia, what am I to do? I will not marry horrible Horace.”
Amelia giggled. “Horrible Horace sounds like some sort of dreadful attraction at the circus.”
“Perhaps we could capture him and sell him to the circus.” Charlotte pulled at a thread on her coverlet.
“I know Mama is being difficult, but you must endure. Papa promised you a season in London, and he will not renege on his word. You’ll soon be attending balls and other social events where you’ll have a chance to meet other prospects.” Amelia sighed.
“I wish she would have allowed us to come out at the same time. I’ll do my best to marry this season so you can make your debut next year.” She patted Amelia’s knee, grateful for her niece’s support. Living in this house would be unbearable without it.
“You must go speak with Papa.” She clasped Charlotte’s good hand. “Mama will not be happy, but she won’t defy Papa.”
“I have no dowry, and I don’t come from a noble family. What if she’s correct that no one else will make an offer for me? Perhaps I’m just delaying the inevitable.” She stood and pressed her injured knuckle against the cool windowpane.
“No. You are not to marry Horace under any circumstances. Go. Go speak with Papa now.”
Amelia was right. There was no point in giving in to Elizabeth yet. Perhaps with more time, she could come up with a solution for her future that included options other than marrying Horace or living on the streets.
“What would I do without you?” Charlotte asked.
“Very little, I expect.”
She whacked Amelia’s shoulder. “I’m being serious. If I didn’t have you to talk to, I would be a candidate for Bedlam.”
“We’ll keep that option open as an alternative to marrying Horace. For now, you need to go speak with Papa.”
She allowed Amelia to pull her from the chamber, and they walked down the staircase together.
Amelia went toward the parlor, and Charlotte knocked on the door to the library, which doubled as Richard’s study.
“Enter.” His voice was surprisingly clear through the closed door. She pushed it open and peered at him. He held the newspaper in front of him, his feet resting upon his desk. “Do you have a moment?”
He dropped his feet to the floor and folded the paper. “Of course. Come, sit.” He gestured to the chair in front of his desk.
Charlotte sat and studied the carvings on his desk, unsure where to start.
Richard laced his fingers together and broke the silence. “I understand you had an altercation with Elizabeth’s cousin this afternoon.”
She straightened in her seat and met his gaze. “Yes, I suppose you could call it that. He…um…pinched me, and I was so shocked I struck him before I had time to think.”
Richard’s lips twitched, but he refrained from laughing. “I will speak with Elizabeth and make sure that you are not left alone with him again.” He picked up the newspaper and began to unfold it, a clear indication that she was dismissed.
Charlotte bit her lip. “There is one more thing. Elizabeth said that she accepted his offer of marriage on my behalf, but I—”
Richard shot out of his chair, the crumpled newspaper clenched in his fist. “She what? We had agreed that you were to have a proper season.”
“That was my understanding as well.”
He strode to the door and jerked it open. “Adams, is Lady Lightwood at home?”
The butler appeared in the doorway and trained his gaze on the wall behind Richard. “She has gone to Madame Poirier, sir.”
Richard rubbed the back of his neck. “Did she give any indication of her return?”
Adams cleared his throat. “I’m afraid not, sir.”
Richard ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up in clumps around his forehead. “Very well. Please ask her to attend me as soon as she returns.”
Adams bowed and turned on his heel.
Richard sat at his desk once again. “For now, I ask that you keep Horace’s proposal under consideration. You have the rest of the season to consider other offers. If you are not betrothed by the end of the season, you will marry him.”
Charlotte nodded, more determined than ever to make a match she could abide. Otherwise, her brother might as well have given her a reprieve from a sentence to be hanged.
Chapter Two
The notes of Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3 drifted up the enormous staircase, fueling Charlotte’s uneasiness as she waited in the receiving line with Richard and Elizabeth. Would she remember the steps to all of the dances? Would anyone ask her to dance? Would she find someone, anyone, to rescue her from a lifetime with Horace?
Elizabeth adjusted a hairpin. “It will be mortifying if no one will stand up with her.”
The thoughtless comment stilled Charlotte’s toying with her reticule. As if her head wasn’t already swirling with thoughts of all the things that could go wrong. The last thing she needed was Elizabeth suggesting more ways in which she could be humiliated at her first London ball. She pressed her hand to her stomach.
“If she is unable to secure a match, it could affect Amelia’s success when she comes out next season.”
The lady standing in front of them glanced over her shoulder at Elizabeth, setting Charlotte’s nerves even further on edge. Richard silenced Elizabeth with a quelling look, but the damage could not be undone.
Finally, it was their turn to be introduced. Elizabeth straightened and moved forward, and Charlotte followed obediently behind. She curtsied and murmured appropriate greetings when introduced to their hosts, the Duke and Duchess of Chadwick, and their niece, Princess Tarasova. The ballroom glowed with light from thousands of candles reflecting off the mirrored walls, their heat releasing the sweet perfume of the flowers set around the premises. Though the flowers themselves were gorgeous, Charlotte found the arrangements unimaginative.
As Elizabeth led them through the crowd toward Lady Rutherford, Charlotte surreptitiously studied the unmarried ladies and was relieved to find the style of her attire and hair was similar to theirs. She wore her favorite gown of pale lavender overlaid with white silk netting and had woven lavender flowers through her hair, hoping no one would notice her lack of adornment since she no longer owned any jewelry.
Lady Rutherford’s youngest son, George Caldwell, approached Charlotte and bowed. She had met him briefly once, but his mother’s position as Elizabeth’s closet friend was hardly a sound recommendation. “Good evening, Miss Lightwood. Would you care to dance?”
“Of course she would,” Elizabeth answered for her.
Charlotte stifled a sigh and allowed Mr. Caldwell to lead her onto the dance floor. While she didn’t appreciate Elizabeth’s interference, it wasn’t as if there was an acceptable reason for her to refuse him.
“How are you enjoying your first visit to London?” he asked as they took their places to begin the cotillion.
“Very much. We went to the British Museum yesterday to see the Rosetta Stone.”
“Though I’ve never been to the museum, I understand it’s rather boring. After all, who wants to study a big rock with a bunch of incomprehensible pictures on it?” He straightened his cravat, acting as if he had just said something clever.
Charlotte refrained from rolling her eyes. She had no patience for a man who was given every advantage in life yet had no interest in furthering his knowledge.
The cotillion turned out to be too taxing for Mr. Caldwell. By the third change his breathing was labored, and by the fifth, beads of perspiration streamed down his forehead, putting her in mind of Horace, which was never a welcome occurrence. Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to engage in regular physical activity either. When the dance ended, he pulled at his collar and took out his hand
kerchief to mop his brow. “Are you in need of refreshment, Miss Lightwood?”
Charlotte gave her assent since he clearly was. As she followed him to the refreshment table, she restrained herself from moving a gorgeous hydrangea from behind the laurel to the front of the flower arrangement where it could be seen.
George poured her a glass of lemonade. “I’m afraid I’m engaged for the next dance, but I hope to see you later.”
Charlotte thanked him and turned her attention to the ballroom, hoping to find a diversion or something to aid her pursuit of her new goal. She wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. Most of the girls who had debuted this season were gathered behind their mothers at the edge of the ballroom, but she hadn’t been introduced to any of them, and she wasn’t sure how far Elizabeth’s social connections extended. She was not engaged for the next dance and no one was rushing to her side for an introduction.
Princess Tarasova approached the refreshment table and smiled at her. She was the first woman Charlotte had seen who was as beautiful up close as she was from a distance. “Miss Lightwood, isn’t it?”
Charlotte nodded and returned her smile.
“I wanted to tell you how lovely I find the arrangement of the flowers in your hair. It’s very fashionable back home in St. Petersburg to decorate our hair and even our skirts with flowers. I didn’t think it was done here in London.”
Charlotte was surprised to find that the princess thought about such mundane things. Perhaps she felt as out of place here as Charlotte did. “I daresay I am the only one using flowers in this manner. Most of the women here seem to prefer jewels.” She glanced across the ballroom at Elizabeth, who now wore the jewels Charlotte’s mother had once owned.
The princess cast a glance at Elizabeth as well. “In St. Petersburg we like to add flowers to go along with our jewels.” She raised her brows. “I have a diamond snood that would be gorgeous paired with your flowers.” She bit her lip as the duchess caught her eye. “I am sorry to cut our conversation short, but I have promised Lord Ravensdale the next dance. May I call on you this week?”
Astonished to be so honored by the princess, it was a moment before she could formulate a response. “I would be honored.”
When the princess left, Charlotte forced herself to return to Elizabeth. Perhaps there might be one or two other men in attendance who would be willing to dance with her.
…
Sebastian studied his grandmother as she slept across from him in the carriage. Since her recent illness, she had been resting more and more frequently, but she had a disturbing habit of waking when he least expected it.
Her lids popped open, and she focused unerringly on him. “I do hope you were serious about finding a wife this season. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
He wanted to please her, but despite her repeated encouragement, he remained indifferent toward the season. The girls were the same every year, with the same gowns, the same hairstyles, and the same goal—to make a good match. He wasn’t particularly integral to the management of his properties, and though he presented himself in the House of Lords as duty required, he hadn’t the qualities of subterfuge or deceit in large enough quantities to desire to advance himself in politics. It had been a long time since anything had held his interest. Perhaps marriage was the answer, but it seemed improbable.
Gran slapped her fan against the seat and raised her brows. “I mean it, boy.” Her expression softened. “I realize you don’t enjoy being the most sought-after man in London, but the only way to put an end to the hunt is, in fact, to choose a wife.”
The bump of the carriage wheels against the cobblestone street switched to the crunch of gravel, signaling their imminent arrival at the London home of the Duke of Chadwick. Sebastian took his grandmother’s hand. “I will do my best, Gran.” And he meant it. He would find a suitable bride this season or die trying. He couldn’t take another year of having to attend the endless rounds of balls and engagements that wife-hunting involved.
His timing was impeccable. They arrived just after the receiving line had ended, and the Chadwicks were standing together watching the dancers. Gran would be spared the need to stand overly long but still be able to make her greetings.
Gran whacked his forearm with her fan. “Do attempt to be appealing. You can’t hope to find a better prospect than Princess Tarasova.”
Sebastian checked his arm for bruising. “I’ll do my best.” At least she’d kept her voice down and hadn’t pointed at the girl. Gran greeted the duchess, and he turned to the duke.
“Marley, welcome.” The duke shook his hand. “Have you met my lovely niece yet?” He held his arm out toward the girl standing on his other side and Sebastian turned to get a better look at her.
And lovely she was, with golden-blond hair and blue eyes enhanced in a most flattering manner by a gown the color of the Channel during a summer storm. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“Anna, I’m pleased to present Lord Marley. He can usually be counted as an ally in parliament. Marley, my niece, Princess Tarasova.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she said.
He took her hand and bowed. He’d already heard about the tremendous fortune that made up her dowry and had half expected her to be unsightly, as wealthy women tended to be. It was rare to find a woman with both beauty and fortune. He placed her at the top of his list of prospects.
“I hope you will excuse me,” she said. “I am engaged for the next dance.”
“Of course. Perhaps you will save a dance for me?”
“By all means.” She smiled in dismissal and turned her attention to her dance partner.
The duke and duchess were both receiving other late arrivals, so he took Gran to locate her acquaintances in the ballroom. During her third such meeting, he noted Princess Tarasova speaking with a girl he didn’t recognize. There wasn’t anything overt that caused him to take note of her, yet there was something about her that caught his attention. Perhaps it was the way she held herself, exuding both confidence and vulnerability.
Gran cleared her throat. “There’s no need to stare at the princess. You’ll have your chance with her later.”
He took her arm and led her to her desired destination for the evening, the card room, where he helped her settle comfortably at a table with her cronies.
She whacked his arm with her fan. Again. In the same place. “Do stop fussing over me and get yourself to the ballroom. You certainly aren’t going to find a wife in here. There isn’t a woman under the age of fifty to be found.”
Sebastian smiled and kissed her on the cheek before heading off to locate Ashdown. His friend kept his finger on the pulse of the ton and would already have information about the new girls on the market.
Sebastian skirted the edge of the ballroom, careful to avoid the matrons gathered in chairs to monitor their offspring. He made certain Mrs. Abernathy, who had been trying for three seasons to force her eldest daughter on him, wasn’t nearby. The Abernathys intended to purchase a title for their daughter, but Sebastian had no intention of allowing himself to become the target of their scheming.
As he approached the refreshment table, he spotted a group of gossiping girls he wished to avoid. He ducked behind a column and feigned interest in the potted palm while he waited for them to leave. Unfortunately, his hiding place did not isolate him from their conversation.
“Have you ever seen anything like it? I don’t know how she could have thought that putting flowers in her hair would hide the fact that she has no jewelry to speak of.”
Sebastian peered around the edge of the column, searching for the object of their derision. The girl he had seen speaking with Princess Tarasova earlier stood barely three yards from them, within earshot as they bloody well knew, her face as pale as the white lace of her gown. She was attractive up close, with thick auburn hair that was made for a man to run his fingers through and a curvy figure that put the gossiping girls’ bodies to shame.
“And
that gown. It appears to be cut from the same pattern my maid uses to make her clothes. I heard she’s the half sister of Sir Lightwood, and she’s a terrible burden on the family. They’re hoping to marry her off as soon as possible.” The speaker’s features put him in mind of someone, but he couldn’t place her. She crossed her arms and glared toward the Lightwood girl.
“I can’t say that I blame them,” said Paddon’s youngest daughter. “She danced with George Caldwell once, but so far, no one else has even asked her to dance. They’ll be lucky to find someone to take her off their hands.”
Girls like these were a large part of the reason he had grown to dislike attending ton events. Suddenly overcome by a surge of protectiveness that had nothing to do with sympathy, Sebastian blocked out their chatter and focused on Miss Lightwood. She twisted the string of her fan around her wrist so tightly the mistreated skin around it turned red. Aside from that and the ashen hue of her face, she showed no sign that she could hear what the gossips were saying. He wanted to ask her to dance, directly in front of these girls that he most certainly would not ask, but he’d have to secure an introduction first. He turned back the way he had come, intent on finding her guardian.
…
Charlotte stood like a statue, unable to move. She wanted to escape, to leave the ball altogether, but she would not let on that she had overheard what the other girls were saying about her, though they surely knew that she could hear them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Elizabeth gesturing excitedly to her from the other side of the ballroom. Apprehension slid through her.
Charlotte studied the man standing next to Elizabeth. Something about him instantly drew her to him, something in his confident bearing and the way a mischievous smile played across his lips. Laughter danced in his eyes.
Elizabeth smiled brightly. “Lord Marley, may I present Miss Charlotte Lightwood.” She gestured to Charlotte. “Charlotte, this is Lord Marley.”
Just a Kiss Page 2
