She did not seem as aloof as the others. Perhaps she would try again to make friends. Charlotte ventured a small smile. “Cedrica, was it?”
“Miss Halfpenny, it is a pleasure.” Cedrica pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “Is everything to your liking?”
Charlotte laughed. “I’ve never been so comfortable in my life,” she assured her, though it was far from the truth. “You are kind to see to everyone’s wishes, but I hope someone is seeing to yours.”
“I am well. Thank you for asking, Miss Halfpenny.”
“Charlotte, please.” She gave the Cedrica her best smile. “Won’t you join me for a cup of tea?”
Cedrica glanced at the table and Charlotte could almost see her counting the cakes. As a small frown creased her brow, Charlotte poured two cups to distract her from any tasks on her mind.
“Sugar?”
Cedrica shook her head. “I should not… I cannot resist Monsieur Fournier’s petit fours. If I do not cut back somewhere, I’ll be made of sugar by the new year.” She accepted the tea cup and carefully chose a cake from the tray with an odd little smile.
Charlotte took one for herself and sat down with her tea, Cedrica joining her before the fire. The cake was tiny and perfectly square. It was covered on all sides in a thin coat of hard icing so smooth it could have been painted on. They were topped with delicate sugar flowers.
In the space of three days, Charlotte had ascended to dizzying heights from stale currant buns in Bankside to tiny cakes too perfect to be real.
She poked the sugar flower and a petal cracked and fell off.
Cedrica nibbled her cake slowly, and Charlotte caught a flicker of ecstasy on her face before she suppressed it. Curious, she bit into her own cake.
The icing was good, but the cake inside was spectacular; light as air and flavored with lemons and something else she could not quite place. She devoured the rest in a single great bite, yellow crumbs spotting her new skirt. No wonder Cedrica was so fond of them. Without asking, Charlotte went back to the table and returned with two more.
Cedrica accepted one with an endearing smile. “Thank you.”
“I’ve never had such a thing before,” Charlotte confided. “They’re marvelous. If this Monsieur Fournier is half as handsome as he is skilled, we’re all in trouble.”
Cedrica sipped her tea, her cheeks faintly pink.
Charlotte nearly choked on her cake as she noticed it. “He is?”
“Monsieur Fournier is very skilled,” Cedrica agreed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. It was all she would say.
Charlotte sipped her tea, intrigued. Perhaps these ladies were not as well-behaved as she had feared.
Cedrica cleared her throat delicately and changed the subject. “I wish to congratulate you on your engagement. Lord Somerton appears to be a fine gentleman.”
Charlotte felt her heart speed up at the mention of her engagement. Stage fright, she told herself. “He is. Thank you.”
“May I ask you something… importunate, Miss Halfpenny?”
Charlotte’s grip tightened on her tea cup as she braced herself for whatever the young woman deemed impolite. “Of course.”
She lowered her voice. “Is it true you ensnared Somerton with naught but your gaze?”
Charlotte’s laugh erupted from some place between surprise and hysteria. Clearly she had chosen the right gossip in Mrs. Laird. “Indeed it is,” she confirmed, as if such a thing was possible.
Cedrica coughed nervously. “Teach me?”
The girl fiddled with her skirt, obviously nervous. Cedrica was young and tolerably pretty, but clearly did not have the innate confidence of one at ease with her place in the world. By virtue of their birth, the other ladies at the party were sure to have more suitors than they could ever want, but she suspected Cedrica, like herself, would have to rely on her wits.
Charlotte smiled. “Of course. What is it you’d like to know?”
The poor girl paled. She opened her mouth, but the words did not immediately come out. “Anything. I am forthright and calm, but I suspect I lack charm. I do not know how to speak to a man as anything other than… myself.”
Charlotte smiled. “I assure you, you are quite charming as you are. Perhaps you ought to seek one who admires you without artifice.”
“Certainly, but how will I speak to him? That is, if I find such a man?”
“There’s nothing to it. I’ve known a great many men and I can assure you, very few of them are concerned with words.”
Cedrica’s eyes widened.
“Men have a short attention span and they like to be entertained. You don’t have to dance for them—although I’ve never known a man to refuse the offer—but try to engage them in conversation. If you are uncertain as to what they like to discuss, try to make them laugh.”
Cedrica blinked, holding her cake midway to her mouth. “How?”
“Witty observations, a sense of the ridiculous. Never laugh at another’s expense, mind you. You don’t know if they are close with the person you slight. At best, you will seem rude, and at worst, unforgivably cruel. Do not comment on people, but situations, current events… you can laugh at your own expense, but not his. That rarely goes over well.” Charlotte sipped the last of her tea.
“I have heard you ought to touch gentlemen, but I cannot fathom how one would do this without being too forward,” Cedrica confided.
“You can, although as you say, it would be rather difficult as a lady in polite society. Actresses have the advantage that being forward is expected and they will drape themselves over any lap that takes their fancy.” She laughed.
“Is that how you caught Somerton’s attention?” Cedrica asked in a tiny voice.
Charlotte flushed, rather liking the image brought to mind by the suggestion. “I did not,” she answered with some regret. She would, given half the chance. “Touching should be limited to accidental brushes or small gestures to remind them of your presence that can be interpreted innocently should your feelings not be reciprocated. Most importantly, hypnotize him with your gaze.”
Cedrica frowned. “That sounds difficult.”
“It’s easy,” Charlotte promised. “If you happen to catch his gaze, hold it for a moment longer than strictly necessary. When he does not look away, smile. It’s an intimacy no one else should notice, and it will feel like you have a secret between you. If he returns your feelings, he’ll try it again. If he does not, he’ll avoid your eyes.”
Cedrica took a deep breath as if she could take on all this new information through her lungs. “Did Somerton return your gaze?”
“Eventually. He likes my monologues.” Charlotte smiled to herself. “With others, it was my hair, my bust, or my backside, but Apollo was the only one who liked to listen. Is it any wonder I chose him?”
Cedrica sighed. “You’re most fortunate, Miss Halfpenny.”
A snort from the doorway interrupted their conversation. “She’s well aware of that. Aren’t you, Miss Halfpenny?”
Cedrica rolled her eyes at the intruder. “Weasel,” she said under her breath.
Charlotte frowned. She didn’t remember meeting the man. Was he called Weasel, or was that what Cedrica thought of him?
The man sidled up to her chair and she spotted his intentions a mile away. She’d met many like him over the years. “We’re all aware of precisely how fortunate. Would that I were so fortunate—” He dared to run a finger down the length of her arm. “—for perhaps an hour or two?”
Charlotte shuddered. “An hour? Please, child. I doubt you could be so blessed for more than five minutes.”
Weasel flushed a brilliant scarlet at the slight, though Cedrica did not seem to notice. “Cedrica, my room is in need of fresh water and a good dusting. Would you be so good as to send a servant up?”
“Certainly,” she agreed, shoulders sinking.
“Run along, then. I can’t imagine Her Grace would like to hear you were in here alone with su
ch an infamous woman.”
Cedrica lifted her chin, clearly irritated. “Miss Halfpenny was invited.”
“Cannot be helped, I suppose.” He returned to the door, expecting her to follow. “At your convenience, Miss Grenford?”
Cedrica rose, resigned. “I beg your pardon, Miss Halfpenny. It was lovely speaking with you.”
Chapter 8
Supper that night was the finest Charlotte had had in her life, but she would have traded it for bubble and squeak in a heartbeat if it meant she could have an evening alone with Apollo. Sitting between two strangers who kept shooting her speculative glances without attempting to engage in conversation, she frowned over her hundreds of pieces of cutlery in quiet despair. She didn’t know which was used for what, and when she eventually chose incorrectly, the gentleman beside her had to disguise his laugh behind one spotless white glove.
Charlotte’s heart sank. She supposed it was all part and parcel of the countess position, but she was walking into this blind. She wished she could ask Apollo what she was meant to do, or perhaps even Cedrica. She had taught her how to flirt; surely Cedrica could teach her the ways of the fork.
No one near her was willing to. They carefully ignored her until she began to realize that not only did they regard her an outsider but an embarrassment. She knew their story would raise no few eyebrows and that hadn’t concerned her, but it could make things unpleasant if she was expected to spend any significant amount of time with these people. Hoping she could sit with better company at the next meal, she focused instead on all the curious pieces of silver she had been given, wondering about their true purpose. A couple of them looked more like barber’s tools, while others would be suited to carpentry or slow torture.
Slow torture, just like this meal.
To her profound relief, it did eventually end, and the party convened for dancing in the adjoining hall. Apollo met her with a smile on his face, having obviously had a more pleasant time wherever he was seated. She took his arm as they entered the ballroom together. The music had already begun to play, and though she was more used to bawdy theater songs and drunken choruses, she did not mind the elegant strain of the violins.
“Would you like to dance?” Apollo asked her.
Having been a performer for so much of her life, she was a passable dancer, and if Apollo had half as much grace as he had displayed fencing, he’d be a joy to dance with. “Yes, please.”
He grinned and took her to the floor. He led her through the steps of the new dance, and she followed him easily. They danced well together and Charlotte enjoyed herself immensely. She had not yet seen him so carefree, and she liked it. His smile was genuine and disarming, and she wanted very much to make him do it again.
“Thank you for the kitten,” she said.
He twirled her across the floor. “I’m glad you like him. I was not certain if you liked animals.”
“I do,” she assured him as he caught her coming out of a turn. “I love animals. He’s very sweet.”
“I thought a cat might bring some cheer into the house. Perhaps we could have other pets as well.”
Charlotte grinned. They had spoken vaguely about the future during the journey up, but Charlotte had not yet asked if they could redecorate the house. She suspected it would need little more than a good dusting and a few open windows, but she did not want to step on anyone’s toes.
Apollo was such a natural dancer that he was not in any danger of stepping on anyone’s toes, and it was all Charlotte could do to keep up with him. She surrendered to the music, worrying less about making every step and letting herself get swept away in the rhythm. He felt the change in her posture and took advantage of it, twirling her madly this way and that until she collapsed into his arms in a giggling mess.
His eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at her, his smile widening by the moment. It was a funny thing, his smile. It transformed his face, all traces of seriousness clearing like clouds on a sunny day. She wondered at her attraction to him. Perhaps it was folly, desiring a man who could not love her in the way she wanted him to, but it was not something she could shake. With Apollo as her companion, perhaps her future would not be so frightening after all.
When the song ended, she took a seat against the wall, more tired than she cared to admit. Apollo left her there with a kiss on her hand and a glass of lemonade and went to talk to a friend. Within moments, Miles found her and sat beside her.
She cringed. She had hoped he wouldn’t come.
“Evening, Charlotte,” he greeted, reeking of drink.
“Miss Halfpenny,” she corrected.
“Halfpenny… where’s that come from, then?”
She felt her eyebrows draw together in irritation. “It’s a stage name, after my mother’s. She was Moira Halfpenny.”
“Irish! That explains this, then.” He rubbed a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I thought that was your going rate.”
She yanked her hair out of his hand. “Too rich for your blood, mate.”
He clenched his jaw, clearly miffed. She hadn’t meant to refer to the fact that he’d squandered his fortune, it was just something people said, but he’d taken it as such. “Charming as ever. Tell me, how’d you catch a cold fish like Somerton? I haven’t seen him with a woman in all these years. He prefers his books and his charities.” He said the last with so much distaste he might have said Somerton preferred books and eviscerating orphans. “I’ll wager you’re his first one.” He chuckled.
She might well have been, but she’d bite off her own tongue before she admitted such a thing. “I’ve kept him busy enough these past ten years. You can’t improve on perfection.” She winked at him though she wanted to give him a slap.
His cheeks reddened as if he was filling up with steam. “You think very highly of yourself. Perhaps no one else will have him. He can’t even get a dance. Observe.”
Irritated, Charlotte searched the floor for Apollo and found him speaking to two of the girls she had seen in the drawing room. He seemed to be offering to dance with them, but an older man, presumably one of their fathers, refused. Apollo bowed politely and moved on.
Charlotte burned with shame. Had she damaged his reputation to the extent that men would not allow him to show courtesy to their daughters? She supposed marrying one’s mistress would be shocking to these people. More than that, they weren’t married yet and they had travelled alone together to reach this party. God only knew what people would say if they knew she was with child.
Finding Cedrica alone, Apollo offered to dance with her and she accepted, though it was clear she was not a natural dancer. Her heart warmed to see him patiently teaching her the steps. He was a good man, the best of men. Far better than Charlotte deserved.
Damage done, Miles left without a word. Charlotte sat alone, considering her ridiculous situation. No one else attempted to speak to her or asked her to dance. She was more than an outsider here, she was a social disease, and she was already causing Apollo harm. She should leave before she destroyed him completely.
* * *
* * *
Charlotte left the house and walked until she could breathe again. The night was freezing, but she trudged into the darkness with a shawl gathered around her shoulders, ready to walk to the ends of the earth, if need be. Unfortunately, the only end in sight seemed to be the edge of a manicured garden overlooking a neighboring pasture.
The moon appeared to shoot her judgmental glances from through holes in the veil of clouds, while sheep milled about between drystone walls. It was quiet in the country, and the silence unsettled her there as it did in Somerton House.
This was never meant to be her world. She had been born into the light, the noise, and the smoke of the City, and to the City she must return. It had been a lovely dream, but it wasn’t hers.
“Charlotte?” Apollo’s voice was a temperate breeze in the chill of the night. He had been so kind to her. She wanted to be his countess, wanted to be the kind of wife she b
elieved he deserved, but knew in her heart she couldn’t. She hated to prevent him from finding such a paragon, but she couldn’t cheat her child of the chance at a good life, either. She could not protect them both. When she turned to face Apollo, there were tears of frustration in her eyes.
He gathered her in his arms and held her close without a word, and a pathetic-sounding sob broke free from her throat at the surprise. Aside from dancing, he’d barely touched her. She surrendered to it, cautiously wrapping her arms around his long, lean waist. His shirt was stiff with starch beneath her cheek and the delicious smell of him drove all thought from her mind. His cologne was light and vaguely herbal, like elderflowers and lemon in brandy. Masculine, but not overtly so. It mixed with his own chemistry and became something more, the smell of desire itself. It would be so easy to love him, but she knew she would be doing him a disservice.
He loosed his hold on her only enough to seek her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes blue-green as medicine glass. “What troubles you?”
She glanced over his shoulder to be sure they were alone. “I don’t belong here.”
“You belong with me.” His assurance was heady as laudanum and twice as tempting. She longed to drink his words and forget.
“You deserve better,” she said, looking away. “I can’t be everything you need.” She pulled out of his arms reluctantly and sunk onto a bench overlooking a fallow field.
He sat beside her without a sound. “You already are.”
Her laugh was defensive and more than a little morose. “The things I’ve done, Apollo…”
He took her hand, offering her his strength. “I don’t care, Charlotte.”
“You ought to,” she fired back, but did not withdraw her hand from his grasp. “It wasn’t just Marksby. Perhaps you’ve heard the rumors. If you haven’t, you will. Byron, Coleridge, Kean, dozens of others. Opium, laudanum, absinthe, women.” Her voice cracked.
His eyebrows shot up at her confession. “Women?”
She cringed inwardly. Her past had succeeded in shocking him where her behavior had failed. “Many,” she confessed. “So many. What must you think of me?”
Holly and Hopeful Hearts Page 24
