“Oh, what a dazzling smile, pierced me right in my heart,” Jason told her, holding his chest melodramatically. “Don’t worry about saying when. I’ll leave my card again and hope that our plans coincide for an evening. The sightseeing was delightful, Charlotte, as are you.” He took her hand and kissed it again.
As his carriage pulled away, Charlotte basked in his flattery for a moment, even though it was obvious he was a shameless flirt. She barely got in the door before her aunt emerged from the parlor.
“On a first name basis, are we?” Alicia didn’t look entirely displeased. It seemed one could be familiar with a man—if he was the right sort of man.
“He turns out to be an old friend of Thaddeus’s,” Charlotte remarked. “I didn’t even know my brother had been to half the places Jason mentioned.”
“Well,” Aunt Alicia sniffed, “if he’s been to Boston, he certainly hasn’t contacted me.”
“Mr. Farnsworth didn’t say Thaddeus had ever been here,” Charlotte said, trying to soothe the older woman. They were getting along so well, despite Helen Belgrave, that Charlotte hated to have anything break the peace.
It seemed that the issue of her questionable behavior would dissipate if she remained under Alicia’s roof and allowed her aunt to keep an eye on her. Of course, Charlotte was determined to be on her best behavior at the party, though the hope of dancing again in Reed’s arms was far too thrilling to renounce for the sake of decorum.
*****
Unfortunately when the night of the ball arrived, Reed had not. Over the course of the week, Charlotte had made the acquaintance of two ladies who came calling to meet Alicia Randall’s niece, but Charlotte had received neither a visit from Reed, nor any word that he was once more in Boston.
Instead, it was Jason Farnsworth who escorted her to the Tremont House, as her aunt had predicted. She wore her new gown of midnight blue and allowed Bridget to do her hair as Alicia had suggested, styling it in an elegant chignon that showed off the graceful curve of Charlotte’s neck.
As she descended from Jason’s carriage, she couldn’t help wishing that she were in Spring City at Drake’s barn with Reed and the children and the sweet smell of hay. But the children were home with Bridget, Reed was nowhere to be seen, and the smell of women’s perfume thickly infused the night air.
Charlotte walked between the four Doric columns of the hotel’s entrance with her hand on Jason’s arm and put a tentative smile on her face.
“I can see at a glance that you are the loveliest woman here, Charlotte,” Jason murmured in her ear as they descended the grand steps to the ballroom. “That is, I could, if I could take my eyes off of you.”
Charlotte had grown used to Jason’s liberties with her name, not to mention his free-flowing compliments. She had appreciated his company over the past few days and was now extremely pleased to be with at least one familiar face.
As for the rest of the glittering crowd, there was not a person that she recognized—until she saw John Trelaine across the room.
A few women sat in a semi-circle with the men hovering around them as bees to sweet flowers. John handed a drink to a pretty round-cheeked woman and then looked up to catch Charlotte’s eye.
She felt a pang of guilt a moment later as she watched him take in her male companion, but shook that off as a ridiculous notion. After all, John could not know with certainty that anything had occurred between her and Reed, unless Reed had confided in his associate. She doubted he would have openly compromised her in that way. Before she could approach John, she heard her aunt’s voice.
“There you are, Charlotte.” Alicia, with her hair threaded with pearls and styled higher than ever, called out from a regal chair that gave her a good view of the whole room.
Charlotte approached the dais next to a set of large French doors that led to an expansive wraparound terrace. The doors stood open now to let in the cool night air. It was Jason who responded.
“As promised, Aunt Alicia, I have delivered her to your party.”
Alicia looked at Jason carefully. There was a glint in her eye, as she admonished him.
“First of all, I am not your aunt, nor have I given you leave to address me as such. Second, this is not my party, though I do believe it might not have come about if not for my participation.” She gave a small smile of satisfaction .
“Charlotte, you must meet the hosts, my good friend Amelia and her husband, Oliver. I think they’re by the violinists.”
“In that case, Mrs. Randall,” Jason amended, with a kiss to Alicia’s gloved hand, “allow me to begin the rounds. I know just about everyone and will see to it that Charlotte does, as well. Of course, as you say, we’ll start with Mr. and Mrs. Wendell Holmes and work our way back to you.”
“It seems that I have nothing to say in the matter,” Charlotte said, “but am to be trundled around like a carthorse.” Alicia only laughed, so Charlotte allowed Jason to begin the introductions.
“It won’t be so bad,” he promised, “I’ll steer you clear of any tigers.”
An hour later, it did seem to Charlotte as if Jason knew everyone and now, so did she.
“Mr. Charles Greene,” Jason said, and Charlotte turned to greet one more guest, “may I present Charles Sanborn.”
She gasped at his use of her pen name and started to protest, but then Jason added, “Charlotte, this is Mr. Greene of the Boston Post.”
“Oh, sir, it is an honor to meet you.” Ten minutes went by in which they spoke of editors they both knew and writers they admired, and then it was nearly time to dance.
“If you’ll excuse me a minute, Mr. Greene, Mr. Farnsworth,” she took leave of them and headed to where she’d seen other ladies going to check their hair. As she left the powder room, to her unwelcome surprise, she met with a familiar face.
Helen Belgrave looked more like a wolf hunting her meal than an invited guest.
“Let’s skip the niceties, Miss Sanborn.” There was a tone to her voice that Charlotte was not going to put up with.
“You will kindly be civil or we will not have this discussion at all.”
Helen narrowed her dark eyes until they were merely slits.
“Just what in blue blazes are you really doing in Boston?”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. So much for pleasantries in the cultured city.
“I would have thought that was obvious. After all, it was you who spoke to the children’s grandmother about my suitability as their guardian.”
“Oh!” Helen sounded peeved and exasperated at the same time. “As if I’d thought that would bring you hundreds of miles. What does he see in a picayune creature like you?”
Charlotte blanched at this indirect mention of Reed; it was odd, indeed, to have a stranger discuss her private affairs.
“You are a mousy spinster from the middle of nowhere, a bookworm at that! When he came to St. Louis—”
“Reed went to . . .,” Charlotte trailed off, abashed that she had admitted to an interest in his comings and goings. But it was too late. Helen seized on her slip, like a cat on a mouse.
“Reed,” she sneered. “By what right do you call my lover by his Christian name?”
Charlotte knew that Helen spoke the truth. Reed and Helen had been lovers. He’d admitted that much, but she also noted that Helen had dropped the pretense of being affianced. Yet Charlotte could think of nothing to respond. She could hardly say, “Well, we were lovers, too, so I am allowed to take that liberty.” She blushed at her own thoughts.
Helen noticed Charlotte’s high coloring. “Even the word lover is too much for such a prim, dried-up oddity as yourself.” She looked down a moment and smoothed her satin skirts, then she shot Charlotte a direct glance and smiled.
“I guess he didn’t tell you when he sent me off to St. Louis that he would be joining me on his way to Boston. Reed has always loved that city, and it was the perfect place for us to . . . well, make up from our little quarrel.”
“I understand y
ou have a sister living there,” Charlotte remarked, keeping her voice calm. The notion that Reed had left her in Spring City, after their emotional conversation, only to go to the awaiting Helen was a devastating blow, but she had to find out if any of what he’d said had been true.
“Yes, I do.” Helen looked surprised that Charlotte had that information, but she smiled again, a sly grin that made the hair raise on Charlotte’s neck. “She is a modern woman, my sister Isabel, a suffragette. And as I am a widow, I am unrestricted under her roof to come and go as I please, and with whom I please.”
Helen seemed to feel she had gained an advantage, for she continued, “Reed and I cannot easily be intimate here in Boston, where everyone who is anyone knows us. But when we travel, we are freer to indulge.” She laughed then. “Reed is a man of great passion.”
“It is my understanding, however, that you are not—of great passion, that is.” Charlotte didn’t know how those words escaped her lips, but she had been unable to stop herself from saying them. And why should she? She couldn’t just stand there while Helen threw every barb.
Charlotte was satisfied to see how well hers hit home. Helen looked as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes were wide with shock.
“How could you . . . ? He wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t tell you that.”
Charlotte chose to retreat to safer conversational territory. After all, any mention of Reed should be couched only in terms of his being her cousin’s lawyer.
“We had many discussions while he stayed at my home to settle the children’s affairs.”
“The children!” Helen hissed, sounding as if she blamed them as the impetus for all her perceived problems with the handsome Mr. Malloy. “Bawling, dirty, loud little creatures, always upsetting furniture or tearing clothing. I thought you, of all people, would understand.” She looked at Charlotte with a frown.
“When I found out in that awful barn that the learned ‘Charles Sanborn’ was actually a woman, I thought I understood you. You were living your isolated literary life and would detest the unwelcome intrusion of those . . . those little brutes.” She shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t fathom Charlotte at all.
It was painful that Helen could have pegged her so well, at least the old Charlotte. But Helen didn’t know of the love that had crept into Charlotte’s heart or of the sheer joy she felt at sharing a hug and a smile with Lily and Thomas. And then it dawned on her.
“You didn’t think I would fight for them,” she said musingly, and it made sense. When Helen whispered her scandalous secrets in Alicia Randall’s ear, she hadn’t intended to make Charlotte come to Boston to face a moral inquisition.
Rather, Helen thought Charlotte would welcome the excuse to give up her cousin’s children—thereby severing all ties to Reed, including legal obligations.
It was becoming apparent that Helen’s spitefulness had more to do with trying to keep hold of Reed, than with getting revenge on Charlotte. Seemingly, Helen thought if Charlotte fell from Reed’s favor by sending Lily and Thomas back to Boston, his approving gaze would fall once more on her.
“You’re not fond of children, Mrs. Belgrave,” Charlotte said at last.
“Fortunately, my husband already had grown daughters when I married him. Children get on one’s nerves so, and I imagine long exposure to them would damage my delicate constitution irreversibly.” Helen sniffed. “I think it is apparent to anyone who knows me how I feel.”
Including Reed, Charlotte thought, and Reed likes children. Very much. She is not the kind of woman with whom I want to spend my life, he had told Charlotte in the meadow. And he had obviously been pleased to see her warm to and then love Lily and Thomas.
“Whatever is that foolish smile for?” Helen cut into her thoughts. “Your coming here was a mistake; there is nothing for you here.”
Charlotte considered the overwrought woman in front of her. It was clear to her now that Reed admired a woman who offered more than stunning good looks, but whether admiration could be translated into something more, she wasn’t sure.
Moreover, the idea that Reed had stopped off in St. Louis on his way home shattered all Charlotte’s certainties that he had been absolutely truthful with her. It would be too easy for him to continue the convenient association he had with Helen.
Helen stamped her foot at Charlotte’s silence, but Charlotte only shrugged at the dark-haired beauty. Then she said, “You could simply tell my aunt that you were mistaken, Mrs. Belgrave, and retract your accusations concerning my morality. Then, I might take the children and return to Colorado.”
Helen looked as if she were considering the possibility.
“However,” Charlotte continued, “I believe I quite like Boston, and for Lily and Thomas, it is home, after all. In all probability, now that we are here, we shall stay, regardless of what you say to my aunt.”
Helen Belgrave blanched white with fury. “If you think I will let a mudsill such as you make a laughingstock of me in my own town, you are mistaken. If you stay, I swear I will shred your reputation until every whoremonger in Boston comes scratching at your door, and I won’t care what the consequences are to Alicia Randall.”
In a swirl of claret red skirts, Helen was gone. Only then did Charlotte notice that Jason was watching from across the parquet floor. She approached him slowly.
“What was that?” he asked, his usually complacent smile replaced by genuine curiosity.
“One of the tigers, I’m afraid,” Charlotte murmured, wishing the woman didn’t have the ability to make her feel so shaken. But until she could talk to Reed about Helen’s threats, she would have to handle them as best she could. Fortunately, there wasn’t time to explain anything to Jason as her aunt called her over with an imperious wave.
“You must join the dance, my dear. Come now, Mr. Farnsworth, you must do your duty with my niece.”
Before she knew it, Charlotte was whirling on the dance floor in Jason’s arms. He was as good a dancer as he was a conversationalist, and a horseman, as she discovered firsthand the day before when they’d taken a ride. And, if his words were true, he was also an excellent marksman and hunter.
“We look divine together,” he told her, leaning close to speak into her ear. “Not a couple in the place looks as good as we do. Beyond doubt, no woman looks as graceful, and I don’t mind saying that no man looks as dashing.”
He was outrageous, but she couldn’t help smiling at him.
“Your self-confidence, no, your boastfulness would seem boorish in most men, but somehow, with you, it is an endearing trait.”
“Yes, I am singular,” he admitted.
At that, her smile became a genuine laugh.
“Singularly full of yourself,” she said, but he didn’t look the least chagrined. “In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me—”
Charlotte broke off as Jason spun her around and Reed’s face came into view—unsmiling, harsh, handsome, angry.
Chapter Seventeen
He knew the exact moment she noticed him. He saw the words die on her full lips; he saw the surprise in her shimmering green eyes.
“Ah, Mr. Malloy,” Alicia Randall intoned, holding out her hand to him and he dragged his attention back to Charlotte’s aunt. “I am so glad you made it to the party. I have not had the chance to thank you for handling Ann’s affairs so smoothly. My daughter’s death was made somewhat easier by your capable assistance.”
“That’s gracious of you to say, Mrs. Randall.” Reed released her hand. “I know that not all of Ann’s decisions were to your liking. In the end, however,” he couldn’t help letting his gaze travel back to where Charlotte was dancing in a swirling blue gown, “it seems it all worked out for the best.”
She looked to her niece on the arm of the rich and eligible Jason Farnsworth, III. “I believe so, Mr. Malloy. I had some apprehensions, as you know, and I understand that you had concerns, too,” she paused and eyed him sharply, “and felt the need to stay in my niece’s home, to set your mind at res
t.”
Reed was momentarily flabbergasted that Alicia Randall had that bit of information, but he simply returned her gaze with aplomb. He had perfected the guileless stare in the courtroom and used it now to protect Charlotte as best he could.
“Naturally, I couldn’t just drop off your grandchildren in the middle of what until recently was a territory, with a woman whom their mother barely knew. I did my duty as I saw fit,” he added, unable to believe his own audacity.
“Hm,” murmured Alicia, apparently satisfied for the moment. “Your diligence, while admirable, was irresponsible where my niece is concerned. I wouldn’t want word of it to spread here or any hint of a connection between you and my niece prior to her arrival in Boston. Do you agree?”
Reed nodded, his face grim. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get to dance with Charlotte tonight after all.
“Oh, Mr. Malloy, why so sullen?” Alicia continued. “I am enjoying having my grandchildren with me, and Charlotte, of course. That is, when I see her at all. She is taken with young Mr. Farnsworth, reasonably so,” Alicia pointed out, “and he with her. They do make a handsome couple, wouldn’t you say?”
What Reed wanted to say, he couldn’t. Not aloud. Not in polite society. And what he wanted to do would get him thrown out of the Tremont. He wanted to walk onto the dance floor, land his fist squarely in Farnsworth’s soppy face, and throw Charlotte over his shoulder.
Once he had her away from the ball, he knew exactly what he’d do next: he’d kiss her until she couldn’t remember being in the arms of another man and then he’d undress her and—
“Mr. Malloy, are you all right?”
He returned his gaze to Alicia Randall, realizing he had stood there, staring like an idiot at the most captivating woman in the room.
“Quite,” he said, looking over to the dance floor again when suddenly a beautiful face blocked his view.
“Good evening, Reed.”
“Helen.” He gave her a courteous nod.
An Improper Situation (Sanborn-Malloy Historical Romance Series, Book One) Page 19
