“Yes, Mother! Lady Felicia is here. We were just heading out.”
“Is her maid with her? You know you need a chaperone.”
“Yes, Mother!”
“Have a splendid time, then. Oh! Remember to return by two. You have your singing lesson.”
“Yes, Mother!”
Charlotte blinked in bewilderment. “Dianna, what in the world–”
“Hush!” Her friend pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Come on. We can talk when we get to the park.”
Charlotte allowed Dianna to pull her across the street and into Hyde Park. They turned onto one of the older paths. Because of its age, roots from nearby trees had begun to push up through the soil, making walking more difficult. As a result the trail was rarely used, which made it perfect for conversations of a more clandestine nature.
“What was all that about?” Charlotte demanded as soon as they were out of hearing distance. “Why wouldn’t your mother want me to come calling? She loves me.”
“She loved you,” Dianna corrected, her blue eyes filled with distress beneath the curved brim of her hat. “Oh, Charlotte, what happened? You were supposed to marry Mr. Graystone and come right back. You did marry him, didn’t you?”
“Of course.” Still bemused by her friend’s odd behavior, Charlotte stopped beneath the shade of a black mulberry tree while Dianna began to pace. “I sent you a letter. I can see you didn’t receive it. We’d planned to return right away, but our trip was delayed by a horrific storm. Our carriage overturned.” She shuddered at the memory. “Thankfully, nobody was injured, but the road was washed out and–will you stop pacing? You’re making me dizzy.”
Dianna stopped walking, but she could not keep her hands still. They fluttered in the air as she spoke, punctuating each word with little flickers of movement that betrayed how upset she truly was. “Somehow word of what you did got out. It’s been all anyone has been talking about since you left. Miss Tinshaw has been writing about your elopement almost exclusively. She’s calling you…oh, it’s awful! I can’t say it. I simply can’t.”
Miss Tinshaw was the anonymous author behind a very popular gossip column that ran twice a week in the London Main. Charlotte had never paid the column much mind, but she knew for most ladies (and some gentlemen), it carried incredible weight. Real names were never used, but they were always heavily insinuated, and half the fun was in guessing whom all the chatter was about.
She’d assumed when her marriage to Gavin became public knowledge it might garner a small paragraph or two; she never imagined it would gain enough attention to earn her own pseudonym. Knowing Miss Tinshaw could be rather cruel, she braced herself.
“Tell me.”
“She is calling you…” Dianna paused dramatically. “The Runaway Duchess.”
“Oh.” Charlotte thought it over for a moment. “I quite like the sound of that, actually. It makes it all seem so exciting.”
“Exciting?” Dianna said incredulously. “Exciting?! Charlotte, you are in danger of becoming a social pariah! Half of London believes you have run off with a stable hand and the other half fears you are dead! Paine has put out a reward for anyone who has knowledge of your whereabouts and your mother has already come to call on me a dozen times. A dozen times! My mother has forbidden the servants from allowing her in the house.”
Paine had put out a reward?
The bastard.
“I’m sorry my mother has bothered you.” She took Dianna’s hand. “You didn’t tell her anything?”
“Of course not.” Dianna said, sounding offended that Charlotte would even ask. “I just kept repeating what we agreed upon: that you spent the night with me, but you left first thing in the morning and I had not heard from you since. She’s very distraught.”
“I expected nothing less.”
“Have you gone to see her?”
“No.” Charlotte poked at an exposed root with her boot. “I will. Soon. But…I’m not looking forward to it.”
“I cannot say I blame you,” Dianna said sympathetically. “Maybe she won’t be as upset as you think.”
Charlotte snorted. “I highly doubt that.”
They resumed walking. Birds fluttered overhead, hopping from branch to branch and filling the air with their chirping symphony. From somewhere in the distance came the echo of hoof beats and a muffled shout of laughter. Through the crowds she could make out a cluster of women, their parasols reflecting the sunlight as they chattered aimlessly.
Charlotte found the park to be annoyingly crowded, especially after the rolling hills of Scotland where sheep outnumbered people nearly fifty to one. Here, in the middle of the city, everything seemed louder and faster. The temperature was hotter, the air was more difficult to breath. Already she was yearning for the quiet and the beauty of the country. Part of her wished she and Gavin could have stayed in Scotland forever, tucked in their little bubble far away from the outside world.
Now, even though they were living together, they were further apart than they’d ever been. Then there was her mother to contend with, and all of the gossip her disappearance had apparently created.
She sighed loudly.
Could nothing in her life ever be simple?
As if Dianna could read her thoughts–which Charlotte often thought she could–the blonde tilted her head to the side and asked, “What are you going to tell her? Your mother, I mean.”
“That I married Gavin.
“And Paine?”
Charlotte’s shoulders stiffened. “I do not owe him an explanation.”
“No,” Dianna allowed, “you do not. But what you owe him and what he wants are two entirely different things. He has been acting crazed these past few weeks. Attending nearly every ball in hopes of seeing you, questioning everyone, and putting out one outrageous award after another.”
“He’s behaving as if I’m a lost puppy,” Charlotte said distastefully.
“A very expensive lost puppy.” Dianna’s gaze suddenly lit with mischief. “I believe the last reward was a thousand pounds. Do you know how many new dresses that could buy?”
Charlotte glared at her friend. “You are not returning me.”
“It was only a jest. Sort of.”
“It wasn’t amusing,” she grumbled.
“Yes, it was.” Dianna’s smile turned impish. “You are just grumpy because you have to tell your mother you married a commoner. In fact, if I were you, I would have stayed in Scotland.”
“You and me both.”
“How is it going? Your marriage to Mr. Graystone,” Dianna asked curiously.
Charlotte nibbled on her lip. “As well as can be expected, I assume, given we were practically strangers when we decided to elope.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
She felt strange, withholding the truth from her dearest friend, but she just didn’t know if she was ready to share her failure. At least not yet.
“That’s excellent news!” Dianna beamed. “I had a feeling you two were well suited.”
“We’re…working on it. What about Lord Radnor?” she asked, eager to change the subject. “Has there been any news?”
Immediately Dianna’s smile faded, and Charlotte could have kicked herself for being so thoughtless. She should have known better by now than to bring up Miles Radnor.
The cad.
When he’d left Dianna on what should have been their wedding day, he hadn’t only broken her heart. He’d left her in limbo. She couldn’t marry Miles because he was missing, but neither could she marry someone else because she was still officially betrothed to him. It was a terrible situation. Made it even more awful because it had happened to Dianna, of all people. The sweetest, kindest, gentlest woman Charlotte knew.
“No.” Dianna pressed her lips together. “There hasn’t been any news.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”
“YOO HOO, Miss Dianna! Is that you? It is! Oh, how fun to run into you. Who is that with you? Is it…
Why, Lady Charlotte! Heavens, what a wonderful surprise!”
Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks and closed her eyes. She recognized that voice. It belonged to Annabeth Waterson, one of the most unpleasant women she’d never had the misfortune of meeting.
“Please tell me that is not who I think it is,” she groaned.
“I wish I could, but I can’t,” Dianna said out of the corner of her mouth. “Step lively. It appears as if you’ll have to come up with a story to explain your marriage faster than you’d anticipated.”
“Can’t we just shoot her?” Charlotte suggested.
“That seems a bit extreme. Besides, were would we get a pistol?”
“I could bludgeon her head in with a rock.”
“Somehow I doubt that would improve your social standing.”
“You never know,” Charlotte shrugged. “It is Annabeth we’re talking about. I might get a party thrown in my honor.”
“Just behave,” Dianna said sternly, “and let me do most of the talking.” In a louder voice she cried, “Lady Waterson! How delightful to see you again so soon after Mrs. Bridgeton’s luncheon.”
The only daughter of a viscount, Lady Waterson was, at four and thirty, quite firmly on the shelf. While most women her age would have retired to the country to live out their spinsterish days chaperoning up and coming debutantes, Annabeth was firmly ensconced in the London social scene and, in addition to attending every ball and function she could get an invitation to, was a notorious gossip.
In addition to repeating and twisting every succulent piece of news she heard, she was also a vain woman renowned for her outlandish style that boasted enough bows and lace and accessories to suffocate an elephant. With the elaborate fashion of the Georgian Era long past and plainer, more simple dresses currently on trend, she stuck out like a sore thumb wherever she went.
Charlotte was convinced she did it on purpose.
“How are you?” Annabeth trilled. The long ostrich feather she had secured in the middle of her towering pile of brown curls bobbed and weaved as she hurried towards them, dragging a tiny slip of a woman behind her. “Might I introduce you to Miss Claire Greene, recently of North Wales. I have been investigating my family tree, you know, and Miss Claire is a fourth cousin of mine! Is that not delightful?” She wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders and pulled her into her sizable bosom. “Can you not see the resemblance?”
Charlotte saw absolutely nothing in common between the shy, doe eyed Claire and the full faced, ruddy-cheeked Annabeth, but she managed a short, clipped nod nevertheless. “Yes, astoundingly similar.”
“Claire, my dear, this is Miss Dianna Foxcroft and Lady Charlotte Vanderley. Lady Charlotte has been…well, wouldn’t you know, I have no idea where she has been,” Annabeth chirped, all fluttering eyelashes and feigned innocence. “Would you care to enlighten us, darling?”
Charlotte could have easily given a hundred excuses for her absence. She was visiting family. She went to a spa retreat on the coast. She was kidnapped by bandits. Any excuse would have been better than revealing what had really happened to Annabeth, of all people, but some small part of her–the devilish part, no doubt–wanted to see the older woman’s expression when she learned the truth.
“My surname is actually no longer Vanderley.”
“Oh no?” Annabeth breathed, all but licking her lips as if she could taste the tantalizing bit of news Charlotte was about to divulge. “Pray tell, what is it now?”
Dianna reached out with the heel of her walking shoe to discreetly stomp on Charlotte’s foot, a silent warning that Charlotte resolutely ignored.
“Graystone. I was married, you see. At Gretna Green. That is where I have been.”
Annabeth staggered back a step. “No,” she gasped, her eyes widening with equal parts excitement and horror. Claire, looking far less interested, wandered over to a nearby bench and sat down. “Married, you say? But…do forgive me, darling, were you not betrothed to the Duke of Paine?”
“Their engagement was announced prematurely,” Dianna interceded.
There was a crafty gleam in Annabeth’s eyes that Charlotte took an instant dislike to, and she knew Lady Waterson would not be satisfied until she had an interesting story to tell her legion of followers.
Pasting a smile on her face, Charlotte pulled off the glove on her left hand to show off her ring.
“It’s rather small, isn’t it?” Annabeth observed as she leaned closer. “What a pity.”
It took every inch of control Charlotte’s self-control–in addition to Dianna’s restraining grip on her elbow–not to make a fist and punch Annabeth right in the middle of her big ugly nose.
“The ring is a family heirloom,” she said tightly. “It belonged to Gavin’s great-great grandmother.” It was far more likely the ring had been picked up at a two-bit pawnshop, but since Gavin had never actually told her where he’d gotten it, she saw nothing wrong with a bit of improvisation.
“Gavin, you said?” Annabeth’s nostrils flared as her head lifted. “Gavin Graystone? Surely you do not mean to tell me you married Gavin Graystone. He…he is…well,” she said, for once in her life genuinely appearing at a loss for words, “I do not have to tell you what he is. Not a duke, that’s for certain. Gavin Graystone,” she muttered. “Heavens. What is the world coming to?”
“Mr. Graystone is a wonderful husband,” Charlotte said through gritted teeth. “And he’s easily worth ten dukes you meddling, pompous—”
“What my dear friend is trying to say,” Dianna interrupted hastily, “is that from the first moment they met at–was it the Nettle’s ball?”
Charlotte took a deep breath.
Do not kill Lady Waterson.
Do not kill Lady Waterson.
Do not kill Lady Waterson.
“Yes, it was.”
“That is what I thought. A rather exclusive guest list, wouldn’t you agree, Lady Waterson? In fact,” Dianna said, tapping a finger to her mouth, “I don’t recall if you were there.”
Annabeth’s face flushed. “I was–I was ill that day.”
“How unfortunate,” Dianna said kindly. “Then you couldn’t have known Mr. Graystone received an invitation. Due to his recent unprecedented financial success, I’m sure. And wouldn’t you guess it, Charlotte and Mr. Graystone saw each other from across the room. It was, as they say, love at first sight. Isn’t the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard? Like a fairytale come to life!”
It had been rather romantic, Charlotte supposed, even though her first meeting with Gavin had not occurred anything like Dianna said. It made for a good story, however, and helped explain why a lady might leave a duke to marry a commoner. Love was still the universal language that spread across all social classes, and even the most hardened, cynical hearts inside of the ton could not ignore its existence.
But like a scruffy haired terrier with a tasty bone, Lady Waterson refused to give up without a fight. She was out for blood, and would settle for nothing less.
“Yet if memory serves, you were still engaged when you met Mr. Graystone. Hadn’t the announcement been printed just that week? I remember because I was so very happy for you!”
“I bet you were,” Charlotte snarled. “You feather-headed old–”
Another stomp on her toes, this time enough to make her wince.
“Dearest Lady Waterson, as I said before, that engagement was declared prematurely. The duke was a bit over enthusiastic in his wooing of Charlotte and assumed she would accept his offer of marriage before asking her,” Dianna explained with the sweetest of smiles.
“Really?” Annabeth said with unmistakable skepticism.
Dianna nodded. “Indeed. An unfortunate assumption, to be sure, but then I’m certain you of all women know how presumptuous men can be when they’re dazzled by a pretty face.”
“I certainly do,” the spinster declared. “Well, it was lovely seeing you, Miss Dianna, and you, Lady Graystone.”
“I do hope we
can count on your discretion, Lady Waterson.” Glancing side to side as though eavesdroppers lurked in the bushes, Dianna lowered her voice to a whisper. “Charlotte would prefer to keep her marriage a secret until she is able to speak to the duke directly to let him know of her decision. Dear man that he is, she would never want to cause him undue harm and embarrassment.”
Charlotte almost choked. The Duke of Paine? Dear? She knew poisonous vipers that were sweeter. She wondered what Dianna was at now, but since her friend had done such a wonderful job thus far of spinning straw into gold, she held her tongue and even managed to twist her lips into something that vaguely resembled a smile.
Annabeth pressed a hand over her heart. The half dozen rings she wore glittered in the sun, each one brighter and gaudier than the last. “I swear on my beloved mother’s life I shall not breathe a word of this to anyone. Your secret is safe with me,” she said solemnly.
“How kind of you,” Charlotte managed.
She and Dianna waited for Annabeth to collect her poor cousin as if she were a bit of baggage and flounce off down the lane, chattering nonstop the entire way. The moment she was out of earshot Charlotte expelled her breath in a loud, gusty sigh and rolled her eyes.
“What a wretched woman.”
“She is wretched,” Dianna agreed. “But it is rather fortunate we ran into her.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Charlotte asked incredulously. “And what was all that nonsense you were waxing about my speaking to the duke directly? I have no intention of ever getting within a mile of that man again. Two, if I can help it.”
“If you had not opened your big mouth and told her about the marriage in the first place, I would not have had to say anything,” Dianna countered. “And I know you hate the duke, but to the rest of the ton he was your fiancé. Which means you can either come out of this appearing as a woman who carelessly broke off her engagement with one man–one very powerful, influential man–just to marry a nobody—”
Charlotte frowned. “Gavin isn’t a nobody.”
While she may have been angry with her husband, but that did not give others leave to speak poorly of him, not even her best friend.
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 19