Charlotte’s heart lurched and her lungs constricted. Cousin Edward had russet-red hair the exact shade of the foxes that inhabited the wild areas near Uncle Aubrey's estate and that, along with his clever mind and quick reflexes, had made him known by most of the family as their resident fox.
"Are you sure?" Elizabeth asked as she, too, checked to see that their aunt and uncle had not picked up on the sudden tension Sarah's revelation sparked. "He was trapped– not...?"
"His hind leg was caught, and he was bleeding and in pain." Sarah clarified. Her voice held a wobble of distress. "Should I tell Aunt Poppy? Would she understand?"
"Grandmamma was her mother, of course she would understand,” Elizabeth assured her. It was no secret that Grandmamma had dreams, but few knew of Sarah's. "But we don't want to alarm her until we hear something official. There is nothing she could do at this time and it will only make her worry more."
Charlotte nodded her head in agreement. The fox was hurt but not dead. "If Edward has been injured, he may well recover before we receive word from him. There is nothing to be done but wait and see." She reached out to comfort her little sister who, Charlotte knew, wished her dream had been clearer– or that she'd not had it at all. "Don’t trouble yourself, Sarah. If Edward were in mortal danger you would have seen that... and all injuries are painful. I’m sure all will be well."
Sarah’s expression eased, though she still glanced at Aunt Poppy before taking a piece of toast and nibbling on it. Charlotte poured herself a fresh cup of chocolate and hoped she was right.
Determined to follow her own advice, Charlotte finished her breakfast, then asked her sisters if they’d like to take Harry for a walk in the park. Elizabeth chose to remain home to work on a project, and Sarah reminded her that she’d already been invited to join Rowena Caldwell and her governess for an outing.
When she crossed through the park entrance a little while later, she couldn’t help but remember her first disastrous venture with Harry. Though His Grace had been at several of the same entertainments she’d attended since the opera, she didn’t think he’d changed his opinion that she courted disaster. If anything, it was as though he avoided her as much as possible without quite appearing to be uncivil. His sisters and stepmother, at least, welcomed her company and blamed the park incident on the duke for racing in the park.
Today was warmer, the sky entirely free of clouds, and the grounds equally free of mud. Harry trotted smoothly along beside her on his lead. This outing was as much a test to see if Charlotte could now handle him safely as it was an opportunity to enjoy the clear spring day. She was pleased that John, the footman assigned to his training, had made great strides with Harry after a few weeks of work. He accompanied her and her maid, ready to step in if Harry misbehaved.
Before starting out, the footman had warned her to let go of the lead instantly if Harry forgot his lessons and attempted to chase the park's wildlife. After her earlier experience, she didn’t need to be told the folly of trying to hold back a dog that, though not fully grown, already nearly outweighed her. True, the young wolfhound still occasionally found it impossible to resist investigating fascinating scents, but he no longer wove back and forth tripping her with his lead, nor did he tug her forward when he saw squirrels in the distance.
Sarah had grinned and warned Charlotte not to ruin her new green frock if Harry forgot his lessons. The Wolverton carriage had arrived at that moment, and Lady Rowena had informed her that Lady Anne would be enjoying a morning ride in the park with Lord Merton. Charlotte made a mental note to congratulate her friend on her popularity. A wide circle of beaux already surrounded Lady Anne, and she’d ridden out with Lord Swathmore only the day before.
Though Charlotte had also been invited on a few carriage rides and had danced every dance at the balls she attended, she and Elizabeth weren’t nearly so popular. Lord Seldon, who’d included a poem with his flowers, had been one of those who taken her on promenade, but he had done so with two other ladies since then and that was fine with Charlotte. He had been fun, but not sparked her interest. So far, no one had. Well, no one whose attention was sparked in return, she amended.
As though that thought had conjured him up, she saw the duke with Lords Ravencliffe and Clarehaven walking their horses along Rotten Row, stopping occasionally to exchange greetings with their acquaintances.
Among those acquaintances, she noted, was a somewhat carelessly dressed gentleman who held multiple leads as he maneuvered four spaniels across the grounds. A veritable giant of a man, he controlled the dogs with casual ease.
Charlotte had taken a path away from the carriage traffic but still avoided the trees that had been her downfall so recently. She quickly realized that the gentleman's path might intersect with her own and turned the lead over to the footman. John took firm control of the leather and gave a command to Harry when he spotted the dogs ahead. Harry's ears perked and his body quivered with anticipation, but he sat beside the footman and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief that she'd avoided catastrophe.
The spaniels spotted Harry and set up welcoming yelps that Harry answered with delighted woofs as he leapt forward and dragged the dismayed footman over to meet them. The racket attracted the attention of everyone in the vicinity and Charlotte realized she had once again become the center of a public scene despite her best efforts.
Blast and botheration!
Surprisingly, the owner of the spaniels had managed to keep hold of his dogs though their leads hopelessly tangled. They all leapt and jostled to check out the lumbering beast that delightedly danced around them, lowering his forepaws in an attempt to get them to play. John Footman managed to haul Harry away from his would-be doggy friends and the other man did the same, scolding the dogs by name.
"Archie! Hunter! Sit!" He tugged the other set of leads and commanded, "Toby! Rufus! Down!"
To Charlotte's amazement, the dogs obeyed his commands with little more than whines of disappointment, but they settled, and he was able to straighten out their leads.
"Once again, Miss Longborough, you are at the center of disaster," Wolverton drawled after he dismounted. Charlotte cringed to realize he'd come to her footman's assistance with Harry. On the evening of the opera his comment had reflected amusement, but this morning his voice held a note of disapproval. "As large as your beast is, four dogs working as a pack could inflict a great deal of damage."
"Oh, no, Wolverton", the dog owner protested. "I confess it was Toby who issued the first challenge to the lady's pet, but my dogs know better than to attack another canine."
"Nonetheless,” the duke countered, “of the four times I have been in her proximity, Miss Longborough has come to grief in all but one." He studied Charlotte from his superior height making her feel like a scolded child having to look up in order to observe elders. "Fortunately, she managed to attend my sister's come-out without causing chaos."
"That is most unfair, Your Grace,” Charlotte protested. "I could not avoid the accident the other evening, and today I turned my dog over to the footman as soon as I realized that Harry might take exception to other dogs in the vicinity." How dare he reprimand her like an unruly ward– and he most certainly was not her guardian. She turned her attention to where Harry now sat between John and Wolverton, his avid attention still on the spaniels though he remained still. "And what is more," she stated, "they did no actual harm."
"She’s right, Lucien” Lady Anne’s voice joined the conversation and Charlotte turned to see that Lord Merton had guided his carriage to where they all stood. "All is well." She gave Charlotte a cheeky grin. "Did he introduce you to His Grace?" When Charlotte looked at her blankly, Anne laughed aloud. "Lucien do your duty."
The duke scowled at his sister, but a hint of a devilish light replaced his disapproval when he formally introduced her to the Duke of Everham. Square faced with a strong, Norman nose and gentle brown eyes, the duke gave the appearance of a large country gamekeeper in fawn skin pantaloons and brown wool jack
et. He ordered his dogs to stay as he took the few steps nearer to bow over her hand. "I am most honored, Miss Longborough."
Charlotte caught her breath when the overpowering odor of dog inundated her. "As am I," she murmured. The duke's person and clothing gave every appearance of being clean if somewhat rumpled, but the odor was unmistakable. Involuntarily, she glanced to the duke whose expression of I-told-you-so had her fighting to keep her own expression neutral.
Everham straightened and beamed at her. "Always glad to meet a fellow dog lover though, as you can see, I favor spaniels." He studied Harry where he now lolled against Wolverton's boots. "Large as he is, he looks to be a bit young– perhaps eight or nine months. Am I right?"
Charlotte took a discreet step back when he released her hand. She tried to breathe through her mouth as she admitted she didn't know precisely how old Harry was and told him the story of the dog's rescue. During her recitation most of their observers, including Lord Merton and Lady Anne, returned to the promenade but Lords Clarehaven, Ravencliffe, and the duke remained.
When Charlotte finished her story, Lord Clarehaven commented, "Irish hounds can be fierce hunters and are most protective of their owners."
"Harry is embarrassingly friendly with everyone." Charlotte chuckled as she noted that Wolverton stood scratching Harry's ear as though entirely unaware of his actions. "So far he has no awareness of either his reputation or his size."
"He may well discover both should you ever be in distress," Everham assured her with a gallant bow. "Though I hope you are never put in the position to find out."
Charlotte was grateful for the slight breeze that helped to freshen the air. She tried to put a little more distance from the pungent duke without being rude. Standing to his right, and therefore slightly upwind from Everham as he did, the duke made no attempt to hide his smug amusement at her discomfort.
"I say," Everham suddenly said. "My bitch, Roxy, just whelped. Would you like to visit her pups? They are all spoken for, of course, but they are an excellent litter." He took them all in with a proud glance. "Not a runt in the bunch."
"If I remember correctly," Wolverton said, "The pups haven’t yet opened their eyes. Might it not be better to wait until they are a little more independent and, therefore, more entertaining?"
Everham’s expression dimmed for a moment. "To be sure, you are correct. Most ladies–" He bowed slightly in Charlotte's direction, "prefer to watch them scamper and tumble. Perhaps I shall arrange a viewing day once they are more of an age."
"An excellent idea,” Wolverton stated briskly. "In the meantime, we have kept Miss Longborough standing far too long for true propriety." He turned to her. "I believe your footman might do well to handle your beast as you return home."
"It was my intention, Your Grace." Charlotte hated that he supposed her incapable of coming to that conclusion on her own. "If you will excuse me."
The duke had certainly made it clear he saw her as little more than a lodestone for disaster and embarrassment. What was more, she was beginning to believe he might be right.
AFTER MISS LONGBOROUGH and her beast crossed the park, Lucien remounted his horse, bid Everham a good day, and rejoined his companions to finish their ride. To his annoyance, Clarehaven watched her until she was out of hearing distance, and then said with a chuckle, "What a delightful Season this promises to be. You said she is a Longborough?"
"Despite her family’s reputation, she is an innocent and a friend of my sister's." Lucien warned him with a tight smile. "So, unless your intentions are honorable, I suggest you find another lady with whom to comport yourself this Season."
Clarehaven looked back to where Miss Longborough had reached the end of the park. He gave Lucien a sardonic smile before he asked, “Are you sure that delicious morsel is off limits, Wolverton? As I understand it, she isn't a relative and you aren't courting or bedding her, so why do you care if I enjoy a bit of flirting... or perhaps a bit more than flirting?"
Cold fury engulfed Lucien at the idea of Clarehaven attempting to seduce Charlotte Longborough—or any unmarried miss—he amended. Only the knowledge that it would create a scene kept him from knocking the insufferable rake from his horse. "The Longborough sisters are ladies and close friends to my sister," he warned the Marquess coldly, "As such, I consider them to be equally under my protection."
The Marquess gave him a knowing grin and said, "I think you want to bed her yourself."
"You are mistaken." Lucien denied the Marquess's accusation. Then he realized that on the most basic level it was true. It wasn't only his temper Charlotte Longborough raised when she challenged him. His body came to attention and ignored his intellect whenever she was near. He was still half-aroused from their unexpected encounter.
Damn Clarehaven for his sly innuendo.
Lucien’s humor was not improved when he arrived home an hour later and discovered Lord Jeremy Bascomb in his drawing room with Anne, drinking tea and munching sweet biscuits along with Merton and Swathmore. When had Bascomb been introduced to his sister, and why had his stepmother allowed it? Bascomb was a scrape-grace who attracted scandal with all the reckless determination of a rebellious son.
As soon as the men left, he told his stepmother, “I hope you will not encourage Bascomb, Mama. He is too wild and undisciplined to play court to Anne. For that is all he would do—play.”
“I am aware that he has yet to mature, Lucien,” his stepmother informed him. “But since you have declined to attend the Winterstone’s musical evening and Anne is not comfortable singing solo, I thought to ask Lord Bascomb to join her in a duet. He has an excellent voice.”
Lucien shuddered with distaste. Such evenings, where the guests attempted to entertain each other, inevitably made one aware of precisely how few people actually had the talent they believed they had. Young ladies with thin slightly off-key voices warbled, while their sisters, cousins, or friends plunked determinedly on the pianoforte or scraped the protesting strings of their violins. A musical evening was always an excellent reason for spending time at one's club.
He wasn’t fooled by his stepmother’s reasoning. She’d orchestrated matters with all the cunning of a general and knew exactly what would make him agree to escort them to the musical.
If Jeremy Bascomb were to perform a duet with Anne, they would have to rehearse together—something Lucien had no intention of allowing. Of course, that meant that, in addition to providing escort, Lucien would be obliged to add his own baritone to his sister’s soprano in an odious duet of sentimentality.
Annoyed and disgruntled, he gave a resigned sigh, and bowed to duty.
The next week, soon after they arrived at the Winterstone’s residence, he watched his sister hold court with half a dozen other young bucks who stood not a chance in hell of gaining his approval, but who would fill Anne's Season with laughter and excitement until the right prospect came along. Bascomb was among them, but she grinned at Lucien over their heads and he relaxed. That cheeky grin told him her heart was not in danger from any of her currently fawning beaux.
He also saw that his stepmother had commandeered seats in the second row of the chairs arranged down the center of the grand salon. At the end of the long room, a pianoforte dominated the musicians’ dais. A refreshment table had been placed against the side window wall, with plates of sweet biscuits, tarts, and cream cakes to be enjoyed during the intermission. The usual scents of perfumes, starch, and hopeful females floated on the air.
Ravencliffe, Norcross, and Clarehaven joined him a few minutes later. He wouldn’t have expected the Marquess to attend so mundane an entertainment had he not greeted Lucien with a sly grin and commented, "There is nothing like a musical evening to whet a man's appetite to hear a woman sing a more erotic song." He checked the room with an amused and calculating eye. "Lady Middlesham looks to be in fine form tonight, do you not agree?"
His companions glanced toward the lady in question, a tall lushly endowed brunette who’d recently come out of m
ourning. At least, Lucien thought, Clarehaven's current quarry was a widow and, from the way she returned Clarehaven’s gaze, a willing one.
Lucien shifted his attention from Lady Middlesham to a trio of ladies dressed in matching dresses and made a slight groan of disappointment. "Lady Montfort is here with her daughters in tow. They will undoubtedly subject us to one of her original compositions."
When Clarehaven raised a questioning brow, Ravencliffe explained, "She imagines herself to have great talent as a composer of string music and her daughters as virtuosos of the violin." He grimaced. "One cannot tell, however, if it is the composition or the performance that makes listening the greater trial."
Lucien agreed. Lady Montfort's regular contributions to the various entertainments provided during the Season were an excellent example of why he’d avoided such evenings in the past. Who else would he have to endure this evening before adding his own idiocy to the mix? Anne still held court and he noted that she’d now been joined by Ladies Pomphrey, Littlemarsh, and the Longborough sisters.
Miss Charlotte Longborough was another reason he’d not planned to attend. He’d known she and her sister would be there, and she disturbed his peace of mind more than he cared to admit. As Clarehaven had so annoyingly pointed out, his natural instincts went on alert whenever she was near. And, as he’d told Clarehaven, she was off limits to any but a prospective bridegroom. A role he most definitely had no intention of taking on himself.
His gaze focused on Charlotte Longborough, whose expression revealed a hint of nervous vulnerability that must mean she had little confidence in the quality of her voice. At least the low pitch of her speaking voice meant she wasn’t going to be a screeching soprano. She laughed at something Lady Littlemarsh said, and his pulse jerked in response.
Scandalizing the Duke Page 6