Charlotte giggled. Dulcie was such a wealth of information. Her colourful stories and gossip had helped her as much as her siblings had in these past wearisome years.
There was a soft knock at the door, then Diana entered, already dressed for dinner. Her sister sat on the bed, staring at her.
“All done, my lady.” Dulcie admired her handiwork. “I will leave you and your sister to natter before the dinner gong sounds.” She curtseyed, scurrying out of the room.
“You might as well tell me,” Diana said, smiling slowly. “George has told me everything, anyway. While I suffered with the tedious dancing instructor Master Farquhar, who simply cannot comprehend that I have two left feet, you had an adventure, Lottie.”
Charlotte blushed slightly. “I was daydreaming and collided with a gentleman.” She picked up her hand mirror again, gazing at her face. “Oh, Diana. He was so handsome, but he talked in such a strange manner. The eldest son of a duke, no less.” She placed the mirror down firmly. “I am being fanciful. And yet …”
“Yet?” Diana’s voice was soft.
“I have never felt such a thing in my life,” she whispered, staring at her sister. “I cannot even begin to describe it.”
Diana’s eyes widened. “Oh, my dearest. Is it the first sweet stirring of love?”
Charlotte sighed, standing up. “We will talk no more of it. I cannot entertain such things, as well you know. For very good reasons.” She picked up her fan. “Let us go to dinner. I shall put his lordship behind me, where he belongs. And besides, I doubt very much that I shall see him again in my life.”
“Charlotte …”
“No.” Her voice was firm. “It is fanciful silliness, Diana. Do not entertain me in it. It is for the best.”
Chapter 4
Sebastian, the Marquis of Wharton, strode into the house, hearing the sound of his boots echoing down the hallway. He glanced sharply around, but all was quiet. Still, he should try to make as little noise as possible. If he could just make it to his rooms, perhaps his mother might forget about him entirely.
He had almost made it to the bottom of the grand sweeping staircase when he heard the soft click of a door opening. He winced, closing his eyes. Damnation!
And there she was. His mother, the duchess, sweeping toward him, a frosty glint in her eye. He took in her silk green gown and mob cap in a matching shade, which barely managed to conceal her shock of red hair. Underneath the cap he knew her hair was greying, but she took great pains to hide that fact. She had more lines on her face too. No amount of the most expensive cosmetics money could buy could hide that either. Powder and rouge could only get you so far.
“Sebastian,” she hissed. “Where have you been? Lady Hastings and her daughter have been waiting for you in the parlour for a quarter of an hour.”
He sighed heavily, taking a tentative step on the staircase. “I am tired, Mother. It has been a trying day. Could Lady Hastings and her dear daughter perhaps come back for tea another afternoon? Or could you entertain them alone?”
The duchess glared at him, her nostrils flaring. “You know perfectly well that the only reason Lady Hastings and her daughter are here is to see you, my boy.” Her voice turned wheedling. “You must make an effort, Sebastian. How will you ever secure a good marriage if you keep shirking these meetings? Miss Alicia Drake is a fine candidate. She is the eldest daughter of Lord Hastings. They are an old family with very good connections.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “All of them are fine candidates according to you, Mother. And yet they are all as dull as dishwater. You trot them out before me as if I must pick a brood mare at auction, but I have no desire to buy, as well you know.”
“Sebastian,” his mother lowered her voice. “We have discussed this, many times. Your father and I agree that it is time for you to marry. You will be the duke one day, and a duke must have a duchess. It is the way that it is done, and always has been. Why must you fight it?”
Sebastian sighed, staring at his feet. He had no desire to marry yet, and that was the truth of it. He especially didn’t want to be forced to marry one of these insipid, mincing young ladies that his mother seemed to mysteriously find, presenting them to him as if she had performed a magic trick. Yes, they were pretty, but in a dull sort of way. Predictable. And none of them could talk about opera, or poetry, or anything that showed they had one ounce of intelligence, anything that interested him and made him intrigued to sit with them and talk some more, let alone spend his entire life beside them.
His breath caught. Not like the young lady he had collided with on Bond Street today. Lady Charlotte Lumley. He rolled the syllables of her name around in his mind, contemplating her again, as he had several times since he had left her. Now, she was intriguing. A woman of petite structure, her features were delicate: a snub nose and rosy lips with flashing dark eyes set amidst a heart-shaped face. Her skin was as pale as milk, contrasting with her dark brown hair. Very pretty. And when Lady Charlotte smiled, her cheeks dimpling and those dark eyes flashing, he was almost bowled over by her beauty.
He smiled, remembering her. Yes, he had been taken with her from the very first moment he laid eyes on her, squatting across the pavement as they had hastily picked up their parcels. And then he had talked to her. Not for very long, and not about anything of significance. And yet he had sensed her wit and intelligence. He wanted to stay and talk longer, but how could he? They had been formally introduced by her brother George, but busy Bond Street in the middle of the day was hardly the place to continue a tête-à-tête with a young lady.
“Sebastian?” His mother’s voice was sharp and imperious. “Lady Hastings and her daughter are waiting.”
He sighed heavily. It seemed that as much as he wanted to wriggle out of this afternoon tea, he was caught like a fish in a net. “Yes, Mother. Lead the way.”
***
Sebastian leaned against the mantelpiece, staring at the overblown older lady and the young lady sitting side by side on the silk chaise longue. Lady Hastings and her daughter, Miss Alicia Drake. His mother sat opposite, sipping her earl grey tea from a delicate bone china cup, occasionally flashing him warning looks if she felt he was flagging on the conversation front. Then his eyes trailed to his younger brother, Percy, who was sitting a little apart in his favourite stuffed armchair. His eyes lit up at the sight of him. Good old Percy. He had saved him by attending this insufferable afternoon tea.
Lady Hastings was chattering like a sparrow, barely drawing breath. She had dominated the conversation ever since he had walked into the room. He forced himself to focus on what she was saying.
“Lady Drummond’s ball was a shambles, your grace,” she was saying in her peculiarly high-pitched voice. “The refreshments all ran dry before midnight, and the maids and footmen obviously had no instruction to replenish it. My dear husband, Lord Hastings, said that the brandy was in short supply as well.” She fanned herself vigorously, glancing at her daughter. “The only good thing about it was that my dear Alicia was the belle of the ball. Her dance card was always full, and many of the ladies remarked on her uncommon beauty.”
“Mama,” hissed Miss Alicia Drake, reddening slightly. “You are too forward.”
Her mother blinked rapidly. “It is only the truth, my lambkin. You should not be falsely modest about your achievements. Wouldn’t you agree, madam?”
“Indeed,” said the duchess, blinking rapidly herself. “I am sure all the gentlemen were quite taken with you, Miss Drake.” She stared pointedly at Sebastian.
Sebastian jumped. “Oh, yes! I am certain of it.” He bowed slightly. “I am sure that no other young lady in attendance held a candle to you, Miss Drake.”
Alicia simpered a little, fanning herself. Sebastian sighed inwardly. They were all like this, the fashionable young ladies his mother presented to him. All he had to do was utter a generic compliment and they primped and preened like the peacocks that paraded the grounds on his father’s country estate.
Miss Alicia Drake fanned herself more, staring at him with cow eyes. He felt a rush of irritation. He studied her carefully. She was a very pretty girl. The pale pink muslin gown she wore contrasted well with her peaches and cream complexion and large blue eyes. Her golden hair was styled in the very latest fashion, tight ringlets framed her face on either side from the severe centre parting, with the rest pulled back into a loose bun. And he could tell that her mother had spent a fortune on her gown and accessories. She was primped and polished like fine silver, and yet he still felt nothing as he gazed upon her.
His heart tightened. He could admit to himself that today a lot of it was because he was seeing another young lady in his mind’s eye. Lady Charlotte. Dark flashing eyes and dark hair instead of blue eyes and golden. Miss Alicia Drake was never in the running.
“I would have asked to be added to your dance card,” declared Percy, gazing at Alicia. “I am very sorry that I missed Lady Drummond’s ball. I wouldn’t have thought it a shambles at all if you were there, Miss Drake.”
Alicia tossed him a neutral smile, then turned back to Sebastian. “Do you attend the assembly rooms often, my lord?”
Sebastian shrugged. “Now and again. I find they change little from season to season, you see. I much prefer to attend the opera, or a poetry recital. Do you attend the opera, Miss Drake?”
Alicia smiled. “We do sometimes, my lord, if there is a good pantomime playing. I find the more serious operettas a little … dull.”
“Dull?” Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “They are works of art.”
“I like a jolly good pantomime,” chimed in Percy, nodding vigorously. “All that other stuff is a bit high blown for me.”
Sebastian frowned, ignoring him. “Do you read much, Miss Drake?”
Alicia tittered, holding the fan over her mouth. “Not really, my lord. But I did manage to finish a Gothic novel a year or so ago.”
“Young ladies should not be encouraged to read,” brayed Lady Hastings. “I find it gives them opinions that they should not utter in polite society.” Her ample bosom, encased in stiff white lace, rose and fell dramatically as she spoke.
“Quite so,” smiled the duchess. “My eldest son considers himself quite the literature connoisseur, but I am sure he would not like his future wife to have her nose buried in a book. And some of these newer writers are quite scandalous.”
Percy stared at Alicia. “I agree with you, Miss Drake. Books are a bore. Give me a horse and a hunt any day over sitting in a book nook.”
Sebastian glared at Percy. What was wrong with him? Yes, his younger brother loved riding and hunting, just as he did. They greatly enjoyed hunting grouse and pheasant together on the vast grounds at Millthorpe House, their ancestral home in Sussex. But he had also enjoyed many spirited conversations with him about the latest works of Lord Byron or Coleridge. Why was he pretending that he didn’t enjoy literature?
But Percy was oblivious to his brother’s indignant look. He was too busy gazing at the golden-haired Miss Drake. Suddenly, Sebastian knew. He was stupid not to have realised before. His brother was smitten with her. It was obvious in the way that he leaned forward towards her, hanging on her every word, and the almost fevered glint in his eyes. Poor Percy. For Miss Drake was not having a bar of him. She had obviously been tutored by her mother that she must focus solely on the duke’s heir.
As Sebastian watched Percy watching Miss Drake, he sighed heavily. This afternoon tea was turning into an even greater trial than he had anticipated.
***
After Lady Hastings and her daughter had departed and he was mercifully able to retire to his rooms before dinner, Percy knocked on his door and walked in, sitting heavily on his bed.
“You are a lucky sod, old boy,” drawled Percy. “The delectable Miss Drake hanging on your every word.”
Sebastian had been gazing out the window. He turned now to his brother, eyeing him keenly.
“You like her?” His voice was dismissive. “She seems like all the others that Mother insists on parading before me. Big blue eyes and vacant minds.”
Percy looked affronted. “No! How can you say such a thing about her? She was charming. Her manners were impeccable …”
Sebastian shrugged. “Anyone can train a monkey. All it takes is money.”
“Seb, you are a cad!” Percy stood up. “How can you compare the beautiful Miss Drake to a trained monkey? If I were in your shoes, I would consider myself a very lucky man ...” he trailed off despondently.
Sebastian sighed. “Yes, she is a beauty, I’ll grant you that.” There was an awkward pause. “I’m sorry, Percy, that Mother insists on earmarking them for me. Do you really like her?”
Percy nodded. “I really do. Not that it makes a difference.” He sighed too. “I’m not such a fool, Sebastian. I know Miss Drake only had eyes for you. And it is the only time that I might say it – in this moment I wish I was the eldest son and not you.”
Sebastian stared at his brother. What could he say? Especially since he cared not a whit for Miss Drake. He had been staring out of the window before Percy had arrived, thinking of another entirely.
***
The next day, Sebastian turned to his oldest friend from Eton school days, Lord Freddie Burrows, as they strolled around Hyde Park beside the Serpentine River. He was tired. He had barely slept last night. And he knew the reason why.
“Burrows,” he said slowly. “Do you know anything of Lady Charlotte Lumley?”
“Lumley?” Freddie frowned. “She is the daughter of the Earl of Montgomery, isn’t she? Castlereagh’s sister?”
Sebastian nodded, staring at the swans swimming in circles on the river. “Yes. I bumped into Castlereagh with his sister yesterday on Bond Street.”
“That is odd.” Freddie’s frown deepened. “There are rumours, but no one seems to know what is wrong with her. Her parents keep her almost locked away at their country estate and never speak of her. I am surprised that she is in London at all, especially for the social season. She attended only one season after she came out, and that was years ago.”
“She is a recluse?” Sebastian glanced sharply at his friend.
Freddie nodded. “She is. Some say that she is a bit mad, and others say that it is a physical malady. But her family are tight-lipped about it.”
Sebastian stopped abruptly. He couldn’t believe it. While she was small and pale, she didn’t look sick. And she most certainly didn’t act like she was touched in the head. On the contrary, she sparkled with life and her eyes flashed with intelligence.
Freddie glanced at him sympathetically. “Are you a bit taken with her, old boy? I’d leave it well alone, if I were you. I doubt very much that you will see much of her anyway. But if you do, be very wary.” He paused. “In my experience, there are always very good reasons if someone is hidden away. And she is the eldest daughter as well. If she were well in mind and body, they would be flaunting her on the circuit, seeking an advantageous marriage.”
Sebastian nodded. “Indeed.”
Freddie sighed. “Some call her a ‘ghost daughter’. She has a younger sister, Lady Diana, and she is well and perfectly agreeable. She comes to London for the seasons.” He paused. “But not Lady Charlotte. Cast her out of your mind entirely, Wharton.”
Sebastian frowned, staring out over the river again. A pair of magnificent white swans glided around side by side. He watched as one leaned its long neck towards the other, almost tenderly. They were mates. He knew that swans mated for life and rarely left each other’s side. Somehow watching them was painful. A lump had inexplicably formed in his throat.
Freddie was right. If there were strange rumours about Lady Charlotte, he should not pursue an acquaintance with her. He would be a duke one day, and there could be no hint of scandal attached to his name. Firmly he turned away from the swans and pushed the image of the dark-haired woman with the flashing eyes from his mind.
Lords to Be Enamored With: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 59