What Not to Bare

by Megan Frampton

  What must she think of him?

  She raised her head as though she were about to march into battle, and began to walk, very quickly, back into the ballroom. “Are you a liar, or do you just like to toy with women to see what you can get away with?” Her voice shook. She still wasn’t looking at him.

  But at least he knew what she was thinking.

  “I’m not,” he answered.

  She spun to face him, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “Not a liar, or not toying with me? Either way, you are not a gentleman. Or perhaps you are, since you no longer wish to cavort with me.” She flung the word “cavort” at him like an accusation. She lowered her voice, but her tone was still furious. She stepped close so she could speak directly into his face. “I would have understood if you had told me about my uncle, and then allowed me to go, but you—you … I trusted you,” she said, flinging her arm out at him and dashing back into the ballroom.

  David stood, frozen, knowing he had just acted on emotion, on fear, from panic.

  And he had hurt her terribly.

  He truly was a gauche-mat.

  And now he hurt as well.

  ***

  She must have left the ball as soon as she had reentered the room. He looked everywhere, but he could say that with certainty that she was not there, since all the ladies in attendance were reasonably dressed.

  A few people tried to speak to him, and a handful of young ladies shot him significant glances, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but figuring out what he would say to her. If she would speak to him again.

  “Lord David,” Lord Bradford greeted him, slapping him on the back with a pronounced thump. “Excellent to see you. I was hoping I would run into you.”

  “Of course. Good to see you as well,” David replied, still scanning the crowd for a view of Charlotte, even though he knew she wasn’t there.

  “I wanted to tell you that there is no need for you to continue your assignment.” Lord Bradford inclined his head in a significant way. “My sister assures me the gentleman is prepared to make an offer, and my niece could do worse.”

  High praise indeed. “Ah. Of course.” Worse compared to what?

  Lord Bradford continued to talk, but David didn’t hear any of it. Not only had he just horribly insulted her, now he had no reason to pursue her even to make an explanation.

  Wonderful. Perhaps he should just go home and ask Gotam to kick him in the head as well.

  ***

  It took her only a few minutes to make her escape from the Chilcotts’. Now that she was practically betrothed, her mother was far more easygoing about leaving an event that might include an actual unmarried bachelor.

  The prospect of being the EB had never seemed so alluring.

  They settled into the coach, her mother talking about who was there, what everyone was wearing, and the like. The usual. Added in were a few coy mentions of Mr. Goddard.

  And she was abjectly miserable.

  She shouldn’t be. After all, David hadn’t made her any promises. He’d just undressed her, and kissed her, and touched her, and made her feel like she was a lovely woman. Just that.

  And admitted to her that she was an object of pity, but then implied he didn’t pity her in the least.

  So at least she knew he still didn’t pity her, because if he did, he wouldn’t have dropped her so abruptly.

  On second thought, she had every reason to be abjectly miserable, so she was going to be. Albeit quietly, since she didn’t want her mother asking her questions about why she was so distraught.

  “Charlotte, are you even listening?”

  Why was it that she only heard it when her mother asked her that? “Pardon, no, I must have been woolgathering.” When she wasn’t gathering thoughts about how she wanted to squirm and die from embarrassment.

  “I was saying that Mr. Goddard asked me about taking you for a drive tomorrow. I knew that you had no other engagement, so I told him to arrive at three o’clock.”

  “Fine,” Charlotte said listlessly. If she were going to be abjectly miserable, she might as well be abjectly miserable around Mr. Goddard.

  Maybe she would be so abjectly miserable he would think she had a wasting disease and wouldn’t want to marry her? One could always hope.

  “And I want you to wear something reasonable.”

  She was about to open her mouth to repeat “Fine,” when she recalled what Anne had said about choice, about things that ladies got to decide.

  “That I won’t do,” she said in a quiet but firm tone. She turned her head to look into her mother’s eyes. “Isn’t it enough that I have to be told who to speak or not speak to, who to dance or not dance with, when I can go out of doors and who I can go with?” Her voice trembled, for the second time that evening. “Just once, I wish there was one day when I could do precisely what I wanted to, see exactly whom I wished to see, and not have anyone tell me I was being unreasonable. In my clothing, in my behavior, in my questions.”

  There was a long silence in the carriage.

  Her mother reached out and patted her hand. “Well. I see you are not feeling yourself, my dear. We will be home soon.”

  She was feeling entirely herself, but her mother didn’t comprehend her enough to understand that. Her mother loved her, certainly, but as for understanding?

  No. That was as unreasonable an expectation as wanting her to dress like every other female.

  ***

  “Are you certain, my lady?” Sarah asked, squinting as she viewed Charlotte’s carriage outfit.

  “Absolutely,” Charlotte replied, smoothing one of the ruffled layers of the gown. “I didn’t realize it was possible to get all of these colors together in one fabric. The dressmaker had to order it especially.”

  “I’m sure she did,” Sarah responded in an acerbic tone. The maid sighed, then straightened one of Charlotte’s innumerable ribbons.

  Despite not having slept much the previous evening, Charlotte thought she looked fairly well. Or perhaps that was just the brightness of the gown putting a reflective flush in her cheeks. In any case, no one would guess that she had spent half the night thinking of things she would like to do to David (negative things) and an almost equal amount of time thinking of things she would like to do to David (positive things).

  She at last settled on getting him completely engrossed in the kissing and disrobing activities, only to then tell him just what she thought of him. He was a male, after all, so it shouldn’t be that difficult to lure him in to touch him. Especially if she made certain to undistract him with the removal in her clothing.

  But what did she think of him? She was wavering between thinking he was a mercurial dilettante and a selfish, arrogant rascal. Once she figured out precisely what she thought, she would be able to set her plan in motion.

  She and Sarah heard the door swing open downstairs at the same time. Both sighed. Likely Sarah was just appalled Charlotte was going out looking like that, while she was absolutely not looking forward to her ride in the carriage with Mr. Goddard.

  Or to more stories of how he was endeavoring to quell whatever spark and life his offspring had.

  “I had best go down before Mother sends him up here to find me,” Charlotte said, picking up her shawl from the bed where Sarah had put it. Or tossed it; she did not think highly of the shawl, whereas Charlotte thought it was wonderfully cunning.

  Plus, if she ever forgot how to waltz, she could just refer to her shawl for instruction. If she ignored the sections with the shrubbery. And the rabbits.

  ***

  Wrapping the shawl tight around her shoulders, she descended the stairs, trying not to heave an audible sigh when she saw Mr. Goddard and her mother waiting at the bottom. An inaudible sigh was inevitable.

  “Ah, Charlotte, look who is here,” her mother said, as though Charlotte couldn’t see with her own eyes who was standing next to her.

  Now on top of thinking she was completely unmarriageable and desperate, her
mother thought she was blind.

  “How do you do, Mr. Goddard?” Charlotte held her hand out to him, happy she was wearing gloves. Unlike other men, or one man in particular, she knew Mr. Goddard would not attempt to remove them. This way, he couldn’t actually touch her skin.

  “Excellent, Lady Charlotte. Are you ready? My carriage awaits,” he said, swinging his hand wide to indicate the carriage presumably waiting outside.

  Which would have been a lot more impressive if Bennett hadn’t shut the door.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Bennett opened the door again to let them out, Charlotte wishing the ride were done already. Thankfully, it was a pleasant day out, not so cold she would be chilled, but not so warm she would have to remove her shawl. The less skin exposed, the better.

  “I will take excellent care of your daughter,” Mr. Goddard said to her mother, as though she were a pet, or some other entity equally incapable of taking care of herself.

  Well, she had earlier compared herself to a dog, so perhaps the comparison was apt.

  He helped her up into the carriage and hoisted himself up onto the seat beside her. She could not help noticing the carriage listed considerably as he swung himself up; he definitely was a large gentleman. He might want to consider the parrot diet for himself.

  He took the reins from his tiger, who leapt onto the back. They set off with an abrupt jerk—the motion of the carriage, not its driver—that flung Charlotte’s back against the seat.

  This was not David’s smooth driving. Not that she would have noticed if David had piddled along or driven at a breakneck clip; she’d been too engrossed in conversing with him.

  She did not think that would be the case this afternoon.

  “How do you find London, Lady Charlotte?” Mr. Goddard asked as they neared the park.

  With a map, she wanted to reply, but kept herself in check. It would not do to make him aware of just how against his courtship she was. “I find it enjoyable. I like visiting the bookshop, and the parties, and the museu—”

  “You don’t find it too stifling?”

  Only when you are pressed against me in a carriage, she thought. But that was too mean. She was not mean, she just did not wish to marry him. “No, I rather like it. I would not wish to be in London all the time, nor would I like to live in the country all the time, either. I like variety.”

  “I think variety can be too distracting. One likes to know just what to expect, each and every day.”

  “Oh. Does one,” she said in a flat voice, knowing he wouldn’t comprehend her tone.

  “Yes, precisely.”

  “What do you most enjoy about where you live, Mr. Goddard?” she asked. Who knew, maybe he would surprise her with his enthusiasm or knowledge about something.

  “The hunting.” And then said nothing more. Nothing to expound on what he particularly liked, or why he liked it, or anything of the sort.

  Nothing.

  So he wouldn’t surprise her after all. Was it possible he was essentially not curious? How could he go through life without wanting to ask questions?

  Would it be oxymoronic to ask him a question about his lack of asking questions?

  “Tell me, Mr. God—,” she began, only to stop short when she saw a rider approaching on the right.

  A rider on a very large, very black horse. A rider who made all other riders look like they should just go home and burn their riding hats, because he threw them all into the shade.

  A rider she did not wish to see, only she did, but not in public, where she couldn’t say precisely what she was feeling. More to the point, she could hardly start undressing at this moment so she could then get the opportunity to deliver her grand statement.

  “How do you do, Lady Charlotte,” he said in his low voice as he slowed his horse next to the carriage. His eyes searched her face. Why? Did he feel sorry for her?

  If he pitied her now, she would absolutely deliver a grand statement. Filled with words that ladies usually did not say.

  “Lord David,” she replied stiffly. “Might I introduce you to Mr. Goddard?”

  The two men bowed.

  “A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Lord David said. She felt his eyes on her, and a blush crept up her neck to her cheeks.

  There was an enormous pause during which Charlotte wondered frantically whose conversational turn it was. She didn’t want to open her mouth, because she might say something she actually meant—as she always did—but neither of the gentlemen seemed to be saying anything, either.

  Finally he spoke. He sounded … tentative. If such a word could be applied to him at all. “Lady Charlotte, I was hoping you might be at home later on this afternoon? I have something to return to you.”

  My pride? “You may call, although I am not certain I will be home.” She heard Mr. Goddard gasp next to her, presumably at her rudeness.

  “That is unfortunate, since I have something you might wish to see.” He imbued his voice with a low, silky tone that did things far too interesting to her insides.

  Was he trying to suggest something?

  “And what might that be?” Mr. Goddard interjected, as though he were already trying to control her. Her throat tightened, feeling as though she were trapped between these two males, both of whom seemed to want something from her.

  Neither of whom she wanted to give anything to.

  Except a piece of her mind.

  Which she wasn’t supposed to have, being a woman and all. A mind, that was.

  “It is something for Lady Charlotte’s eyes only.”

  Mr. Goddard gasped again. Was it at his rudeness now? Maybe David did have her pride! No, no, he didn’t. He couldn’t have. She’d rescued it when she’d left him on his own on the terrace. Hadn’t she?

  She had. Most definitely. “It was a pleasure to run into you, Lord David,” she said in a voice that indicated it was anything but. “Perhaps we will see each other later, when you may reveal this mysterious thing.”

  “I look forward to it, Lady Charlotte,” he replied in a low, serious tone.

  He tipped his hat and urged his horse forward, shooting Charlotte a last, meaningful look as he rode off. She felt her lips almost tug into a smile, then made them settle into a thin line and allowed her head to nod very slightly. He probably wouldn’t even see it.

  She turned back to Mr. Goddard. And sighed. At least David was pleasant to look at. Even if she was angry with him.

  “How do you know the gentleman?” he asked, sounding very proprietary.

  He undid my gown and touched my behind, she wanted to say. “My mother was acquainted with him when he was in London before. He has just returned from India.”

  “I see.” His voice assured her he did most definitely not see. Not at all.

  Was there any gentleman who existed anywhere who would not irritate her? At this moment, she quite doubted it.

  “And he is friends with your mother, you say?” For goodness’ sake, could no one say what they meant? First David with his mysterious thing, and now Mr. Goddard.

  She turned to face him. “Please, sir, do just ask. Do you want to know precisely what I think of him?” She continued without waiting for him to respond. “I will tell you. He is recently arrived from India, quite arrogant, and he seems to change his mind as often as some ladies change their clothes. He and I are acquainted. That is all.” At least from now on, she assured herself.

  Mr. Goddard’s normally florid complexion turned even more florid. She liked the color on a gown, but not as much on a face. He cleared his throat, then announced, “I believe we should be returning. I have an urgent appointment.”

  Wonderful. Another gentleman who suddenly recalled an appointment after being with her. At this rate, she would scare off every unmarried bachelor and she could settle into a life of being an Eternal Burden with no guilt.

  And no possibility of love, or marriage, or children.

  Even though the sun was still shining, it felt as though everythin
g went cold. She drew her shawl tighter and settled back into the carriage seat, murmuring at the appropriate times as Mr. Goddard made various comments about the weather, the driving of the other carriages, and how crowded parties could be.

  It didn’t even cheer her to think about pointing out that a party with only one person attending it would hardly count as a party.

  Because it might very well be the rest of her life.

  What Not to Bare

  Dear Ladies:

  One of the things you absolutely should not bare, ever, unless you have complete certainty as to the outcome, is your feelings.

  Your feelings cannot be purchased, like a new gown, or handed down to your maid once you’re done with them.

  Your feelings are yours, forever and always.

  And therefore, if you have feelings for another—say, a gentleman has caught your eye, and his eye has been caught by you as well—you should be confident about your feelings, more confident than when you are wearing the gown that looks the absolute best on you.

  Feelings, once exposed, cannot be stuffed back into wherever you took them from. They are there, out in the open, just as obvious to another person as the bonnet on top of your head (and such a fetching bonnet!).

  Please guard them with your life.

  The Fashionable Foible

  Chapter 18

  David flung himself off his horse, barely waiting for the footman to take the reins before vaulting into the house. He didn’t wait to hand his belongings to the butler; he just strode into the salon and headed straight for the table where his brother kept his whiskey.

  “Rough day?” Gotam observed, seated in the chair she had sat in a few days ago.

  David shook his head as he poured a Gotam-sized splash into his glass. He drank deeply, relishing the burn that slid down his throat.

  He dropped into the chair opposite Gotam and held out the hand holding the glass, as though in accusation. “I don’t know what’s happened. It’s this place. It’s the situation. It’s—”

  Gotam shook an accusatory finger at him. “It’s a woman. I warned you, didn’t I?”