The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3)

by Lancaster, Mary

  Of course, she said nothing so ill-natured to Papa, who perked up considerably at the possibility of running into old and powerful friends.

  Although there was no ballroom attached to the manor house, Mrs. Lacey had created the atmosphere of a ball by clearing her drawing room and the dining room which was normally partitioned from it. This made a large enough dancefloor with space for the trio of musicians she had hired. The large, square hallway outside it was brimming with people, only a few of whom were local families Charlotte knew.

  On the other side of the hall, she glimpsed her mother and Thomasina, already surrounded by a little court of admirers, clearly in their element greeting old friends from London. Beside them loomed the large, haughty figure of the duke. She suspected he hated this as much as she did. He probably wished he’d offered for Thomasina days ago and left the neighborhood. And he probably understood perfectly that he’d been the draw employed by Mrs. Lacey to achieve such a large party.

  “So glad to see you here, my lord,” Mrs. Lacey gushed. “I never expected quite so many people—I’m sure they did not all accept!—but an old friend is particularly welcome. Her ladyship is just over there, with his grace…”

  “So I see,” Overton said. “Quite the event, Mrs. L., quite the event!”

  Their hostess greeted Henrietta and Charlotte with slightly more muted enthusiasm, realizing no doubt that Henrietta was competition for her own daughter. Her gaze flickered over Charlotte’s gown in a way that made her only too conscious that it was old, unfashionable, and had been worn to every evening party since she had come home to England. Before that, it had been Thomasina’s.

  Charlotte had never cared much about dress, particularly her own, but she was human enough not to wish to be sniggered at or pitied by strangers. She wished she had stayed at home. However, keeping a faint smile plastered to her face, she walked behind her father and Henrietta and was glad to see Matthew making his way toward them from the drawing room. Ahead, Lady Overton waved her fan at her husband to attract his attention, and the duke followed her gaze, Charlotte imagined a faint, rueful curl to his lips, as though he sympathized and shared her ordeal. Which was suddenly more unbearable than anything.

  Hastily, she turned to greet Matthew. “An impromptu little party?” she teased.

  “Oh well.” Matthew gave his cravat a quick tug before anxiously patting it back into shape. “Seems to have been my mother’s little joke.”

  The orchestra was striking up for a country dance. Thomasina passed regally into the drawing room on the arm of the Duke of Alvan. And for the first time in her life, Charlotte knew a stab of jealousy over a man’s attentions. Shocked, she wanted to run away and hide.

  “I don’t suppose you’d care to dance with me?” Matthew said beside her, his voice unusually diffident.

  She glanced at him, forcing herself to make sense of the words while squashing the surge of unpleasant emotion inside her. But of course, dancing with Matthew was the perfect distraction.

  “Of course I would,” she said brightly, and turned to tell her father.

  Henrietta was looking outraged that her dowdy elder sister should be asked to dance before her, but for once, Charlotte did not care. If she did not do something, exert herself thoroughly, she felt as if she would explode.

  “Shall we join Thomasina’s set?” Matthew suggested.

  This was the last thing Charlotte wanted, but fortunately, she spotted Almeria and Lord Dunstan forming a set on the other side of the room. “Let’s join Almeria’s instead,” she said, tugging him in that direction.

  The dance was a massive relief to her tense muscles and her anxious mind. The combination of physical exercise and concentrating on steps she was not completely familiar with, was just what she needed to pull herself together.

  Besides which, dancing was fun. Because of her illness, she had not taken part in her sisters’ dancing lessons, but she had watched and learned and as she’d recovered, she had practiced in small groups of friends where no one cared if she missed a step or turned the wrong way. Dancing with Matthew, she remembered the exhilaration all over again.

  After the dance, she returned to her parents, breathless and much more contented. Matthew left them to “go and do the pretty” as he phrased it gloomily. Thomasina and Henrietta were both claimed immediately by other partners Charlotte did not know. And although she tried not to look, she could not help seeing that the duke was dancing with Almeria. Of course, he was more or less obliged to, but it would make Mrs. Lacey’s evening.

  “It’s good to see you having fun,” her mother said, patting her hand.

  After a time, Charlotte remembered her manners and went and fetched drinks for her parents and herself. Returning, she knew she could now happily remain a wallflower for the rest of the evening.

  “Guess what, Mama?” Henrietta said breathlessly when her partner had returned her to the parental fold. “The next dance is to be a waltz! You will allow me, won’t you? I know Tommie has waltzed in London and—”

  “Of course,” their mother said indulgently.

  In fact, there seemed to be something of a tidal wave of young men rushing toward them. Henrietta happily went off with the first hopeful who asked her, though Thomasina, an older hand, made her court work for her favor before she chose one.

  Amused, Charlotte watched the rejected retreat to find other partners, while Thomasina sailed onto the dance floor with a very dashing and elegant man. Then the crowd cleared, and the Duke of Alvan walked across the floor toward them.

  Charlotte’s heart gave a silly lurch, reminding her of her earlier agitation. But of course, he was much too civil to neglect her parents. He inclined his head amiably, including them all.

  “Miss Charlotte, would you do me the honor of this dance?”

  She had a horrible feeling her jaw dropped. Certainly, it seemed an effort to close her lips and swallow. “Me? Don’t be silly,” she blurted.

  “Charlotte,” uttered her mother, fanning herself in despair.

  Alvan’s eyes danced. “Don’t be so unkind as to give me my congé in front of everyone.”

  Of course, far too many people followed the duke’s every move. Unthinkable for the favored to refuse him.

  “I don’t waltz,” she said desperately. “I never have.”

  She thought he might just sit down with them, then, or take a turn about the room with her for form’s sake. But the gleam in his eyes intensified. His lips quirked. “That will make it much more fun.”

  Laughter rose up inside her as he held out his hand compellingly. She took it before she meant to, and rose. With her hand on his sleeve, she said, “You will force me to make a fool of myself in front of all those eyes instead.”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  The dance began. With some relief, she said, “Why don’t we just walk instead?”

  “Coward,” he murmured, and taking her in his arms, he swept her onto the dance floor. “Don’t look at your feet, look at me.”

  Stunned, it took a moment for the rhythm of the music to reach her, and for her feet to follow his guidance, but she quickly found it easier to dance than not. Clearly, he was an excellent and experienced dancer.

  “I thought you did not attend balls as a rule,” she accused.

  “I avoid them when I can. Sometimes, I can’t. And of course, I was well taught. You have been avoiding me.”

  Again, he took her by surprise. But she recovered quickly. “How could I? You were away all day.”

  “Yes, but I’m sensing a distance that wasn’t there yesterday. Have I offended you?”

  “Of course not,” she exclaimed. She drew in a breath, meeting his gaze with conscious bravery. “I cannot monopolize your time.”

  His eyelids dropped and she knew he understood. He said, “That was hardly the case. But don’t you want to know where I went today?”

  “Finsborough, according to my father.”

  “I went looking for traces of our th
ieves, or Cornell.”

  “Ah! Did you find anything?” she asked eagerly.

  “I think I found where they were hiding out, but they seem to have flown. Which was why, I suspect, I was able to find people to lead me there.”

  She frowned. “But flown where? And what of Mr. Cornell?”

  “Well, I did find a tiny scrap of cloth on a floorboard nail—blue superfine, which could have been from his coat. Or any well-to-do gentleman’s coat, I suppose.”

  “Then they took him with them when they fled?” Charlotte said hopefully. “Or… please tell me you found no trace of… blood or dead… bodies?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, of course, but my feeling is, Cornell is fine. I take him to be a great survivor.”

  “I hope you are right. But where do you think they have gone? And why?”

  “I suspect they have to keep moving on before the law becomes wise to them. I think it might be time to inform your magistrates, so they can look out for areas where crime increases suddenly.”

  “Mr. Lacey is a magistrate.”

  “Hmm.” He looked thoughtful for a few moments, during which she had leisure to become only too aware of his nearness, of his arm, like warm steel, at her waist. All the feelings of yesterday’s accidental contact were magnified in an overwhelming yet delicious wave of secret pleasure. His eyes refocused on her. “And you, Charlotte? Are you unhappy to be here?”

  “I was,” she admitted, then, heat sweeping into her face, she added, “That is, I felt we had been tricked and as you know I do not care for large parties. But my sisters are in their element and my father is delighted to renew old acquaintances.” She hesitated. “Does this happen to you a lot?”

  “What? That I am paraded as a prize bull to be shown off? When I let it. It no longer disturbs me.”

  “Why did it disturb you before?” she asked curiously.

  He spun them around. Somehow, she kept her footing, though she knew he would not answer her.

  Again, he surprised her. “When one is young, it can be lowering to be valued only for one’s wealth and position, and not for the extraordinary person one is convinced one must be.”

  “And when one is a few years older?”

  His lips curved, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “It’s the way of the world. None of us will ever change that. It is, in the end, a trivial price to pay for privilege.”

  She smiled. “I suspect you are quite an extraordinary person.”

  “I never tire of hearing it,” he said flippantly, “although, it is uplifting to hear another voice raised with my own.”

  She laughed. “You will make me tread on your toes,” she warned.

  “Tread away, they are sturdy.”

  The thirty minutes of the dance seemed to pass with lightning speed, in a blur of banter and fun and the secret excitement of being so close to him. She forgot about everyone else. There was only the music and the dance and him.

  Until, finally, the music came to a close and the world intruded. As his arm fell away from her waist, she had difficulty dragging her gaze from his, but the euphoria of the dance was still with her. She did not mind the curious, even avid attention focused on them. The duke bowed with a hint of wry humor, and she curtseyed in similar vein before taking his proffered arm.

  Together, they turned and found themselves face to face with Lord Dunstan and a woman whose beauty transcended the lines of tiredness and strain around her eyes.

  Dunstan bowed. “Miss Charlotte. Allow me to present you to Lady Gordyn. Miss Charlotte Maybury, Alicia. What’s the matter, Alvan, don’t you recognize my cousin?”

  Involuntarily, before exchanging more than smiles with the lady, Charlotte glanced at Alvan. His face was white. And Lady Gordyn’s hand trembled as she offered it, almost pleadingly, to the duke. As though she were frightened.

  Charlotte’s breath caught. Had Dunstan’s story yesterday been true? Was this the lady Alvan had once tried to elope with? The lady who had been put up to the mischief by Dunstan seeking revenge? Certainly, Charlotte could not doubt that the lady’s sudden presence had shaken him.

  However, he recovered quickly, taking Lady Gordyn’s fingers and bowing over them. “Of course, I remember. How do you do, Lady Gordyn? It’s a great pleasure to meet you again.”

  “Thank you,” the lady replied faintly. “Your grace is looking well.”

  Alvan inclined his head again. “I hope we can talk later. Excuse me.”

  Charlotte didn’t know if he was sparing himself or Lady Gordyn, but he led Charlotte away without so much as glancing at Dunstan.

  “Is that…?” Charlotte began, before breaking off with a flush of mortification.

  Alvan cast a glance at her. Some incomprehensible storm raged in his normally cool eyes. “Who?” he asked sardonically. “Has Dunstan been spinning tales for your delectation? Or for Miss Maybury’s?”

  “Ultimately for Thomasina’s, I expect,” Charlotte replied frankly. “Are they true?”

  “I don’t know. It depends what he said. But know that the lady is blameless.”

  Another twinge of jealousy troubled Charlotte. What on earth was the matter with her? “Of course,” she murmured.

  His eyes softened. His lips quirked. “I did enjoy our dance,” he said, just a little ruefully. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, for they had reached her mother once more. She slid her hand free of his arm. He bowed to Lady Overton and walked away.

  Chapter Ten

  Alvan had been following more than his own inclinations when he had asked Charlotte to dance. She had confided on their first meeting that she disliked large parties, and he had seen as soon as she entered the house how uncomfortable she was. She lacked the confidence and the experience, to say nothing of the encouragement of the right clothes, to find the evening remotely agreeable. Well, he could not take her out of the situation, so all he could do was make it more pleasurable. And that was where his rank was useful.

  He had walked up to her deliberately, choosing the earliest dance he could, and he was glad it was a waltz, for it distinguished her even more. And he had set out to put her at ease, although, as always, he had quickly got lost in her quicksilver company. He no longer tried to make her shine, but she did anyway. And he knew the avid and casual observers would see at last what he did. That while she might not have the perfect beauty and society manners of her sisters, let alone their fine clothes, her own more unusual loveliness was grounded in character and sheer vitality. That she had an originality that was worth cultivating.

  It was his good deed of the evening, and he was glad to do it, for reasons that were not entirely selfless. He liked being with her. He knew, as the dance ended, that she would not lack for partners now, and that any perceived gaucheness would now be put down to charming originality. Even the faint hesitation in her speech would be pronounced charming. Because he had so clearly found it so.

  He had only just begun to sense the danger in his pleasure, in his reluctance to give her up to social success with others, when he turned straight into Alicia.

  For an instant, the shock drove everything else from his head. He had not laid eyes on her in more than six years and the sight of her opened the floodgates to all the old emotions of blind adoration, loss, fury, and appalling humiliation. And the man who had caused it all stood beside her.

  Well, he was older now, and wiser. He could not even be glad of the unhappiness he read in Alicia’s face. And he refused to give Dunstan any more satisfaction. And so, he murmured inanities, smiled, and got himself and Charlotte swiftly out of the toxic situation.

  He hasn’t stopped. He’ll never stop…

  Oh yes, he will. His own grim denial almost took him by surprise.

  But he remembered his original plan and bowed to the Overtons with every respect as he left Charlotte with them and strolled away, to see what would happen. By the time he had travelled the length of the room and could glance surreptitiously i
n her direction, Harry Mauvern was sitting beside her chatting and two more young men hovered nearby waiting to be introduced.

  Satisfied with the success of his plan, he looked around for Dunstan and was just in time to see him sauntering out of the room. Alicia was sitting with other young matrons, her eyes straying around the room. He averted his gaze and, bowing to a few acquaintances as he went, followed Dunstan out of the room.

  The crowd in the hall had thinned out a little as more people entered the drawing room or the card room which had been set up on the other side of the hall, so Alvan could see at once that Dunstan wasn’t there. Nor was he in the card room.

  Of course, Dunstan was staying there, and knew the house well. Alvan had no real idea where to look next. He entered the men’s cloakroom but found no sign of Dunstan. But he could not lose the idea that the viscount was up to something.

  The cloakroom was on the edge of a dimly lit passage into a part of the house obviously not being used for the party. Alvan gazed down it for a moment. Just as he turned away, he was sure someone flitted across his line of vision, and on impulse, he walked down the passage, listening and glancing into rooms as he went.

  It looked as if this was where the Laceys had stored the furniture moved from their drawing room for the party. There was also a rather fine-looking library, and there at last, by the light of one solitary lamp, he found Dunstan. He stood in the center of the room, one hand half-hidden in his pocket.

  Alvan knew from his old friend’s sudden stillness that he had surprised him. “Dunstan,” he said neutrally.

  Dunstan took his hand out of his pocket. “Your grace,” he mocked. “Have you come to fight with me? Again? Which lady will it be over this time? The pliable Lady Gordyn or the stunning Miss Maybury?”

  Alvan chose an armchair in the shadows and stretched out his legs. “Neither.”

  “Alvan,” Dunstan scolded. “I’m disappointed. Did it not move you to see the love of your life once more… or at least the lady you were so eager to ruin? As for Miss Maybury… I believe I might marry her myself. Or am I not rich enough for her papa?”