by Ella Quinn
What would please him even more was to have her in his home and in his bed. In some ways it was a pity that she was not a more biddable lady. It would save him from the worry that she might still actually jilt him.
Then again, he would probably not like and admire her as well. Hadn’t that been his complaint against every year’s crop of ladies who were just out? That they were all insipid and boring?
He looked in the mirror one last time as Cunningham made some last-minute adjustments.
“Very fine, my lord.”
“I believe you are right. I expect to return before one o’clock.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Con went down to the drawing room and poured himself a brandy. A few moments later, he heard the rustling of his mother’s silk skirts in the corridor and stood as the door opened.
She glanced at his goblet.
“Would you like a sherry?” He held up the decanter.
“If you please.” He gave her a glass of the wine, and she took a sip. Her forehead pleated softly.
Had the sherry gone off? “Is anything wrong?”
“Not at all, dear.” She smiled. “My, you look handsome. I wanted to remind you that as a betrothed gentleman you may dance more than twice with Charlotte.” Mama tapped her finger against the glass. “In fact, you may live in her pocket this evening if you like and no one will think you rude for not dancing with the other young ladies.”
“Ah. Thank you.” He was pleased to learn this bit of information. Perhaps he had been away from Polite Society too long. “I was unaware that the proprieties had changed.”
“They have not,” his mother replied acerbically. “Your status has.” Webster appeared to announce dinner, and she placed her hand on his arm as they made their way to the dining room.
He held the chair for her at the foot of the table that had been shortened to accommodate the two of them, and considered what she’d said. He might indeed be allowed to keep Charlotte by his side, but he had the distinct feeling that would raise her ire enough to defy him. And that was not what he wanted. It would not only fail to advance his cause, but it would make him a laughing stock. It was much better to take his lead from her and not expect her to run in his harness.
He would like to see her refuse Harrington. For some reason, Con could not like the younger man. Charlotte had been clearly upset when she returned from her walk with the coxcomb. Had Harrington tried to press her to marry him? Or worse, berated her for being betrothed to Con? He wished he could ask her to confide in him, but it was too soon for that.
Con had taken his seat, and his mother had signaled the footmen to serve. She would never become used to the plates being set on the table. He wondered how Charlotte would keep the table once this house was hers.
Two hours later, he entered Lady Hereford’s ballroom. The woman was a friend of his mother’s, thus enabling him to discover that she loved the new German dance. News that did not make him happy. There were to be three waltzes, and he had Charlotte for only two of them. That meant some other gentleman, probably Harrington, would have his arms around her.
He spotted her halfway down the room, not far from Worthington and her sister, surrounded by her court. Several of them were much younger than he and obviously new on the Town. Endicott was there, as were Harrington and two other gentlemen with whom he was not acquainted. One of the men caused his brow to rise. Con was surprised that Worthington would allow Lord Ruffington within a yard of Charlotte. However, the man stood back and did not engage in the banter.
Unfortunately, it took Con several minutes to reach his betrothed’s side. It was amazing how many of his colleagues in the Lords had wives and eligible young daughters who must meet him. He managed to slide in between Charlotte and a young swain whose shirt points threatened to poke out one of the man’s eyes.
She had been laughing at a remark and, when she looked up at him, her eyes still sparkled with jollity. “Good evening, my lord.”
He bowed slightly. “My lady.” Other than Harrington, the other gentlemen seemed to step back a fraction. “I trust you are having an enjoyable evening.”
If Con was waiting for her to announce that his presence was all that was needed to make the night perfect, he would have been disappointed.
“I am. Lord Endicott has told me a very funny story about the two of you as children.”
Con cut his friend a look. “Not the bull.”
Charlotte’s laughter sounded like the tinkling of bells. “Exactly the one. Is it true you jumped down and distracted the bull so that his lordship could get away, and then had to hide behind a cow?”
“Cows.” He was sure he should not mention that several of them had been ready for the bull’s attentions. “One of them took pity on me and helped me get to the fence.”
“How clever of you.” She placed her fingers on his arm when she gazed up at him. “I hope you rewarded her later.”
That he wanted to carry her off and make her his did not surprise him. What shocked him was that his yearning had nothing to do with his pride. “Cows are much harder to please than horses, but I believe treacle was involved.”
The prelude to the first waltz began and he said, “My dance, I believe.”
She made a point of glancing at the dance card hanging on a silken ribbon from her wrist. Every line was filled. “It is, my lord.”
Harrington scowled and Con wanted to laugh.
Con and Charlotte took their places on the dance floor. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, he wished she would step closer to him. He put his hand on her waist, and her eyes widened for a moment before she lowered her thick, dark blond lashes. When they began to dance it was as if they moved as one. No other woman felt as if she were part of him like she did.
There was an attraction. He had not been mistaken when he’d felt it in the carriage as they’d fled from the inn. Yet how was he to convince her? She was likely too innocent to recognize the feelings she no doubt had when they touched.
He caught a glimpse of her brother-in-law as they circled the floor. Worthington was watching her like a hawk. There would be no help from that quarter.
Charlotte smiled at another couple.
“Who are they?” Con asked.
“One of my cousins, Miss Blackacre, and Lord Bentley. They recently became betrothed. They will marry in the country at his father’s estate.” Her voice softened when she mentioned the country.
“Will you be glad when the Season is over?”
Charlotte met his gaze with a serious one of her own. It occurred to him that she did not merely make polite responses, but honest ones.
“I think I shall. I have had a wonderful time in Town, but I miss the relative quiet of the country.”
“I know what you mean.” London was almost unbearable during the summer. He usually made a point to visit his estates, but also escaped to Brighton for a few weeks. Afterward, there were house parties to which his mistress would also be invited. It occurred to him that he did not have many friends to whom he would introduce Charlotte. He would remedy that as soon as possible.
“Will you travel to Belgium?” she asked.
“Many people are, but I cannot help but think that visiting the site of a probable battle is not the best idea.”
She grinned. “That is what my brother says.”
“I would imagine he has much more to say on the subject than that.” In fact, he knew Worthington’s thoughts on the matter.
“I have no doubt you are right,” she said, relaxing into his arms.
Con held her closer in a turn.
“I would like to visit Europe, but only after the war has ended,” she added.
Harrington’s father had arranged for the man to work with Sir Charles, Britain’s ambassador to France, and would be gone for a few years. “Have you ever thought about living on the Continent?” Con asked.
She seemed surprised. “In truth, no. I would not like to be that far from my family for so lo
ng.”
Lord Kenilworth’s question reminded Charlotte that Harrington would soon leave for France. She wished him well, but had no desire to be with him. Even if she had fancied herself in love with him, she would not have wanted to leave her family and friends for years at a time.
Her breath hitched as Kenilworth held her a little closer than he had before. Not inappropriately close, of course. Neither of them wanted to court any more gossip. Yet his hand lay hot and heavy on her waist, sending shivers up her back and warming her body. She had never had that feeling before and did not know what to think of it. Lately, it seemed as if any touch of his caused some reaction. A prickling of awareness she had never experienced before.
Charlotte had lost count of how many times she had danced this Season. With some partners—fortunately not many—she’d had to watch her toes. Silk or even kidskin slippers were no match for a gentleman’s evening pumps. Many times the man had danced extremely well, yet she had never before felt as if she was floating around the dance floor. Never had the waltz seemed so effortless, and she was sorry when the set came to an end.
As they strolled back to where her brother and sister would return and where her circle usually stood, Lord Kenilworth took two small bowls of ices from a footman, handing her one. “This is an inspired idea for a warm night.”
“It is.” She took a taste. Lemon. “How refreshing the ice is.”
One day when she had a home of her own, she would do the same. Matt and Grace arrived at the same time Charlotte and Lord Kenilworth did. Soon Dotty and Merton, Lord Endicott, Bentley, her cousin Oriana Blackacre, Elizabeth Turley, Harrington, and some of the younger gentlemen joined them.
Charlotte glanced at Elizabeth and found her sliding a quick look at Harrington. She had said she might be interested in him. And if they had not previously met... “Miss Turley, have you been introduced to Lord Harrington?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened a bit, and the corners of her lips curled up. “No, I have not.”
Harrington frowned, although Charlotte did not know if it was his usual expression these days or he was unhappy about something else. “In that case, may I make you known to Lord Harrington. My lord, Miss Turley.”
Elizabeth curtseyed, and he took her outstretched hand when he bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Turley.”
“I am delighted to meet you, my lord.”
Lady Hereford was bearing down on them, ready to make the gentlemen dance with ladies who did not have partners for the next set. “Miss Turley,” Harrington said quickly, “please tell me you will do me the honor of standing up with me.”
“You are in luck, my lord. This is the last set I have available.”
Charlotte was glad to see that Elizabeth’s smile and tone were nothing more than polite. If she was interested in Harrington, she should not let him think she was too eager.
“Thank you.” He bowed again as Lady Hereford sailed up to them.
“My lords and gentlemen, I have several young ladies who require partners. I shall be happy to make the introductions.”
The younger men muttered under their breaths, but the older ones bowed to their fate without complaint. Dotty whispered something in Elizabeth’s ear before she went off to the dance floor, then turned to speak to Grace, and Merton had moved to speak with Matt. In a few moments, the only gentleman left next to Charlotte was Lord Kenilworth, who had only slightly acknowledged Lady Hereford’s summons and had not followed her at all.
Charlotte would have to give him a hint. “Should you not have gone to dance with someone else?”
“But you promised to protect me.” He raised a brow. “Did you not?”
Suddenly, the vow she’d made during their carriage ride came rushing back to her. She could not believe he had been serious. “I thought you were joking.”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head slowly. “I never joke about my safety.”
Charlotte was torn between laughter and exasperation. He could not remain by her side all evening. “You should ask Lady Merton or Miss Turley to stand up with you. You will be safe with them.”
“Miss Turley’s last set has been taken, and Merton doesn’t look as if he will willingly give up his wife.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “You, my lady, are my only hope.”
Incorrigible man. “I trust you do not think I shall remain here all evening.”
“Not at all.” He acted surprised. “Your dance card is full. I shall hide behind the potted plants until you have finished your sets.”
How ridiculous he was. He reminded her of a cat who insisted on remaining on one’s lap after having been made to get down. Charlotte took a deep breath. “Very well. Have it your way.”
“Thank you.” His lips touched her knuckles and a frisson of awareness slid up her arm. Now what was she going to do?
Chapter Nineteen
A few evenings later, Con caught himself from scowling as that popinjay Harrington led Charlotte to the floor. It was only a country dance and should not matter to Con. Endicott had managed to snag one of her waltzes, and a young Lord Henry, who considered himself a poet, had got the other. There were two more after supper, but they didn’t count. Worthington never remained past supper. That, Con had discovered, made standing up with Charlotte more of a prize to the other gentlemen.
Even though he had managed to remain by her side most of the evening, the fact that her former suitor would not bow out gracefully and admit defeat irritated him to no end. The man had even attempted to insinuate himself on her other side and place her hand on his arm. As luck would have it, another set had started and she went off with her partner. That was the only thing that had stopped him from doing something he would most likely be sorry for later.
“You put me forcibly in mind of a caged lion,” Endicott said. “For a moment, I thought you were going to plant Harrington a facer.”
Close, it had been very close, and would have been extremely stupid. “He should find another lady.”
“I imagine he was nonplussed when he got back and discovered you were engaged to Lady Charlotte.”
“In that case, he should not have left Town,” Con replied loftily. “Ladies do not like to be ignored.”
“True, very true.” Endicott smirked before ambling off.
Con was sure that Charlotte was merely being polite to the worthless fribble. But the fact that she had still not agreed to marry him—not that he had asked; he knew better than to press a reluctant lady—rankled. The only thing in his favor at the moment was that she did not appear to prefer any other gentleman.
If only he could think of something that would focus her attention on him as the gentleman she wished to wed. Thus far, carriage rides in the Park, visiting at her sister’s home, and dancing with her in the evenings had not done the trick. And as far as he was concerned, time was not on his side. If he allowed her to return to the country without a firm commitment of marriage, he’d have lost his chance.
Then again, he had received an invitation to dine with them before tomorrow evening’s ball. Yesterday’s ride in the Park must have done some good after all. It might also mean that she did not care about Harrington. That, though, might be wishful thinking. The puppy would not go away, and Con was still not happy about Worthington’s refusal to allow the engagement to be announced in the paper. Not that it truly mattered. Everyone knew they were betrothed.
The dance ended and Con pushed himself off the pillar he’d been leaning against. “It is time for the supper dance.”
After which he and Charlotte would join her family and they would leave. Once again not allowing him any time in private with her. Somehow, he had to get her alone. He knew one way he could convince her to marry him.
* * *
The next night, his mother caught up with him in the corridor. “I am dining with Lady Bellamny and shall see you at the ball.”
“Have a good time.” He handed his mother into her town coach, then tapped on the roof and stood back.
> “I shall, my dear. You as well.”
He planned to do just that. This was the evening he would find a way to be alone with Charlotte.
A footman lowered the steps to his carriage. “When we arrive, ask the Worthington coachman when you should return to collect me.”
Several minutes later Con jumped down from the coach and strode up the steps to Stanwood House. As expected, the door opened. Once the butler had taken his hat, he was escorted to a drawing room where Charlotte, Worthington and his wife, and Lord and Lady Merton were drinking sherry.
“I trust I am not late?” Con said as he entered the room.
“Not at all,” Charlotte answered. His chest tightened when she came forward and held out her hands to him. “Dotty and Merton arrived a few minutes ago.”
Con lifted first one of her ungloved hands to his lips, then the other. “You look enchanting.”
A faint pink hue, the color of her favorite roses, caressed Charlotte’s cheeks. “Thank you. You are very dashing as well.”
He captured her gaze, searching their blue depths for a sign that she felt something for him other than their newly formed friendship, but instead of awareness, he saw confusion.
Before he could figure out the reason, a woman coughed and Charlotte glanced at her sister. “Would you like sherry or wine, my lord?”
Devil it. He must find a place to be alone with her. “Sherry, please.” While Worthington poured, he greeted Lady Worthington. “Thank you for inviting me to dine with you.”
“You are welcome.” She smiled and glanced at Charlotte. “However, it was my sister’s idea.”
That was a welcome surprise. “Was it?”
Charlotte blushed again. “It made more sense . . .”
“I can see that.” But he’d be damned if he knew what it meant. Seeking to turn the subject, he said, “The house is much quieter than before.”
“That’s because the children are in bed,” Worthington replied. “They do not do well with Town hours.”
Con had the feeling his friend had wanted to say more but stopped himself. “I understand how.”