Lady's Wager

by Georgie Lee

  George returned to the table, his plate piled high with ham, a mischievous smile drawing up the wrinkles framing his mouth. “I have many London acquaintances who keep me abreast of the happenings in Town. Saves me the trouble of making the bloody trip myself.”

  “Then perhaps you should return to Grossmont Hall and wait for their letters,” Edward snapped.

  “Don’t get your dander up, my boy. If there’s an interest, say so, if not tell me straight. No reason to hide anything from me. Have you formed an attachment to this Miss Stuart?”

  Edward paused, knowing it was futile to keep secrets from his father who possessed a hunter’s patience. If Edward didn’t enlighten him now, his father would eventually ferret out the truth.

  “I wouldn’t call my association with Miss Stuart an attachment.”

  “Then Miss Stuart has caught your attention?”

  “She’s a most difficult young lady.”

  “So I’ve been told. I hear you have much in common. She’s well traveled, she likes art and she’s rich.”

  Edward laughed. “I thought I was to marry for love?”

  George shrugged. “If love and fortune find each other, who am I to speak against them?”

  “I fear our personalities are too strong to allow a mutual attraction.”

  George pointed his fork at Edward. “When a man wants to fight you and you don’t want to fight, you step aside. A lady is no different. If you don’t fight her, she won’t fight you. You can try it out tonight at Almack’s.”

  “Did Henry put you up to this? I saw him this morning and he pressed the same point.”

  George leaned back from his food, lacing his fingers over his stomach in satisfaction. “He did mention it when he was here this morning looking for you. That boy smells of April and May. Only a matter of time before he springs the parson’s mousetrap.”

  Edward pulled his plate to him and began to eat. There seemed little choice but for him to go to Almack’s, for the more he attempted to forget Miss Stuart the more she commanded his thoughts. Perhaps all he needed to do was keep his pride in check, be polite and she would respond. After all, he’d been quarrelsome when he should have been pleasant and outspoken when he should have remained silent. It’d cost him Miss Stuart’s regard and his mother’s painting. If restraint was the way to win her heart, then he would show restraint.

  *****

  Charlotte sighed as she ran her gloved hands over her silk dress, smoothing out the wrinkles of the deep red gown. Outside the carriage window, the dark London streets seemed to mirror her mood. When Aunt Mary had first informed her of the invitation to Almack’s, she’d announced her intention to decline. Her announcement had been met with a fit of the vapors unlike any Charlotte had ever endured before. Charlotte would’ve ignored her aunt’s theatrics but Uncle Charles didn’t possess such patience and had asked Charlotte to accept the invitation. Since he rarely asked anything of her, she’d agreed, bringing about Aunt Mary’s miraculous recovery.

  With Aunt Mary’s spirits renewed, she’d launched Charlotte into a rigorous round of teas with Lady Redding to polish her London etiquette and lessons with a dancing master hired at Mrs. Knight’s suggestion to shore up her form. Then there’d been numerous fittings with the imperious French modiste before Aunt Mary and Lady Redding had deemed her dress perfect for Almack’s. Charlotte wasn’t as enamored with it. The bodice sat a touch lower than she was accustomed to and with her dark locks swept back from her face and arranged into cascading ringlets down her neck she felt very exposed. Her mother’s round diamond broach sat like a tiara among the curls while a matching diamond necklace provided a little cover for her chest. On her left wrist she wore a diamond bracelet, the final piece of her mother’s set, and it sparkled against the red silk of her glove and matching fan.

  As the carriage drew closer to St. James’s Square, she opened her fan slowly making each ivory stick click. It wasn’t just Almack’s which set her on edge tonight, but the prospect of facing Lord Woodcliff again after their near kiss. She hadn’t seen him since Mr. Taylor’s. He hadn’t been at Hookham’s or at any of the suppers or card parties Aunt Mary had dragged her to over the last week, but Lady Redding had assured her he’d be there tonight. The anticipation reminded her too much of the morning she’d waited anxiously in the sitting room of their Paris house for the Comte to arrive and properly propose to her. The only person who’d come was a messenger to deliver the Comte’s parting note. Except then she’d cared for the heartless nobleman. She didn’t give a fig for Lord Woodcliff, or did she?

  She snapped the fan closed. Of course not, he was too annoying and condescending to claim her attention, yet she couldn’t forget the strong arch of his nose or the sharp line of his cheeks as he’d stood over her at Mr. Taylor’s regarding her with a look to make her toes curl.

  “You have nothing to worry about, my dear?” Aunt Mary offered. “You look so lovely, you’re sure to make an impression just as you did the night you came out in Paris.”

  Lady Redding shot Charlotte an impish grin. “It appears she’s already made quite an impression on London society.”

  “What do you mean?” Aunt Mary asked with the same touch of worry trilling up Charlotte’s spine.

  “Mary, do you remember the story I told you about the Prince and Mr. Brummell in Bond Street and the wager?”

  “Of course, but what does it have to do with Charlotte?”

  Charlotte’s stomach tightened and she fussed with the clasp on her bracelet, desperate to avoid her aunt’s questioning gaze. She hadn’t told Aunt Mary about the incident in Bond Street for fear of sending her into a fit of the vapors. She should have known the story would find her aunt of its own accord.

  “It seems the young girl was our own Charlotte and it appears her encounter with Mr. Brummell, of which she failed to inform us—”

  “I didn’t think it was important,” Charlotte protested weakly.

  “Oh it was, greatly so, for he heartily approves of you. His approval allowed Lady Sefton to successfully convince the Lady Patronesses to accept your admittance to Almack’s. It seems despite all her protests, Charlotte does harbor some aspirations in society.”

  Charlotte looked at Aunt Mary expecting another long lecture about respectable behavior. She was stunned when Aunt Mary threw back her head and laughed.

  “You mean Charlotte is Miss Out and Outer?”

  “I’m who?” Charlotte demanded.

  “Miss Out and Outer,” was all Aunt Mary could manage through her breathless chortles.

  “This isn’t funny.” Charlotte’s voice rose two octaves as she perched on the edge of her seat, her own fit of the vapors threatening. “How can I, or my efforts to raise money for St. Dunstan’s, be taken seriously if I’m referred to as Miss Out and Outer?”

  Lady Redding leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Charlotte’s arm. “You must, as your uncle is fond of saying, see the opportunity in this. It’s given you visibility where none existed before. If they know of you then they know of your charities and are more likely to be generous.”

  Charlotte fell back against the squabs desperate to regain her composure. The evening hadn’t even begun and already it felt like a disaster. “How can I walk into Almack’s with everyone referring to me as Miss Out and Outer. I’ll be laughed at and the subject of everyone’s gossip.”

  Just like in Paris after the Comte’s hasty wedding to the widow.

  “My dear,” Aunt Mary chuckled, “London isn’t quite so interested in your story.”

  “I hate London. I wish we could go back to Paris!” Charlotte clapped her gloved hand over her mouth, surprised by her outburst. It shocked Aunt Mary too for the last of her laughter quickly dissolved into a look of genuine compassion.

  “Charlotte, you must accept that with the war, Paris is no longer open to us.”

  “Then Venice. Can’t we go back to Venice?” Charlotte pleaded and Aunt Mary slowly shook her head.

 
“You must find your place here in London. I know it’s difficult but I assure you, with time it will be easier.”

  Charlotte bit her bottom lip, fighting back her frustration. It was hard to make the best of things when everything seemed to conspire against her.

  Aunt Mary slipped across the carriage to join her. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

  Charlotte looked past her out the window to the rows of fine houses with their illuminated windows and black doors.

  “I’m just nervous about tonight,” Charlotte lied, unable to tell her how scared she was of being humiliated in society once again. She’d never been afraid before in her life. Even when she’d crossed the Channel alone in foul weather to reach her aunt and uncle after her parents had died, she hadn’t been frightened. When they’d fled France after the collapse of the peace, she hadn’t been afraid. Yet the idea of being ridiculed again for her poor choices in London, just as she’d been in Paris, shook her confidence.

  “I know it isn’t easy for you,” Aunt Mary patted Charlotte’s hands. “But if you remember everything we’ve told you, you’ll do fine. If nothing else, simply smile and remain quiet. It’s all you need to be a success.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Though she wasn’t convinced it was so effortless. One small misstep in Bond Street had already resulted in rumors. What damage might a larger one, like her near kiss of Lord Woodcliff, wreak? Maybe she should heed her aunt’s advice and better mind herself, but it was so difficult.

  Aunt Mary took her by the shoulders and pinned her with a firm but loving look. “Forget the sobriquet and all those silly people and promise me you’ll try and have a good time tonight.”

  Charlotte smiled, grateful once again for her aunt’s love and care. There was no reason to worry. Charlotte had faced and overcome the rumors in Paris, surely she could survive a ridiculousness moniker here. “I promise.”

  *****

  The carriage turned off St. James’s Street onto King Street where it came to a stop in the crush of conveyances waiting to approach Almack’s front door. Charlotte leaned toward the window to get a better look at the famous assembly hall. Almack’s was an unimpressive brick building with little to recommend it except for the glittering pomp of its patrons. She watched as a dazzling display of young women in fine silk, jewelry and feathers, followed by mothers elegantly clad in darker shades and larger jewels, spilled out of their carriages and up the front steps. Gentlemen, both young and old, of every size and shape, sauntered toward the entrance in their required white neck cloths, knee-breeches and long tailed dress coats.

  Charlotte offered Aunt Mary a nervous smile as the carriage ambled toward the entrance then came to a stop. “I suppose this is it.”

  “We’ll have a wonderful evening,” Aunt Mary assured her, then followed Lady Redding out of the carriage.

  I hope so. Charlotte took a steadying breath, offered her hand to the footman and descended onto the sidewalk. She accompanied the ladies up the stairs to the columned door where women and men made their way noisily inside. They approached the elegantly dressed Lady Patronesses who stood guard over the entrance. Lady Redding introduced Charlotte to the formidable women and Charlotte executed a flawless curtsey, determined to pass muster. The Patronesses gave their approval with terse nods and the three ladies proceeded to the main ballroom.

  Charlotte felt the eyes of the room upon her the moment they entered. She fought the urge to turn and run, then chided herself for being so silly. If Bonaparte’s soldiers didn’t unravel her then a room full of chits and pinks would not do so now. She threw back her shoulders, stuck her chin defiantly in the air and followed Aunt Mary and Lady Redding confidently into the thick of the crowd.

  As they made their way toward the dance floor, she heard snippets of whispers from the young men and ladies she passed.

  “Beau Brummell, she won his bet.”

  “Miss Out and Outer.”

  Charlotte, unaccustomed to such attention, calmed her nerves by taking in the neoclassical architecture of the hall. The large ballroom was decorated with massive mirrors and gilt columns hung with tasseled swags. Six large, arched windows graced one wall, and at the far end, seated on a raised balcony, the orchestra played the beautiful melodies of Handel. Despite the ornate decorations, what impressed Charlotte the most were the gaslights in their elaborate cut-glass lusters. Their glow added a certain warmth to the room it otherwise lacked and Charlotte thought such an addition would do very well at St. Dunstan’s.

  Charlotte turned her attention back to the gathered assembly. Ladies, the youngest in white, the older ones brilliantly arrayed in deeper tones, stood along the sides of the dance floor while their hawk-eyed mothers sized up the assembled gentlemen as potential sons-in-laws. The mothers of the young ladies on the dance floor stood together chatting, their eyes examining each couple for any sign of interest from the gentleman with fifty thousand pounds, or the lord set to inherit. Charlotte’s spirits fell as she viewed the scene, for she disliked the greed inherent in the marriage mart.

  “Smile dear, you aren’t being led to your death,” Aunt Mary whispered.

  Charlotte pulled the corners of her mouth up into a smile, doubting the muscles of her cheeks would survive the evening. As they made their way along the edge of the dance floor, Charlotte saw Elizabeth dancing the minuet with Lord Ashford. She noticed the loving way in which they regarded one another, their smiles matching the adoration in their eyes. Something in her chest tightened at the sight of them. It was almost like jealousy.

  No, it’s just disappointment. I was counting on Elizabeth to keep me company this evening. I’m happy for her.

  Yet the feeling was there, weighing on her heart in a most unexpected way.

  Aunt Mary took Charlotte by the arm. “Come, we’ll have a better view from the other side of the room.”

  As they made their way through the crowd, Aunt Mary tapped Lady Redding on the shoulder with her fan. “Emily, do you see him?”

  Lady Redding stopped and looked around. “No, not yet.”

  “Who are you looking for?” Charlotte asked, suspicious of the two ladies as they flashed her guilty smiles. Lady Redding quickly turned to an older gentleman standing a short distance away.

  “Lord Billington, come meet my young friend, Miss Stuart.”

  The lanky lord stepped forward and bowed to Charlotte, his eyes never leaving her chest. “A pleasure Miss Stuart and might I say, what a lovely diamond necklace.”

  “Thank you.” Charlotte snapped open her fan and placed it over her chest struggling to smile through her disgust. She knew he was weighing the worth of her jewelry in an attempt to guess its value and hers. The sums must have added up, for a broad smile cracked his face but failed to illuminate his dull eyes.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked.

  “She’d be delighted,” Aunt Mary answered before Charlotte could decline.

  Charlotte offered Lord Billington a stiff hand and allowed him to lead her to the floor. Luckily, the dance was a quadrille and prevented most conversation, though Lord Billington attempted to chat with her every time the steps brought them close together.

  “Your uncle is in shipping?” Lord Billington asked. Condescension laced every word and the tediousness of the night stretched out before her.

  “Yes.” Charlotte followed the steps away from him, regretting it when the rhythm of the dance brought them back together.

  “I have lands in Nottinghamshire,” he informed her after many minutes of silence filled by the notes of the musicians and the shuffle of feet over the boards. “Though they aren’t as profitable as they used to be. You know how it is.”

  She knew exactly how it was and what he implied by the comment. Hiding her irritation behind a sweet smile, she took his limp hand for the final promenade.

  “How very unfortunate, for my lands haven’t been as profitable either.” It was a lie but it had the desired effect for Lord Billington immediately lost the greedy gleam in h
is eye.

  “I see,” he stammered, studying the other young ladies around them as they clapped for the musicians. Afterwards, he escorted her back to Aunt Mary, hastily making his excuses before heading for another mother and her daughter who wore noticeably larger diamonds than Charlotte.

  “What did you say to him?”Aunt Mary asked.

  “Nothing unusual,” Charlotte shrugged. “We merely discussed our lands.”

  Aunt Mary narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Charlotte, then resumed her conversation with Lady Redding, leaving Charlotte to study the other young ladies filling the room. All the unmarried men were sizing them up as though they were fine horses at a market and not one of the ladies seemed to mind, but Charlotte did. She didn’t want a man’s interest in her to depend on the size of her diamonds or her inheritance, but on her character, and her heart.

  Her shoulders sagged under the futility of her wish. After all, what man in London would ever look at her in such a way?

  Through a break in the crowd she spied Lord Woodcliff approaching, his eyes set on her with the same intensity which had captured her at Mr. Taylor’s. It anchored her to where she stood, even though the rational voice inside her urged her to flee to the women’s retiring room or anywhere he wasn’t.

  It wasn’t just her attention he garnered. Aunt Mary turned in a flounce of mauve satin to face him and Lady Redding fell silent beside her as Lord Woodcliff came to stand in front of them.

  Charlotte fingered the string of her fan, the same tingle which had made her forget herself at the art dealer’s making her near dizzy again. If he asked her right now to kiss him in front of all Almack’s she would.

  No, she wouldn’t. She detested him. Didn’t she?

  “Miss Stuart, would you care to dance?”

  This was almost as bad as if he’d asked her to kiss him.

  The noise of the crowd filled their silence. Aunt Mary poked her in the back with her fan.

  “Yes, of course.” No! She couldn’t possibly maintain her decorum, or her tongue, with such a querulous partner. Or maybe she could. If she refused to rise to any challenge he leveled at her, a dance might be tolerable, pleasant even, and certainly preferable to standing around admiring the woodwork.