The two couples continued their walk around the lake, with everyone's mind on something different.
********
Charlotte concentrated on the feel of the pianist's arm. It felt strong and muscular, even under the fine cloth of his coat. He hadn't spoken to her much, other than a few pleasantries. She wondered if it had something to do with their conversation the evening before.
Hating to be kept in the dark, and not wanting to mistake his silence as censure, Charlotte asked, “Perhaps we should continue our conversation from yesterday, Mr. Richter.” Not able to meet his gaze, Charlotte kept her eyes solidly on the back of her sister, walking several yards ahead of them.
“Then we should start with you calling me Wilhelm, as we agreed to do last night, Charlotte.” His voice was calm, like listening to waves rolling into the shore. It was one of the things that attracted him the most to her.
Suddenly apprehensive, Charlotte didn't know where to begin. Their conversation centered mostly on their having a liaison. When it came to sex, Charlotte had little experience. She and her husband had consummated their marriage, but once he became ill, that part of their relationship was over. Even when they had shared a bed, it was a darkened room, with no speaking to one another. As far as Charlotte was concerned, it had been more perfunctory, in the hopes that she would become pregnant.
Which was why she had so much trouble understanding her feelings with regard to Wilhelm. How his just being so close to her made her tingle in secret places. How his few kisses made her pant with desire for something more. How she wanted to see all of him, in his all together, and discover the differences between their bodies. It was enough to send her into a tailspin of despair, thinking badly of her feelings and desires.
“I have not the experience you do, sir. The whole subject is as foreign to me as would be a trip to Africa.” Charlotte prided herself on honesty, even if it meant blushing bright red.
Turning toward her slightly, whispering in her ear, Wilhelm responded, “Then let me teach you all there is to know, Charlotte. Let me show you how wonderful passion can be.”
Closing her eyes to his words, she let him lead her along the path. In her mind, she pictured what he would do to her. She wondered if it would be quite so amazing as she kept envisioning it.
Finally opening her eyes, she spoke in a breathy voice, “But how? You could not visit me at my home and I could not visit you at Lady Melbourne's home. I have no idea how we could achieve any privacy.”
“You will be attending Lady Hopewell's house party, no?”
Taking in his measure with a sideways glance, she saw his smile. It was confident and arrogant. The tingling grew more insistent. “Yes,” she answered.
Turning to look at her, his beautiful green eyes fairly shone in the sunshine. “I am to attend as well. Lady Hopewell claims a love of the classics and would brook no argument over her need for a great pianist.”
“But my mother...” He never let her finish her sentence, instead placing a finger gingerly on her lips.
“You will not share a room with her, Charlotte. I can come, in the dead of night.”
A gasp escaped her lips at the thought. Could Wilhelm come to her room, spend the night and leave unnoticed? As much as discovery terrified her, anticipation made her mouth turn dry.
“Three weeks seems a long time to wait,” she said as her body thrummed in anticipation.
Although Wilhelm had never wanted for anything growing up, he felt like a spoiled child being deprived a precious gift. God knew he'd had his share of women, from all over the continent. His patronesses were never only generous in their accommodations. His talent had opened doors for him, both financially and erotically. But until he'd met Charlotte, he never imagined he would fall in love with just one woman.
Since the first night they met, he was smitten. Charlotte was intelligent, and very well versed in music. She possessed the same passion for music that had driven him all his life. With her golden brown hair and light blue eyes, Wilhelm would have sworn that she came from the same Bavarian valley as his family. Her angelic features and soft spoken voice made her his perfect mate, as far as he was concerned.
Even with several offers, Wilhelm had not been to any woman's bed since the night they met. Which made him somewhat desperate and maybe a little needy. He was fortunate that Lady Melbourne was truly a lover of his music, and not his body, as she had never requested him in such a way. The lady's generosity would end when he left for Lady Hopewell's estate. After which, Wilhelm had planned to return home. Now, he didn't know what he would do.
“If I think of another way, I will contact you. Right now, it is all we have, my dear.” His smile was sad, but he didn't want her to be so. “In the meantime, we will have each other's company as often as possible.”
Returning his smile, Charlotte gazed into his eyes. “Yes, I do so enjoy our conversations. There will be time for other things... in a few weeks.”
Turning his attention to the couple in front of them, Wilhelm asked, “I wonder what has your sister so engrossed. Has Lord Conway made an offer?”
“Not yet, that I know of. I believe he is going to formally court my sister.”
“And your sister? Does she return his affections?” he asked, curious if he would be asked to play at a wedding soon.
Scrunching her eyebrows, Charlotte stared at her sister in earnest. “To be honest, I do not know. She seems to like to spend time with him, but she has not mentioned any special feelings for him.”
“If he plans to attend Lady Hopewell's party as well, maybe something will be said then.”
“Perhaps.”
Chapter 11
Lady Penelope stalked her drawing room like a lion in a cage. Every turn around the small space, she would adjust an object to a slightly different angle, fluffed a pillow to a higher peak. Her nerves were frayed to the breaking point and she was certain that at any moment she would pop. When the door opened, Penelope jumped as she turned and watched her mother enter the room.
“Are you well, child? Tis only a few minutes until Lord Townshend arrives. Can you not calm yourself?”
Penelope smiled. Her mother would never understand. Men like Lord Townshend did not pay calls on girls like Penelope. Although her father had a respected title, he didn't have outstanding wealth as some did. At heart, her father was just a small country boy, given a title after an elderly relative passed without a son. Her parents were older than most, since her mother had much trouble getting pregnant. When she was born a girl, her father proclaimed his joy over having a little princess to spoil. He never begrudged her the fact that he had no heir, since the title shouldn't have been his in the first place.
Words like willowy, statuesque or beautiful were not used around Penelope. She fit more into the categories of plain, simple, and undistinguished. Growing up, it had never occurred to her to care, as she had a few friends in her village and they never seemed inclined toward beauty either. When she went to finishing school, she mostly kept to herself and avoided all the title hunting débutante wannabes.
In her second season, Penelope had yet to make any new friends. Sarah was the only girl to ever approach her with overtures of friendship. It was almost every night that she wondered why the beautiful girl even bothered. After all, she could be friends with anyone.
What had shocked her more than her new friendship was Lord Townshend's interest in her. His hair was the color Penelope always wanted. The brown was liberally covered by lighter highlights, making it glow in the candlelight. His gray eyes pierced her as though he could read her mind. She rarely saw him smile, but on the few occasions that she did, his face turned boyish. As far as Penelope Hammersmith was concerned, he was heartbreakingly handsome.
When he approached a few evenings before and asked her to dance, she could hardly believe it. When she realized it was a waltz, she'd thought she died and went to heaven. And when she learned that they shared a love of botany, she knew beyond a doubt that
their meeting was destined. It was their shared love of plant life that brought him calling on her that day, as he requested to see her specimens.
Penelope had learned about plants from her father. Together, they had developed several new species of roses, creating new shades of color and broader leaves. Although most of their work was at their country estate, Penelope and her father had a greenhouse in the back garden of their townhouse.
At the sound of the heavy door knocker, Penelope felt her heart jump into her throat. Sitting herself next to her mother, she closed her eyes and willed her heart to stop hammering. Begging herself to be sophisticated, Penelope repeated over and over again in her head to stay calm and act cosmopolitan. Finally opening her eyes, she watched as the butler entered the parlor to announce their guest.
“Lord Townshend, my ladies.”
As the man himself entered the parlor, all cool indifference and quiet sophistication, she again wondered why he wanted to be with her.
“Good day to you, my lord. What a great honor it is to have you in our home again.” Lady Hammersmith, who like her husband had had no aspirations to a title, rather enjoyed London and its activities.
“And to you as well, my lady.” Turning his eye to Penelope, who immediately exhibited a blush creeping up her cheeks, he said, “And a good day to you, too, Lady Penelope.”
Her first attempt to speak came out as a squeak. Determined not to make a fool of herself, she discreetly cleared her throat and responded, “I am so glad you were able to come, my lord. My father and I rarely get a chance to show off our collection. It will be an honor to show you some of my favorites.”
His only response was to raise his eyebrow, which only served to raise her blood pressure. Trying with all her might to remain calm, Penelope smiled sweetly in return.
“Before my daughter shows off her plants, would you care for some refreshment, my lord?” Lady Hammersmith was always the hostess, much to Penelope's dismay.
“Thank you, my lady,” Townshend said. He waited for Lady Hammersmith to rise and order the tea before taking a seat across from Penelope.
An uncomfortable silence descended over the room and no one knew what to say. Penelope wanted to discuss her botany projects, but knew her mother had nothing to say on the subject. Lady Hammersmith would have preferred to gossip, but figured Lord Townshend wouldn't have anything to contribute. And Lord Townshend wanted to see how far he could push an intimate conversation with Penelope, but certainly couldn't do any such thing in front of her mother. So it was at that precipitous moment that Lord Hammersmith made his entrance and immediately engaged Townshend in a discussion about government issues.
Penelope took the time to collect herself. When the tea arrived, Lady Hammersmith poured for everyone. Her father finally took a breath and Penelope took the opportunity.
“Lord Townshend, do you attempt any experiments when you are in Town or do you only keep your specimens in the country?” Penelope was proud that she was able to ask the question without stuttering.
“I have a greenhouse in my back garden as well. I doubt it will be as impressive as what you and your father have achieved.”
Penelope decided that his voice could melt butter.
Lord Hammersmith, seeing an area of superiority, spoke up. “Yes, my Penelope is excellent when it comes to grafting. She has single-handedly cultivated several new varieties of roses.”
Smiling, Lord Townshend turned his gaze on the woman in question. “Is that so?”
“Yes, indeed it is. My girl has quite a head for any plant life. In the country, I swear she spends more time with her plantings than with the rest of us.”
Penelope's eyes widened, as she silently begged her father to shut his mouth. Wasn't she considered an oddball enough, without her father reinforcing the impression. Before he could say something worse, Penelope spoke up.
“Perhaps Lord Townshend would like a tour of our greenhouse, father.”
Lifting the edges of his mouth, Lord Townshend's eyes fairly sparkled at her embarrassment. “Indeed I would, Hammersmith.”
The group ventured outside, with Lady Hammersmith opting to sit on the terrace and work on her embroidery. Lord Hammersmith started talking from the moment they entered the greenhouse, seemingly without taking a breath. He pointed out everything, including some of his own projects.
Penelope waited patiently for her father to allow her to speak, but it wasn't until the butler arrived to remind her father of a meeting with his man of business, that she got her chance.
“Damn bad luck. I had completely forgotten that Mr. Talbott was to arrive today. If you would excuse me, Townshend, I won't be but a few minutes, I am sure.”
“Take your time, Hammersmith. I am sure your daughter can fill me in on any particulars.”
As if seeing his daughter for the first time, Lord Hammersmith realized that this was her only chance to finally catch a husband. “Right, right. Beg your pardon. My wife will be on the terrace should you need anything.” With that, he left the greenhouse and disappeared into the house. Thankfully, Lady Hammersmith continued to work on her embroidery, without disturbing the pair.
“I am terribly sorry about my father, my lord. He is very passionate about his plantings that he tends to forget to take a breath.” He barely caught her shy smile, as she turned away quickly.
After making sure her mother was occupied, Martin stepped closer to Penelope, whispering in her ear. “Tis nothing, Lady Penelope. I know a thing or two about being passionate on a subject.”
The warm breath against her ear sent a shiver down her spine. She'd met any number of men during the season, but none had shown much interest in her. Truthfully speaking, there were none that she'd had much interest in either. Penelope wasn't so shallow that good looks and money could turn her head so easily, but there was something about Lord Townshend that made her remember that underneath it all, she was still a woman.
Without turning to look at him, she said, “I would like to show you my latest project, if you're interested.”
“I would be honored.”
Together, the pair walked to the back of the greenhouse, to a serviceable wooden table covered in assorted plantings and soil. Martin noticed that her mother's view was limited from where she sat.
“As you can see, I have started with a variety of rosa rugosa . I have found that they are the heartiest of the many varieties I have used.”
Reaching over to point out a vibrant yellow rose, Penelope felt Martin's hand on her shoulder. His hand slowly moved down her arm, then his fingers left her skin, to feel the petals of the flower she was pointing out. His voice was deep when he said, “Very soft. And very beautiful.”
Terrified to look him in the eye, but unable to stop herself, Penelope turned and looked at the viscount. As their eyes locked, Martin reached up and pulled her spectacles off her face, carefully folding them and placing them on the table beside them. His fingers slowly ran along her jawline, ending with his thumb rubbing her bottom lip.
Penelope forgot how to breath. At that moment, she knew she would give up anything if he would only kiss her. She had never been kissed and until then, she hadn't cared either way. Now she cared a great deal, but had no idea what to do in return.
“I do not think you know just how beautiful you are, Penelope.”
His words shot warmth throughout her body. He thinks I am beautiful? she thought as he continued to stare in her eyes.
“Thank you, my lord,” was all her mind would allow her to say, as if her brain were too busy with other more pleasant distractions.
He gave her a roguish half-smile, his hand still caressing her cheek. Although they were alone, he whispered conspiratorially, “I think you may call me Martin. At least when we are alone.”
She gave him a slow smile in return. “I should like that very much, Martin.”
He bent slowly down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Even though chaste and short lived, Penelope thought it the most romanti
c kiss she would ever receive. Sadly, it was over too soon, and Martin stood back up and stepped back a pace from her. His actions jolted her from her fancy and she quickly turned and retrieved her glasses. When again on her nose, she chanced a look at him before turning around and looking back on her roses.
Martin leaned against the table, turned toward the door in case someone should appear. “I should very much like to give you a proper kiss sometime, Penelope.”
Turning her head and looking at him strangely, she asked, “So, that kiss? Was it not proper?”
He smiled at her confusion. “I beg your pardon. That kiss was extremely proper. What I meant to say was that I would very much like to give you an extraordinarily improper kiss.”
A Lesson in Friendship Page 12