It was time for his transformation to commence.
Chapter Seven
One must never forego an opportunity to revise the impressions of Society. The effort will be well worth it.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 25 July 1815
“It’s no good, I simply cannot abide by these deuced new fashions.”
“Of course you can. You’ve managed every other style as it came up from Paris, why should this be any different?”
Charlotte stared at Grace in shock, aghast that she should disagree. “Why? Because the sleeves are barely in existence, my shoulders are very nearly bare, and this bodice is so low that…”
Grace rolled her eyes and gestured for Annette to continue getting Charlotte ready. “Charlotte, the neckline is no lower than any other gown you have worn in the last four years. It only feels amiss due to the other aspects.”
“Aha!” Charlotte cried as her shoulders were pulled back to assist in fastening the back of her gown. “So you do concede that there are impossible factors at hand.”
“Impossible, no.” Grace shook her head, the florets and ribbons in her hair nearly shimmering in the candlelight. “Not in the least. Your figure is magnificent, and you did ask for my recommendations without a proper fitting.”
Charlotte scowled, inhaling a near gasp as the fastenings were done. “You are my most fashionable friend. I thought I should be pleased with your tastes, not sacrificed to them.” She pressed her hands to her bodice, the intermixed pearls pressing into her palms. “Am I supposed to be rendered breathless without the effect of an attractive man?”
Annette came around to face her, frowning. “You should be able to breathe freely, Miss Charlotte. Your stays are fastened only just past your usual, and the gown is not overly constricting.”
“You see?” Grace smirked in a too-superior way and waved a gloved hand at her. “Breathe, Charlotte. Exhale.”
“I’ll spill out of this contraption if I do that,” Charlotte muttered, very gradually releasing air and finding it not impossible to do so.
“You’re quite secure,” Grace assured her without concern. “We could hang you upside down, and the only scandal would be your drawers.”
Charlotte glared at her as Annette pulled her to the toilette and began to pull the papers from her curls. “If I were upside down, the skirts would cover my primary concern, so please do.”
Grace ignored her and only watched Annette gather Charlotte’s dark tresses into folds, pinning and twisting them in what had to be the most painful manner possible.
Why in the world had Charlotte agreed to this? She had plenty of fashionable gowns and had ever been one of the leaders in fashion in London Society, though she would never have claimed so aloud. She had certainly never been found wanting in any manner of attire, and yet something had possessed her to purchase several new gowns for her new matrimonial scheme.
The gown she wore now had seemed the simplest at first glance, being entirely white and the skirts holding a gently lined pattern along the length of her. Its only real embellishments were the pearls intermingled along her bodice and sleeves and the plaited satin bands at her hemline, though the stomacher and satin ribbon at her waist secured the object of her stays neatly. All told, it was not particularly dramatic unless one took in the expanse of skin upwards of the bodice, across her shoulders, and up into her hair.
But it felt dramatic.
“Should my hair not be pulled higher in the back?” Charlotte queried, catching a glimpse of herself in the looking glass.
“No, miss,” Annette replied without looking, continuing her work effortlessly. “You will see why shortly.”
Grace cleared her throat and adjusted her white kid gloves. “Patience, Charlotte, and stop ordering Annette about. She and I have worked tirelessly to perfect this look, and your opinion is not needed.”
“Not needed?” Charlotte adjusted her position in the chair, uncomfortable with being rendered voiceless. “Is it not my person we are dressing?”
“Exactly so,” Grace shot back. “We are dressing you. You are not.” Her brows quirked in a defiant show of victory that Charlotte instantly hated.
Well, she could not be expected to be entirely silent while she was turned into a doll of their creation. She was Charlotte Wright, after all.
She picked at her skirts limply. “White,” she muttered to nobody in particular. “I haven’t worn something so abjectly white since I was sixteen. Am I going as an angel in disguise? Where is my halo? Have I wings, as well?”
“You would need a disguise to be an angel in anyone’s eyes,” Grace responded simply, her eyes narrowing as she watched the transformation of Charlotte’s hair. “We’re only making sure we draw attention to you.”
“Because that has been such an issue before this.” Charlotte nodded sagely, receiving a hard tug on her hair for doing so. “A veritable wallflower am I. No one ever remembers my name.”
Grace’s eyes flicked down to hers. “Everyone sees you all the time. We must alter what seeing you means. It should bring you an interesting array of new suitors, which is what you would prefer, yes?”
Charlotte made a face, the reality of the situation staring her squarely in the face without mercy. She did need people to see her differently, needed worthy candidates for marriage to see her in earnest, and give them enough interests to pursue something more than idle flirtation in a ballroom. Her fortune was tempting enough, but any fortune hunter would be routed if the requisite affection were not in place.
Michael could help her with thinning the crowd. He knew practically everybody and somehow seemed to know their secrets, too. She hadn’t brought him around in recent days, spending much of her time plotting with the Spinsters, but if tonight went as well as she suspected, he would have a great deal to do indeed. He’d see the change in her this evening, and she could explain her plan a bit further than she first had.
Poor man might have thought she’d race off to Gretna Green with the first fellow of substance who could speak the word love and have the marriage done by Friday. He’d admire the plan she’d begun concocting; he was always praising her genius, though he usually called it madness for reasons she had yet to comprehend.
Would Michael be stunned by her appearance tonight? Would he be blinded by her luminescence, expecting his usual chum in her usual splendor? He’d have a witty remark on the subject, whatever his feelings.
New suitors. For some reason, her nerves escalated, bringing dampness to her gloveless palms and heat racing up her neck. She had grown so accustomed to her typical band of admirers and their ways that the idea of originality was unsettling.
She knew the names of several gentlemen that she could consider, but in order for any of this to work, those gentlemen had to show interest in her. At least three would be in attendance, her allies had gotten her that much information, but there was no certainty in their interest, let alone affection.
There was a great deal of work to be done on her side, and she had not exerted effort in a social setting for her own benefit in years.
Perhaps never.
What arrogance surrounded her! What airs and haughtiness, a sickening superiority that would likely have rendered her unappealing to any man worth pursuing. Edith was right; Charlotte had never tried to find the love she’d always claimed she was after. She’d simply expected the thing to fall into her lap like so many of the buffoons that had paid homage to her.
Worthless years, the lot of them. Not in every regard, but in this, there was no other conclusion.
No more.
Tonight, she would begin anew, and she would hunt for love the way she should have done from the beginning. The lone remaining Spinster with a capital S who was also a spinster of the other variety would soon join the ranks of her peers, and no one would ever claim she had not tried to do so again.
“Yes,” Charlotte told Grace, eventually answering the question posed. “New suitors are what I would prefer. The highest
quality, if you please.”
Grace grinned at the addition. “And who shall be keeper of the candidates, Miss Wright?”
“Why, you, if you’ve an interest.” Charlotte waved a hand regally, a queen in her imagined court. “Send the riffraff away, and only my most valuable options may kneel.”
“Marquesses, dukes, and very wealthy earls,” Grace announced with a firm nod. “Yes, my lady.”
Charlotte would have shrugged had Annette allowed it. “Titles don’t mean so very much to me, as it happens. It would be lovely, but I can hardly make that a requirement. Dukes, after all, do not grow on trees. I already have wealth, so what I really need is land.”
Grace clapped her hands, laughing merrily. “Oh, but this is perfect! I shall interview each man that wishes to approach. ‘Pardon me, sir, but how much property do you own?’ And if it be not the finest estate in its county, we shall not accept it!”
“Erm…” Charlotte held up a finger, wincing. “Might we be excused from Northumberland?”
“Northumberland is quite lovely, Miss Charlotte,” Annette chimed in with her own slight laugh. “Have you never been?”
Charlotte met the maid’s eyes in the looking glass. “When would I have been to Northumberland, Annette? I’ve nothing against the place, to be sure, it’s only the furthest one can get while remaining in England, and that does not interest me in the least.”
“What if you catch the eye of a dashing Scotsman?” Grace asked. “Or an Irishman with the voice of a god?”
“That’s altogether different,” Charlotte insisted, sniffing as she averted her eyes. “If I am to live outside of England, so be it. It can be quite fashionable to be in Scotland or Ireland much of the year. But if I am to be in England, I only ask that it not be so difficult to get to the rest of the country.”
Grace snickered and shook her head. “I shall do my best to render that possible. I do not promise to keep from Northumberland, though. Now you mention it, I think you would be well suited to the county…”
Charlotte scowled at her friend playfully, her head rocking back a little as Annette pulled again. “You’ll find my amusement rapidly waning, Lady Ingram.”
“Alas, that is when I find mine increases.” Grace batted her lashes, baring a would-be innocent smile for her. She sobered and began to nod fervently. “Oh, yes, Annette. Absolutely lovely. A marvelous shade, I think.”
Shade? What shade could there be when Charlotte would resemble an adorned snowbank?
Grace moved to stand in front of the looking glass before Charlotte could see, a small smile returning to her face.
Charlotte placed a very deep frown on hers in response. “Grace…”
“Give it a moment, Charlotte,” she answered in a voice that held more excitement than her expression or frame allowed. “Trust me in this. Just a few moments more.”
Sighing, Charlotte all but slumped back in her chair, and likely would have done were she not in the process of being trussed into the personification of a ray of light. A few moments for what? She was well aware of her appearance, and it wasn’t likely to change in a particularly shocking way. What was a new frock and a new style of hair, after all?
Would any of this truly be of benefit to her?
Images of Charlotte standing alone near a wall of the Preston family ballroom filled her mind, the feeling of a full two-meter radius seeming to extend from her imagination to her reality, and she shivered. Were any ideas of gossip columns circulating in the minds of London Society, the sight of her standing so acutely abandoned would certainly be described therein. As it was, the spoken gossip would carry her name in such a reference for weeks.
That would not help her get a husband.
Something cool brushed against the exposed skin of her chest and moved upwards to her throat. Her hand moved to touch it, and the smooth spheres beneath her fingertips surprised her.
“Pearls?” she asked the others. “When the gown has pearls already?”
Grace nodded fervently. “Oh, yes. One moment more, and you shall see.” She bit her lip very briefly, nearly dancing where she stood.
How in the world could anyone else’s dressing up create such joy and anticipation for her? Charlotte would never be good enough in her wildest imaginations to feel so much on someone else’s behalf, but this was why she was friends with people like Izzy and Grace. Their influence was undoubtedly responsible for any of the sweetness that Charlotte had developed in her nature, but none of them had managed to bring her into true goodness.
Not yet.
She felt Annette’s hands gently press against the sides of her hair and thought that perhaps some sort of conclusion had been reached.
Impossibly, she held her breath.
Grace held out her hands and pulled Charlotte to her feet. “Now, my dear, I think you need to see yourself. Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready from the beginning, oh noble jailer,” Charlotte muttered, moving to the looking glass Grace had hidden from her.
Her jaw dropped at the sight.
The folds of white and shimmer of pearls rendered her an almost ethereal air, and while the neckline was indeed lower, the expanded view of her skin only added to the charm of it all. Nothing was excessively revealed, and, in fact, seemed somehow more secure than many of the other gowns she had worn a few times over. All about her was white, including the newly purchased kid gloves, though she had several pairs. According to Grace, a special evening was always an occasion for new gloves.
That seemed rather squandering, but in this instance, it was certainly true. The pearls at her neck were the perfect accessory to those interlayered about her gown, and the neat yet lax knot of them just at the base of her throat could not fail to attract attention. Her dark hair held loose ringlets prominently displayed in the front while her hind hair had been dressed low, just as she had felt. What she had not expected was the reason for it.
Several damask roses had been placed at the crown of her head near the back, she would venture a true garland of them, all told. Scattered about them were pearl hair pins to accentuate the sable darkness of her hair. The gentle rise of color there only heightened the pristine appearance of all else she wore, and the color of her cheeks, naturally rosy, now seemed ready to bloom.
Charlotte Wright could have been a diamond of the first water looking like this, and she had never been that before. She might have been wealthy, might have been lovely, might have had several willing suitors from the beginning, but she had never been the best or brightest or most beautiful in a room.
Tonight, that would change.
“Heavens,” Charlotte breathed, looking herself up and down. “I look remarkably tall.”
Grace laughed in disbelief and put her hands on Charlotte’s arms, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “Is that all you have to say? Charlotte, this is a transformation!”
Charlotte nodded, fighting for the wit she usually had so at hand. It would not be prudent to show overt emotion now, particularly when she was expected to be so very charming and polite later.
“Yes, and now we shall have to carry this on for the rest of the Season at every public appearance,” she snapped, though her words lacked the snide edge she had hoped for. “I do hope you will remember that when I become habitually cantankerous with an aching head and a bruised waist.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed as Charlotte stepped away. “I think you’re hiding your true feelings, Charlotte, under a blanket of wit.”
“Hmm,” Charlotte said simply as she reached for her reticule and fan nearby, winking her thanks to Annette. “Well, you may think that all you like. Why should tonight be any different?”
A huffed exhale escaped Grace as she followed Charlotte out of the room. “Meaning?” she demanded.
Charlotte paused at the top of the stairs. “I always hide my true feelings under a blanket of wit. Surely you know that by now.” She winked and descended the stairs without any of the grace a woman in such a gown should have.
She couldn’t bring herself to care, not with the picture of comportment following her.
Grace could fall down the stairs in a gliding manner and receive praise for doing so. She’d have to avoid her friend the whole evening if she truly wished to get anywhere.
“What was that I heard?” Aubrey, Lord Ingram, asked as he came to the stairs. He smiled a warm, friendly smile at Charlotte and bowed. “Stunning picture, Charlotte. Well done.”
Charlotte favored him with a curtsey, a rarity indeed for her more familiar friends. “Many thanks, my lord.” She snickered and tapped her fan into her hand. “We were talking of blankets and wit.”
Aubrey raised a brow as he moved past her to help his wife down the remaining stairs, though she did not require the assistance. “What in the world for?”
Charlotte ignored the way her heart stumbled as she witnessed the quick but fervent look between her friends, the secrets that only those who shared a heart could know.
Had Aubrey offered his hand to Grace simply to touch her? He was a gentleman to his core, but there was nothing particularly complicated requiring his specific attentiveness to his wife. Was it his way to ensure she was always safe? Did he wish for her to know instinctively that he would always be there? Did he test himself by waiting for her to take his hand, still breathlessly wondering if she would after being married to him this far?
There was a connection she could not understand or translate there, and she was instantly envious. Delighted for her friend, but envious at her own lack. Did that make her ungrateful?
“I am rather fond of both,” Charlotte told Aubrey. “Blankets and wit.”
His mouth curved in a smile. “Well, it is a rather underrated combination in the evenings, I will allow.”
Charlotte looked at Grace with some superiority, and her friend only rolled her eyes at them both.
“Are we the last ones down?” Charlotte asked Aubrey, returning her attention to him. “I am sorry you have had such a wait.”
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