by Sara Reinke
* * * *
Lady Epping did not accompany them. As their carriage embarked along the northern highway, Lord Epping did his best to reassure his family that all was well, nothing amiss. “She is not feeling well, that is all,” he said. “This damp chill that comes with autumn always affects her poorly. She will be right again in short measure, I am sure of it.”
He made a point to lean over and pat Charlotte’s hand, drawing her gaze. “She will recover, lamb,” he told her gently, and she smiled at him, feeling some tender obligation to make him think his efforts worked.
She did not miss the whispers that greeted them upon their arrival. She could feel the heavy weight of stares and sideways glances; with every step, as Reilly escorted her on his arm into the ballroom, she heard murmured comments, muffled sniffs, and fluttering gasps.
“Can you believe she would come?” she heard Payton Stockley say to another young woman as they moved past. “And into Lord Roding’s own house, no less! Truly, how could she ever summon the nerve?”
“Pay them no mind, Charlotte,” Reilly said, draping his hand against hers.
“I am not,” Charlotte replied. “Do not worry for that.” She smiled, and he smiled back for her, an unspoken way of making amends.
The Earl of Essex’s home, Roding Castle, was named for the ruins of a Norman fortress west of the house, along its broad, expansive grounds. Though unused, the solitary, crumbling tower stood as a looming sentry over the enormous, neighboring house; a venerable and dignified silhouette against a backdrop of vermilion and gold sky visible from every window in the ballroom as the sun settled beyond the horizon. Charlotte longed to steal away from the massive crowd, and the swirling gossip muttered at her expense, to slip outside onto one of the broad terraces overlooking the tiered gardens and enjoy the vibrant hues of dusk splashed against the ancient stones of the tower.
She did not have the chance, however. Caroline had overheard their arrival announced, and she had waded through the crowd to reach them, dragging her husband behind her. “Here you are, darlings!” she exclaimed to Reilly and Charlotte, smiling broadly as she approached. “Oh, Charlotte, you wore the sacque dress! I knew it would suit you splendidly. Does she not look divine, Randall?”
“Indeed,” Lord Harlow said, his heavy-lidded, somewhat bored gaze wandering briefly toward Charlotte.
“Lord Theydon is here,” Caroline said. “He arrived only moments ago.”
Charlotte smiled despite herself. “Where?” she asked as she struggled to peer over the crowded mass of heads and upswept coifs. “Where is he?”
“He is back in the corner,” Caroline replied. “Lord Woodside is with him, and fairly well trapped for the moment by Lady Kelvinside and her loathsome daughter, Rebecca. She has tried for ages now to force that dreadful girl into Lord Woodside’s company. She has the tenacity of a terrier set upon a gristly hambone.”
She took Randall and Charlotte by the hands, drawing them together. “Here, Randall, do be a love and see my sister entertained,” she said. “I will go fetch Lord Theydon. Let the gossip hags wag their tongues to know your family approves so fondly.” She grinned brightly, delighted at this prospect, and whirled about and was off again before Charlotte could even draw breath in full to protest. She looked vainly to Reilly for rescue, but her brother was gone, having ducked among the crowd and disappeared, offering greetings of his own.
Charlotte blinked up at Randall and he returned her gaze with all of the interest of a man enduring a lengthy and droning sermon. They stood there together for a long moment, an uncomfortable silence apparent between them.
“Caroline tells me you have been in London for business, Lord Harlow,” Charlotte said at last.
“Yes,” Randall said with a nod. This seemed to be the extent of reply he intended to offer, oblivious to her attempt to make idle conversation, and Charlotte struggled to smile.
“May I ask what manner of business, my lord?” she said.
He glanced at her. “I am part of a collaborative effort with some of my more well-esteemed fellows,” he said. “We should like to shortly establish a lending firm within the city.”
Charlotte raised her brow. “A lending firm?”
Randall nodded. “My associates and I shall each contribute initial capital to be made available by means of loan notes to finance endeavors, particularly potential new commerce ventures, importing and exporting. These loans would be remitted with generous interest accrued.”
“That sounds like a lucrative opportunity,” Charlotte said.
He awarded her a slight upturn of his lips, as he might a curious and wide-eyed child. “Yes, I should hope that it will be,” he said.
“It must require a great deal of upfront capital,” she said.
“Yes, well, I am suitably endowed from my familial inheritance,” Randall said. “And my constituents are in likewise financial circumstances. Our principle proponent and benefactor is Lord Essex himself. It was his idea, actually.”
“The earl?” Charlotte asked, blinking in surprise. She had known that the Earl of Essex frequented London for business, but she had not imagined that James’s father would prove so unconventional and bold in his endeavors. She had to admit, at least to herself, that she was impressed. “Is that what has kept Lord Essex all of this while? I have noticed his absence at the festivities this week, and have wondered, given it is his daughter’s wedding and all.”
“Lady Essex is more than capable of handling social affairs, and my lord trusts her to it,” Randall replied. “We have all been kept busy in London of late, but him more so than any other. He will wrest himself away for the nuptials. Do not fret for it.”
He mistook her expression for bewilderment, and smiled again. “I am certain such things must seem confusing to you, my dear,” he said. “I should not have troubled your fair head over the details.”
Charlotte resisted the urge to scowl at him. She caught sight of Kenley in the crowd; Caroline had been true to her word, and found him. Charlotte’s eyes met Kenley’s and she smiled brightly.
“May I have this next dance?” asked a voice from her right, deliberately near her ear. Charlotte felt a hand brush her sleeve in beckon, and she turned, startled to find James beside her.
“James…” she said, breathless and wide-eyed.
James smiled at her thinly, his gaze crawling along her form. She could nearly feel each lingering, creeping moment of his glance, as he admired her bosom straining atop the confines of her stomacher, the cinched, tiny measure of her waist, the promising swell of her hips exaggerated by her pannier. “Lord Harlow, what a pleasure,” he said, without averting his gaze from Charlotte’s breasts. “How do you fare, sir?”
“Well indeed, Lord Roding,” Randall said. “And yourself?”
“At the moment? Quite splendid,” James said. A quartet had struck a melody from the dance floor, and he raised his eyes to hers again, his brow lifted. “They have signaled a minuet,” he told her. “May I have this dance?”
“I…” Charlotte said, glancing at Randall. It was obvious she could expect no escape through him, and her eyes darted to the crowd, desperate for Caroline and Kenley. “I… thank you, Lord Roding, but no,” she stammered. “I… I have only just arrived, and I should like to offer greetings to familiar faces.”
James’s smile widened. “I might be inclined to accept your refusal were we later into the evening,” he said. As he spoke, she caught a tangy whiff of brandy on his breath; it was strong enough to make her step back from him. “However, the night has only just begun, and proper etiquette says to turn me down prohibits you from accepting any other proffered dance.”
Charlotte blinked at him, caught by courteous protocol. James was right.
“I could not help but notice that your dashing young betrothed is here. He shall surely and dearly love his chance with you upon the floor…” James said this with a particularly mean edge to his voice, jading his words with perfectly undisguised implic
ation. “I hope you would reconsider before refusing my offer.”
Charlotte’s brows narrowed as she held his gaze. “I do not think it would be proper to accept, James, given the circumstances,” she said.
“Given the alternatives, I think you will agree it would be prudent to do so anyway,” he replied.
Charlotte frowned. “Fine,” she said. “It is only a dance. I imagine I can survive.”
James smiled at her, offering his elbow genteelly. “Splendid, then,” he said.