Charlotte had been surprised she was allowed to attend the Washburns’ dinner party. She had assumed she would be under house arrest until her father’s temper cooled or he could make arrangements to ship her to Yorkshire.
But Mother had informed her midmorning that they would all be attending the Washburns’ “do.” “It would be too awkward to cancel now, and to stay home would make for imbalanced numbers at Mrs. Washburn’s table. As for you, I’m not going to tell you what’s at stake here or what your father will do if you cross him.”
Charlotte had nodded, still sick at heart and tired after a fitful night. It had been all she could do not to weep as she had walked past the ash heap in the mews to enter the carriage.
The ride had been accomplished in silence, which suited Charlotte just fine. She needed to plan. Perhaps tonight she would meet the man she would marry, though it would probably be a small dinner party and her chances of even talking to an eligible bachelor were slim. Tomorrow evening’s ball at the Pembertons’ would most likely have better prospects. Still, she could practice tonight.
Practice holding her tongue on important issues, make the dreaded “small talk” she loathed, and flatter every male in her vicinity.
The knot in her stomach tightened.
“Come.” Mother headed out of the receiving room and into the hall where Father waited. A liveried footman showed them into a withdrawing room, already crowded with people. So much for a small dinner party. There must be twenty guests here.
She scanned the room, chiding herself for searching for prospects. It made her feel predatory. Stop it. Many of them will be looking for a suitable mate too. It isn’t as if you’re going to bash an unsuspecting male over the head and drag him off to a preacher. It’s perfectly normal to evaluate the guests for a potential spouse. Every unmarried girl and her mother will be doing the same.
“Oh, Verona, it’s so lovely to see you.” Mrs. Bosworth rose from her chair, bussing Mother’s cheek with a kiss that didn’t land. No look or gesture indicated that the incident at the Frost Festival had ever happened. Mrs. Bosworth offered Charlotte a limp hand and a brief nod.
Evidently what Mother had said was true. It was up to a society woman to pretend nothing had or was happening when it came to marital infidelity. And her friends too, at least when the woman was present. They probably couldn’t wait to dissect it and gossip about the victim as soon as she was out of earshot.
But not so with society males, it seemed. Dudley Bosworth shot a quick glance at Charlotte and hurried away across the room as if she carried something contagious. He wouldn’t pretend nothing had happened or that he didn’t know about her father’s betrayal.
So I can cross Dudley off the potential-husband list. Charlotte almost laughed. He couldn’t have moved faster if his coattails were on fire. Somehow I am not feeling the loss.
A stir went through the room as new arrivals came in. Mrs. Bosworth snapped her fan open, and behind it, she whispered to Mother, “It’s the Duke of Haverly and his mother. I believe this is the first social event they’ve attended since their loss. Quite a coup for Mrs. Washburn.”
“Such a terrible thing to happen to Her Grace, losing her husband and son that way. At least she had a ‘spare’ to inherit. I suppose the new duke will be looking for a wife himself now. Whoever runs him to earth will have the prize of the Season.”
Charlotte’s ears perked up, and she sought out the duke. Not that she would aim so high. That would be ridiculous. But it didn’t hurt to look.
He was easy to spot, mostly because every eye in the room was on him. Tall, with dark hair worn longer than current fashion dictated. A decent set of shoulders too. Definitely masculine and impeccably dressed. Nothing of the namby-pamby about this one.
He looked over the room, almost as if taking a catalog of the guests, and for a moment his gaze lingered on Charlotte. To her dismay, heat surged into her cheeks, and she found herself staring in a most unladylike way.
A maxim of her mother’s drifted through her mind. Curiosity is like a woman’s petticoat. She should never let it show. Yet Charlotte could not look away.
At last his eyes moved on and she could breathe again.
What a strange reaction, especially to a man she’d never met. Get a firm grip on yourself, Charlotte Tiptree. You’re not a simpering miss to have her head turned by a handsome man with a title. She tried to pay attention to what Mrs. Bosworth was saying.
“They waited months for the birth, and then the child turned out to be a girl. At least they named the baby after the duchess. Honora Mary, I heard.”
“That will be small comfort. I heard she had her heart set on a boy. Though why it was so important to her when she had another son to inherit, I can’t understand.”
Mrs. Bosworth shook her head. “Her Grace has never had much time for her second son. They sent him to university and then bought him a commission. He’s out of the army now, and for the past while he’s been kicking around London doing nothing. A bit of a disappointment to her, I gather. Still, he’ll be the focus of many a matchmaking mother this year.” Her glance flicked to Charlotte. She gave a quick shrug.
Mrs. Bosworth must think he was beyond Charlotte’s reach too. Why that rankled her, she didn’t know. She had no plans to stalk the Duke of Haverly, but it hurt to know that others thought she had no chance either.
“Dinner is served.” The butler’s formal announcement reached over the conversations.
Then began an elaborate ritual in which everyone sorted themselves out by rank and partnered up to go into the dining room. Charlotte found herself on the arm of an elderly baronet a few inches shorter than she. He patted her hand on his arm and gave her a cheeky wink. “I’m the envy of every man here, my dear, getting to escort the only lady present under forty. I thought I might be escorting that old hag Agatha Wilson. Her expression could sour milk. Quite liverish, she is. You’re a much better partner.”
She grinned back, liking him instantly. She’d long thought the same of Mrs. Wilson’s countenance, though she’d never put it quite so aptly.
The dining room blazed with candlelight. Wall sconces, candelabra, the chandelier, all casting the room in a warm glow. Mrs. Washburn must’ve added every leaf to her table. There was barely room to move around the ends to find their seats. The friendly old baronet surrendered her to a waiting footman who held her chair, and she eased into it.
Her one hope had been that she would not have to sit too near her father, and that wish had been granted. He, as an earl, was seated nearer their hostess than Charlotte. Mother was at the other end of the table and on the opposite side from her husband. Charlotte sat near the middle, where she could hear many of the conversations. It suited her.
Except that Dudley Bosworth sat across from her.
She looked down the table to find the Duke of Haverly’s eyes on her again. He inclined his head, giving her a small smile from his place at Mrs. Washburn’s right hand. As the ranking peer, he had the most favored seat.
Her heart lifted, holding his gaze. He was nice to look at, and his face had an air of intelligence too. As if he was more than a fancy suit and a title. He was university educated, if Mrs. Bosworth was to be believed, though she had met men who had been to Oxford or Cambridge before, and one wouldn’t know it. Perhaps it was his military service that had broadened his mind?