Shana Galen (18 page)

Charlotte choked on the pat answer she had had ready on her tongue.

“Too soon to know, of course,” her mother-in-law filled in. “But if I know my son, it won’t be long. Oh good Lord, girl, stop blushing. We don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to.”

“And how have you and Lydia been?” Charlotte quickly changed the subject. Perhaps she did not really want anyone to confide in after all. “You seem well,” she added.

“I am quite well, and Lydia…hmm, we shall see tonight how things go with Lydia.”

Charlotte slanted a curious glance at Lady Dewhurst, then crossed the room and sat down at her small ebony dressing table. With its Sèvres
porcelain plaques in various floral designs and the delicate ormolu mounts, the table was easily Charlotte’s favorite piece of furniture in the room. Sometimes she would sit at it for hours and trace the designs on the plaques of the table and the mirror. Now she adjusted the graceful black and gilt curule chair, feeling just like one of those ancient Roman senators who had once presided in similar chairs.

“Are you speaking of the ball tonight?” Charlotte asked, pinning up her damp hair and threading a white silk ribbon through it.

“We expect Lord Westman to make Lydia a proposal,” Lady Dewhurst said, eyes trained on Charlotte’s progress. A slight twist of her mouth or a raise of an eyebrow guided Charlotte’s actions. Charlotte might not always agree with her mother-in-law, but the peacock did know her coiffures.

“I assume Lydia will accept.”

“Mmm,” Lady Dewhurst said noncommittally. Charlotte craned her head to the side to see the baroness, but with a swish of her plum skirt, the older woman moved quickly out of sight. Before Charlotte could press any further, there was a hesitant tap on her door.

“Come,” Lady Dewhurst answered for her.

It was Hester. “Your Ladyship, pardon me, but would you like me to straighten up now and gather your washing, or should I come back
later?” The plump maid bobbed her head up and down as she spoke.

“You may begin your duties now,” Freddie’s mother commanded before Charlotte could even open her mouth.

Hester bobbed her head and addressed Charlotte again. “I don’t want to be in the way, my lady.”

Charlotte smiled. She was really beginning to like Hester. “You won’t be in our way, Hester. We are going down to breakfast just now anyway.”

Once in the dining room, she and Lady Dewhurst gathered a few morsels from the sideboard and seated themselves. Mrs. Pots bustled about fetching various items for Freddie’s mother before the housekeeper took her leave. As she exited through the butler’s pantry, she paused and said to Charlotte, “I left copies of the menus for today and tomorrow on the desk in the morning room, my lady. If you have a free moment, please look it over and instruct me as to any changes you would like made. I am, of course, always ready to serve.” And then she smiled.

Charlotte gasped. Never—
never
—had she seen Mrs. Pots smile. The woman’s mouth was as immobile as a slab of granite. And always ready to serve? When had that ever been the case? And when had Charlotte ever seen a copy of the menu, despite asking for one every day?

Charlotte shook her head and blinked. Some
thing was definitely different this morning, and it was more than just her relationship with her husband.

As an afterthought, Charlotte called out, “Mrs. Pots!” She didn’t really expect the housekeeper to return—she’d never responded to any of Charlotte’s summonses before—but the housekeeper opened the servants’ door almost immediately.

“Yes, my lady?”

Charlotte stared, then mumbled, “Addy. Have you seen her this morning?”

“Of course, madam. She’s in the kitchen with Monsieur Julian. When you look at the menu, you will see that we plan to make sweet potatoes and cornbread again tomorrow night, and this time Monsieur wants them to be perfect.”

“He
does
?”

“Of course, madam. That is why he has requested Mrs. Addy’s help and advice. Would you like me to fetch her for you?”

“No. No, that will not be necessary,” Charlotte answered, her head spinning. “I was just…wondering.”

Charlotte’s eyes flicked to her mother-in-law, who was contentedly sipping her coffee and staring out the window behind Charlotte. She didn’t really want to ask this question, and especially not in front of Freddie’s mother, but she had to know.

“There is just one more thing, Mrs. Pots.” She
hadn’t even asked yet, and Charlotte could already feel her cheeks burning and a small trickle of sweat running from the neck of her gown to edge of her stays. “Is Lord Dewhurst at home?”

Lady Dewhurst’s head snapped to regard her, but Mrs. Pots seemed nonplussed. “No, madam. He left quite early this morning.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pots,” Charlotte said quickly. The housekeeper had looked as though she wanted to give more information, but there was no need for everyone—Freddie’s mother, rather—to understand how little Charlotte was involved in the life of her husband.

Mrs. Pots smiled again—again!—and disappeared behind the door.

Charlotte dared not move lest she awaken from what must be a dream of the perfect household staff, and it was only Lady Dewhurst’s raised voice that finally got her attention.

“Did you hear me, Charlotte?”

“No, I’m sorry. I beg your pardon.” She tore her gaze from the servants’ door and gave it to the woman seated across the mahogany table.

“I said that you have done a wonderful job with your servants. I was worried that they might not respect you at first, being that you are an American and that they had little time to adjust to the idea of my son taking you as a bride, but I see now that I should never have worried. You obviously know what you are about.” With a delicate ges
ture, Lady Dewhurst placed a piece of apple tart into her mouth.

After breakfast Charlotte and Freddie’s mother retired to the drawing room. Madam Vivienne arrived on time, and Charlotte was soon wrapped up in choices of lace and fabrics. To her surprise, the gowns that had been ordered suited her perfectly. The colors and the styles and the fit complimented her in every way. Swirling around in a copper satin ball gown, she felt as light as spun glass. “I don’t remember discussing this gown,” she said. “It’s lovely.”

“Ah, but of course!” Madam Vivienne replied. “Monseigneur Dewhurst has the best taste, and his selections are always
recherché. N’est-ce pas?
”

“Dewhurst—I mean, my husband gave instructions for this gown? But I don’t remember—”

Madam Vivienne shrugged in that delicate, neat French way. “He stopped by my shop and suggested a few additions.”

Charlotte blinked away her surprise. “But how did you finish the gowns so quickly?”

“
Mon chérie,
you are wed to a
raffiné
of the
ton! Tout le monde
is at your feet. You shall never wait for anything again,
n’est-ce pas
?”

But Charlotte did wait an eternity for the brass and ebony drawing room clock to strike five.

For once she rejoiced that she had very few people in England whom she could call friends. Etiquette demanded that mere acquaintances call no
later than five, the hour from five to six being reserved for good friends and relatives like her new sisters-in-law. But Charlotte did not expect to see them, so at precisely five, Lady Dewhurst departed and Charlotte stretched out, exhausted, on the mint green chaise longue.

“What a commotion!” Addy clucked as she hurried into the drawing room. “How’s my sugar? You not too tired, are you?”

Charlotte smiled, glad to have the old Addy back again. “No. I’ve survived another day in Society, and, of course, I suppose I shall have to return all of these calls, but right now I’m content to lie here.”

“You hungry, sugar? I can get Monsieur Julian to fix you something real good.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow and sat up on her elbow. “And what is this sudden closeness between you and the cook? Come to think of it, what is going on with everyone today? Hester was positively
polite.
Mrs. Pots
smiled
at me, and I haven’t heard Wilkins fuss once today. Is there something I should know?”

“Oh, Miss Charlotte, these here servants is finally showing real respect after they seen how you took care of Mr. Dewhurst last night. You didn’t tolerate no dawdling or silliness. They’s never seen you take control like that. I imagine that’s what did it.”

Charlotte flopped back on the plush bolster pil
low and contemplated Addy’s words. Perhaps that was it. She had never considered how much the servants must esteem Freddie, but then her own servants in Charleston had loved her as well. And why shouldn’t Freddie’s servants respect him? He was generous and fair as far as she’d seen.

Another tap at the drawing room door, and Charlotte sat up, half hoping to see her husband in the flesh. Instead she was greeted by Dawson. The butler had been dutifully showing her callers in all day.

“The Countess of Selbourne has just arrived. Is my lady still receiving?”

Charlotte shot up and straightened her gown. “Of course! Show her in immediately, Dawson.”

The butler nodded, and a moment later a smiling, beautiful Lucia crossed the room and clasped Charlotte’s hands in warm welcome. “I only have a few moments. Lord Selbourne is to collect me at half past five, but I will see you tonight at my sister’s ball?”

Charlotte nodded, and Lucia seated herself comfortably next to Charlotte on the chaise. “How have you been, Charlotte? You are positively glowing. Matrimony agrees with you.”

Charlotte laughed. “I should ask how you’ve been. You’re the one who’s glowing.”

“She ought to be,” a familiar voice rumbled from the doorway. “She’s finally going to make me an uncle—well, in a manner of speaking.”
Freddie smiled warmly at Lucia before his gaze flicked to Charlotte. His eyes were on her for barely an instant, but Charlotte’s pulse began to rush. All the intimacies of the night before came flooding back to her.

“How could he!” Lucia demanded. “It was supposed to be a secret!”

Lord Selbourne appeared behind Freddie in the doorway, and Charlotte was stunned to see him smile contritely. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “But Dewhurst figured it out.”

“Figured it out!” Lucia rose and stood before her husband with her hands on her hips. Wisely, Freddie moved aside. “How, precisely, did he figure it out?”

“Can’t remember exactly.”

“I think I began to suspect,” Freddie interrupted, eyes twinkling with mischief, “when Selbourne strode into Brooks’s and bellowed, ‘I’m going to be a father!’ at the top of his lungs.”

Charlotte giggled, and Freddie waggled his eyebrows.

Lucia leveled a scathing glance first at Freddie, then at her husband. “Alex, how could you! That was not part of our plan, and you know it.”

“Ah, yes, The Plan,” Selbourne said in a tone that intimated he’d had vast experience with his wife and her plans.

Lucia raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, I suppose you know what this means, don’t you?”

“I do, do I?” Selbourne said smugly.

“Yes. It means that we must call on my mother and tell her the news. She will never forgive us if she’s last to know.”

Alex’s smug expression cracked and splintered. “Your mother?”

“Come on,” Lucia said tugging on his arm. “We’d better go before it’s too late. Mamma will be dressing for the ball this evening.”

Charlotte rose as Lucia ushered her reluctant husband through the drawing room door. When he had trudged through, she turned back around and hugged Charlotte with fervor.

“I am so happy for you,” Charlotte whispered.

“Thank you,” Lucia said, leaning back. Tears were sparkling on her eyelashes. “Soon it will be you as well!” She threw a glance at Freddie, who was leaning on the marble mantel, and squeezed Charlotte’s arms. “I’ll see you tonight!”

Then she was gone, and Charlotte and Freddie were left alone.

F
reddie drank in the sight of Charlotte as though it had been an epoch rather than a few hours since he’d last seen her. He traced the slope of her collarbone framed by the border of lace on the scooped neck of her gown, then admired the roundness of her arms where they peeked out of the long flimsy sleeves and the tumble of cerise curls that had escaped the silk ribbon binding that tumultuous mane and now skimmed the arch of her shoulder.

And again he was awed by the fact that this radiant woman was his wife. Or would be soon. What had he ever done to deserve such perfection? He really did not think she realized her own allure and sensuality. And he had been entrusted with her; he would be the one to awaken her
senses, show her the pleasures of the body, and perhaps one day the one to possess her love.

There was a blush flaming her cheeks, and Freddie realized he’d been staring too long. This drift in his thoughts needed to be staunched until he possessed her more definitely. Until Pettigru was safely locked away—out of commission and out of Charlotte’s heart—Freddie had to check his reaction to her. What if he lost all control of his emotions and began blubbering about how much he cared for her? What if she did not feel the same? He could not risk it.

He threw a shield over his heart and a mask over his features, then executed a flawless bow. “Lady Dewhurst. Forgive my impertinence, but your loveliness, as always, enthralls me.”

Charlotte blinked, and when he held out a hand, she took two halting steps toward him, then paused and cocked her head, eyes regarding him coolly. Freddie made no move to close the gap. She would have to come to him.

“You must have left very early this morning,” she said finally, and the sound of her voice almost unraveled his resolve. Instead he resisted the urge to grab her and claim her impertinent, honeyed mouth with his own.

He said in a blasé tone, “Indeed.” Still leaning against the mantel, he traced the pattern of the white marble shot with peach, his fingers slow and impassive in their movements, his gaze fixed
on her under lowered lashes but with the intensity of a cat watching a sparrow.

Charlotte glanced at the Brussels carpet, shuffled, and murmured, “You did not have to go…last night…to your own room, that is.”

Freddie started, covering his shock by taking great care to adjust the sleeve of his coat. If she had been his mistress, he would have teased her with words of innuendo and promise. But he’d never cared for a mistress as he cared for Charlotte.

Charlotte was…different.

“I did not wish to disturb your sleep,” he said. “And, of course, I am used to my own bed.”

Charlotte flicked her eyes to his face, and he thought he saw a flash of pain. Before he could smooth it over, she said, “Where have you been all day?”

Freddie tensed. So the chit was not content with possession of his heart. She wanted his freedom as well. Dashed colonists.

Freddie yawned and waved his hand dismissively. “At my club. Out and about. Customarily, a wife does not query her husband about such matters, madam.”

The hurt look on her face deepened, and she reached out to clutch the back of an armchair upholstered in cream and light green. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Perhaps that is because husbands customarily inform their wives of their
plans for the day. I had to ask Mrs. Pots if you were at home this morning.”

Freddie shrugged. “What else are servants for?”

Charlotte huffed. “It’s embarrassing and counterproductive to our purposes, that I should not know the whereabouts of the man who is supposed to be my devoted husband. The hired help know more about you than I.”

Freddie pulled out his gold pocket watch, flicked the warm metal cover open, and considered the time. “Would you prefer I left a detailed schedule each day before I disembark?” With studied elegance, he snapped the watch shut and repocketed it.

Charlotte threw her hands in the air resignedly. “Oh, never mind! You are absolutely impossible. I do not even know why I attempt conversation with you. Obviously I am just an annoyance in your life. An interruption.”

Freddie smiled and raised a golden eyebrow. “A pleasant interruption, madam.”

Charlotte’s jaw dropped, and Freddie realized he’d taken the studied indifference too far.

“Is that all last night was to you?” Charlotte said, voice low and ominous. “A
pleasant interruption
?” She was almost shaking with fury, and he ached to gather her close. He took a stilted step toward her, reached out, but Charlotte shrank back.

Recovering himself quickly, he said, “What do you want me to say, madam?”

Charlotte turned away from him and began to pace the floor. “What do I want you to say? I don’t even know where to begin!” She turned on her heel and faced him. “I want you to use my
name
. I’m Charlotte, not ‘madam.’” She paced away from him again and paused in front of a giltwood and ormolu side table on which stood a large Greek alabaster vase. Tracing the smooth dancing figures carved on the antique, she spoke, almost inaudibly, so that Freddie had to strain at every word. “I want you to wonder about me when you are not here. I want you to miss me. I want you to…” She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him.

Freddie clenched the cool marble tenaciously to stop himself from going to her, taking her in his arms, and kissing her into reassurance. But he would not. He had no doubt touching her would be his undoing. He would not show her how vulnerable he was to her. How much control she’d already wrested away from him.

He straightened and stepped away.

Charlotte was watching and shook her head. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” Turning, she opened the large white paneled door of the drawing room.

Freddie could not stop her name from escaping his lips, and he was mortified when she looked back at him, eyes hopeful.

He would
not
allow her to control his emotions. He would rein them in. He would temper his reaction to her. He made a show of flicking the pleated cuff of his lawn shirt, then said almost as an afterthought, “Be ready for the Winterbournes’ ball at nine. I see that Madam Vivienne has delivered your wardrobe. Wear the russet gown tonight.”

Charlotte gave him a scathing look, and said, “It’s a comfort to know you never forget what is truly important.”

The carriage ride to the Winterbournes’ mansion in Grosvenor Square was so silent Charlotte could hear her blood pumping through her heart. She swore she could hear the coachman’s heart beating and the horses’ as well. But she could not hear Freddie’s heart, though her husband was seated beside her. Dewhurst, she decided, had no heart.

Although Freddie hadn’t said a word about her gown, she knew he was not pleased she had so deliberately disregarded his wishes. But by the time Charlotte tripped lightly down the marble steps in Dewhurst’s foyer to where Freddie awaited her, the late hour rendered any protest or argument on his part futile. Freddie had simply nodded at her, and with his usual élan, escorted her to the carriage.

Where he proceeded to ignore her completely.

Charlotte did a passable job of ignoring him as
well. She stared out the window and hardly ever gave him a sideways glance. Her husband might hate her and be ready to finally rid himself of her, but at least she had the servants on her side. Dawson had smiled at her, Mrs. Pots whispered that she looked lovely, and even Wilkins had nodded with something in his face that resembled approval. Not everyone hated her.

Aridiculous hour later—ridiculous considering Freddie’s town house was only a few blocks from Grosvenor Square—Freddie and Charlotte, the Baron and Baroness Dewhurst, arrived at the Winterbournes’ ball. They were more than fashionably late, and the dancing had already begun.

Charlotte thought the town house was overwhelming and the marquis and marchioness even more so. She clutched Freddie’s arm when she stepped into the huge marble-tiled entry and glimpsed the gleaming massive white marble staircase before her. She half expected Freddie to admonish her for wrinkling his tailcoat, but he said nothing, merely led her to the marquis.

Charlotte hesitated when she saw him. Not only were his height, his broad shoulders, and his granite expression imposing, he looked so much like his half brother, the Earl of Selbourne, that for a moment Charlotte wondered why Lucia was not on his arm. But then she remembered that the petite, dark-haired woman next to him was Lucia’s older sister, Francesca. The sisters bore little re
semblance to each other, sharing only the same engaging smile.

“Dewhurst,” Lord Winterbourne said stiffly. “Glad you could make it.”

Charlotte smiled behind her gloved hand. The marquis barely moved his mouth or the muscles of his face.

“How are you, old boy?” Freddie said with a flash of the lace at his sleeve. “I wouldn’t miss your do for the world.”

Winterbourne twisted his mouth in a sort of half smile, half grimace, and Freddie gestured to her. “This is my wife. Charlotte, the Marquis of Winterbourne.”

“Lady Dewhurst,” Lord Winterbourne said in a low voice and bent over to kiss her hand. “Welcome. Please meet Lady Winterbourne, my wife. Francesca, this is Lady Dewhurst.”

Freddie and Charlotte took a step to the right and Charlotte curtsied to Lady Winterbourne. The marchioness was as genuine and sweet as her sister, Lucia. “How good to finally meet you, Lady Dewhurst. You’re perfectly lovely as promised.”

“Thank you.”

The marchioness turned her laughing, chocolate brown eyes on Freddie. “It’s about time you married! Lucia and I despaired of you ever settling down.” She winked at Charlotte. “He’s been quite the libertine these last few years, my lady. A horrendously bad example!”

Freddie smiled lazily. “I hardly think your own husband ever needed me to serve as instigator. In fact, I rather believe the boot is quite on the other leg.”

“Not anymore,” the marquis said, wrapping an arm about his wife’s tiny waist. “Now we’re both leg-shackled, and we’ll have to leave the carousing to the bachelors.”

Freddie smiled, but his attention was elsewhere. “Excuse me, my lord.” He nodded. “Ladies. I see my cousin, and I’ve been meaning to speak to him.” He gestured to Sir Sebastian, loitering nearby in the dining room, and with an overdone bow, he took his leave.

“Now, my lady, you must come with me,” the marchioness said. “My sister has been asking for you.”

Lucia was indeed craning her head over the crush of people waiting in the hallway to enter the ballroom. Charlotte could hear the strains of the orchestra playing a minuet. Somehow Lucia made her way through the throng, and a moment later, Lucia reached them and embraced Charlotte warmly. “Isn’t she beautiful, Francesca? I adore that gown, Charlotte. The color was made for you.”

Lucia and Charlotte left Francesca to do her duties as hostess and moved toward the ballroom. Charlotte shivered under the scrutiny of the
ton
. It felt as though everyone she passed took a moment to assess her appearance. Some of the men even
had the audacity to raise their quizzing glasses. Women as well!

Charlotte knew that Lucia could not be oblivious to the inspection, but she never appeared to notice it or allow the stares to bother her. She chatted amiably, and Charlotte realized that she was not safe from scrutiny, but in the presence of the powerful, striking Countess of Selbourne, she was at least protected from scathing remarks. Charlotte took a glass of champagne, sipped it, and began to relax.

That was, until she entered the ballroom, and Lucia remarked, “I do not know how long I shall have you to myself. Undoubtedly every man here will want to claim you for a dance.”

Charlotte laughed derisively. “Not likely.” But the idea of having to chat with a strange man as he twirled her about was unsettling. She wanted to be free to look for Cade, not forced to focus on etiquette and social niceties.

As the music swelled to an end, Lucia waved at Freddie’s cousin Middleton, who strode blithely through the door. “Sir Sebastian!” she called.

Charlotte looked up to see the handsome, fair-haired lover saunter their way. “Ah, my mistresses Selbourne and Dewhurst, ‘which of you all will now deny to dance.’” He twirled his quizzing glass expertly so that the light glinted off it.

“You may dance with Lady Dewhurst, sir,” Lucia ordered him. “Quick! Claim her before the crowds descend!”

Ever gracious, Sebastian bowed again and turned to Charlotte. “Will you do me the honor, madam?”

Charlotte smiled. Ever more she was beginning to appreciate Lucia. The countess made graciousness seem effortless. By soliciting Freddie’s cousin as Charlotte’s partner, she’d effectively made Charlotte’s evening much easier. Not only because Charlotte could now watch for Cade—a consequence Lucia could obviously not anticipate—but also because, unlike some of the other men of the
ton
, Charlotte would be “safe” dancing with Freddie’s cousin. In fact, looking at his orange coat and breeches and mauve waistcoat, she imagined she was in more danger from suffering color blindness than a sudden onslaught of passionate overtures. She almost wished he would don his old-fashioned Elizabethan clothing again.

As Middleton led Charlotte to the dance floor, she realized she would miss Lucia back in Charleston. Charlotte had begun to think of the woman as her friend.

Like Freddie, Middleton was an excellent dancer. As he turned her about, he explained that the forms of any dance should be looked on as one more opportunity to quote poetry to the ladies, and he recited a litany. But Middleton did not forgo all conversation either, and Charlotte soon found that she was enjoying herself immensely.

“I hope I am not keeping you from any particu
lar young lady, Sir Sebastian.” Charlotte’s eyes twinkled, and she raised a coy eyebrow. At one time she had been an excellent flirt, and she was interested to see if she’d retained any of her charms.

“Good God, no!” Sebastian leveled a contemptuous glance at the room, and Charlotte followed it. “Rather, you’ve saved me from the matchmakers temporarily. Wouldn’t have even left the card room if Dewhurst hadn’t sent me.”