The first thing that Valentina Briggston noticed about Charlotte Jones was her hat.
This wasn’t unusual; as a milliner, Valentina had a special interest in hats. But beyond that, Charlotte Jones was sporting a very fine silk man’s hat, one that was clearly designed to call attention to her, perched on top of her russet curls.
It was, of course, terribly unsuitable, but then almost everything about Charlotte Jones was.
Valentina narrowed her eyes as she crossed the ballroom. The wooden floor rumbled beneath her feet from the straining of the great engines below, and the doors were all open to let the evening ocean breeze cool the crowded room.
Charlotte was at the top of Valentina’s list of rivals, the most likely to catch the eye of Lord Jamison. Rumors from the mainland suggested she wore trousers to ride horses, not just split skirts, and that she had dueled with a man who had insulted her family’s honor. There were even stories that she had attempted to enlist in the dirigible cavalry, under her brother’s name. She was wearing a sword, though Valentina thought that the hat was far more of a fashion stumble than that.
Charlotte was drinking something smoky in a tumbler, holding court in a cluster of appalled-looking women clutching wine glasses, and grinning men drinking brandy. She stood with one leg rakishly up on a chair, her skirt casually hiked up to show part of her shapely leg and a boot with a mannishly high heel. She was telling a story that was eliciting a great deal of embarrassed giggling from the female half of her audience and appreciative chuckles from the rest.
Lord Jamison looked particularly amused and Valentina knew she should move quickly. She eased towards the group carefully, pausing just at the edge of the circle as if she were considering moving on to another conversation.
She curved her thoughts carefully, thinking in particular about one of the older women who happened to be wearing one of her hats.
Inevitably, Mrs. Smithers’ gaze slowly moved to her. “Oh!” she said, as if surprised to see Valentina there. “Letty, darling! Come and hear Charlie’s story! A horse race, can you imagine? You will never believe Miss Jones’ audacity! Have you met everyone? This is Valentina Briggston; she is the only one I will ever buy a hat from.”
As she had intended, Valentina instantly became the focus of the little group, including Lord Jamison. She blushed and smiled as if she were grateful and humbled to be invited to their circle. “My lord,” she greeted him, when introductions had gotten there. “Your dear wife was a client of mine, and you and I had a chance to speak briefly at the opening of the new port clock.” She extended a gloved hand for him to shake and gave him a direct look, glancing shyly away at the last moment.
Friendly and shy had always been her most devastating combination; no man could help but think that meant she was flirting, while no one could fault her manners or accuse her of being forward.
“Mrs. Briggston,” Lord Jamison said politely. “Yes, I remember! We walked along the port and talked at some length regarding business law.”
Lord Jamison was handsome enough and a widower of considerable wealth, but one of Valentina’s primary criteria for a husband was that he didn’t chatter incessantly. She had secured a good opinion of him on that walk; he had struck her particularly as someone who knew when to be quiet. But she had been in mourning at the time, and although hers had been a marriage entirely of convenience, she gave her late husband all the respect that custom required. The interlude had given her plenty of opportunity to research Lord Jamison, decide that he was an ideal replacement for her previous husband—neither cloying nor controlling—and coordinate her plan to win him. He was the perfect, practical solution.
“It is Ms. Briggston, now,” she said with a proper combination of sorrow, firmness, and invitation. “I am several months out of mourning.”
She didn’t have to scan their audience to know that she’d just set loose a flurry of gossip and speculation...and undoubtedly a considerable amount of jealousy.
She had neatly presented herself as available and acceptable, given herself just a sheen of tragedy and interest, and opened the gates for polite conversation that centered exactly where she wished it: on her.
Lord Jamison murmured a polite regret and Valentina raised her gaze to his again. “Thank you, I am finding my feet again,” she said without falsehood. “It is shocking to lose a life partner, of course, but I’m sure you know.” A little reminder of their similarities would go a long way.
They shared an intimate little moment, murmuring the usual platitudes, and Lord Jamison quickly glanced around for a seat to offer her.
The only one available was the one that Charlotte Jones was using to display her boot.
“Ms. Briggston,” Charlotte drawled, her emphasis on the “Ms.” just strong enough not to cut. “Would you like a seat?”
In one smooth move, Charlotte had removed her foot and twirled the chair on its back legs to rest in place next to Lord Jamison’s. She stood easily in place, looking poised and full of energy, but somehow not restless. Her confidence made Valentina feel uneasy and even a little envious, but perhaps she could use Charlotte’s grandstanding as a foil for her own more refined manners.
“Don’t let me interrupt, Miss Jones,” Valentina said shyly. She demurely took the chair and sat at Lord Jamison’s side. Clearly, they were going to dispense with introductions. “You were telling a tale. About...horse racing?” She made herself look vaguely scandalized, but not so disapproving as to seem prudish.
Charlotte grinned and launched back into a tale as outrageous as Valentina had braced for.
She was more beautiful than Valentina had expected, with strong features that didn’t overwhelm her lively face. She was wearing clever makeup, just a touch of lip rouge and a little smudge of kohl around the eyes to emphasize her pale blue gaze. She had no blush on her high cheekbones. Had she, like Valentina, studied Lord Jamison’s preferences and made herself accordingly?
She certainly didn’t look like someone who did anything according to convention or to anyone else’s desires, Valentina thought wistfully.
But that hat.
Valentina would never have put her in such a hat.
It was the wrong size for her face and it looked like it would topple off her curls at any moment.
Valentina touched her own hat, even though she knew it was well-settled on her own rather mousier brown waves. It was a cunning number of felt and feathers, imbued with the magic of attraction.
She had made it with great care; attraction was one of those tricky spells, with plenty of room for mischief to take root if the stitching wasn’t done with just the right intention.
She didn’t want to encourage the wrong attention, or attention from the wrong person. A carelessly set attraction spell might draw bees or bad weather. All of her hats were subtle and careful, and this was one of her greatest pieces; it would catch the attention of exactly whom she chose. All she had to do was think of him diligently throughout the evening to set the snare.
She couldn’t make Lord Jamison love her, or any of the silly girls who heard rumors and came to her shop begging for her spells, but that wasn’t at all what she wished. Love was messy and unnecessary.
All she needed was to obtain a husband, and to do that, she merely needed to catch his attention long enough to convince him that she would suit him. She had confidence in her own considerable charms to do the rest.
Valentina frowned, realizing abruptly that she was failing in her goal.
Lord Jamison was chuckling earnestly, watching Charlotte Jones mime stabbing someone; her horse racing tale had turned to a duel, apparently, and her animated story had everyone completely engrossed.
Valentina eyed Charlotte clinically as she covered her mouth in feigned shock. It was hard to overcome that much natural flair, and her own hat was subtle magic.
This was going to require a more forward approach.