David had never felt so … unbalanced before. Could a kiss, one simple kiss with a young lady of questionable taste, so unhinge him?
Apparently so. He removed his coat, tossing it onto the bed, and yanked his cravat free from around his neck.
He felt—shackled. It wasn’t just her. It was this, this return to London, now knowing Louise was out there somewhere, just waiting to pounce.
He couldn’t blame her. She was a lovely widow with flexible morals, and her late husband had been married previously, and had children from that marriage, so who knew how much money he’d left her? If she could easily snag someone to take care of her, why wouldn’t she?
It was just that he wished it wasn’t him she was intent on snagging.
And that kiss. His mind—and other parts of him—kept thinking about it, reliving it, and he almost felt as though he’d never really kissed anyone before.
Such a soft, lovely mouth.
“You’re home early.” Gotam settled the hot water onto the dresser and turned to face David. “Did you not have a good time?”
“I did.” And an odd time, as well. But he wasn’t going to admit, even to his best friend, that a simple kiss had so unnerved him. “Can you ask the carriage round for one o’clock? I am taking a young lady for a drive.”
Gotam cocked that damn eyebrow. And not even about the coat. “A young lady? Anyone in particular?”
David unbuttoned his shirt and drew it over his head, tossing it onto his friend’s head. “Of course a particular young lady. Do you think I’d be asking a random young lady for a drive?”
Silence.
David sighed and rolled his eyes. “Lady Charlotte.”
“The one they call the Abomination?”
David tamped down the desire to punch his friend’s face. It wasn’t Ox’s fault, after all, she’d been given that nickname. He was just irked it had reached as far as Gotam, who was neither in Society, nor even British.
“Yes. That one.”
“Is she the one you’re supposed to court?” Gotam didn’t wait for David’s reply, he just flung his head back and laughed.
“Shut up, already.” He wondered if he could find who’d given Charlotte her nickname—to him, she was Charlotte now, not Lady Charlotte; a kiss would remove that formality—and figure out how, diplomatically of course, to ruin the man’s life.
That would be an assignment he would relish.
“It’s small wonder, then, that Lord Bradford needs someone with your … skills to pay attention to her. No mere mortal would do.”
He might have to punch his best friend after all. Messenger or no, the man was crossing some line David hadn’t even known he’d drawn.
Gotam finally stopped chuckling and picked up David’s razor. Maybe he’d realized David was considering damaging his face?
No, he was just on his way to shaving him, as he did most nights. David was too grouchy in the morning to tolerate Gotam’s ministrations, so he always shaved him at night.
“Sit.” Gotam put his hand on David’s shoulder and steered him to the chair in front of the dresser. He unfolded a towel and wrapped it around David’s neck. “What is the lady like?” He frowned at the razor, setting it back down on the dresser and picking up the lathering soap instead. He dipped it into the hot water and began to rub his hands together.
“She’s—” Gotam started applying the lather. David kept quiet as Gotam worked close to his mouth—he’d once gotten a mouth full of lather, and it was not pleasant.
“What?”
She’s blunt, and honest, and witty, and surprisingly attractive. But those were not the kinds of things a gentleman would say to another gentleman, no matter how close the friendship between the two. “She’s interesting.”
Gotam paused, little bubbles of soap floating around his dark face. “Interesting? In a good way or a bad way?”
David thought. “Both.”
Gotam shook his head and continued lathering David’s face. “You are in trouble, my friend.”
He was, wasn’t he?
And the problem was, he thought he liked it.
***
He called at her house precisely at one o’clock the following day. He’d spent the morning going over his papers, compiling some final reports on the last negotiations he’d undertaken before scandal had taken him under. It put him in a foul mood, recalling how useful, how purposeful he’d felt there, before his own stupid behavior had gotten him—not to mention Gotam—exiled from his home.
He had managed to put the kiss almost out of his mind. Almost. But his assignment remained, no matter how much he did or did not enjoy it. And what perhaps rankled the most was that he knew, deep down, he was enjoying it, no matter how much he chafed against it.
“Good afternoon, Lady Jepstow,” he said to Charlotte’s mother as he was led into the receiving salon. He handed his hat to the butler and glanced around the room.
It was tastefully appointed in shades of gold and green, so he knew Charlotte had had nothing to do with its decoration. In fact, it was almost blandly nice, a description that was as far from fitting Charlotte as he could imagine.
“So, my lord, you are taking my girl driving today?” Lady Jepstow said. “She will be down shortly. She is just”—she paused and seemed to shudder—“getting dressed. Please,” she said, gesturing to the sofa, “sit down.” She perched herself on a chair arranged perpendicular to the sofa.
David found himself grinning in anticipation as he sat. What horrible concoction would she grace him with today? “Your daughter will be in excellent hands, my lady.” He leaned back against the sofa until he recalled that British gentlemen did not lounge here as they did in India, and straightened up again. “My brother, James, the marquess, has lent me his phaeton while I am in residence at his house. He assures me it is most comfortable.”
Lady Jepstow’s eyes widened. “A phaeton! Does that mean there is no room for Charlotte’s lady’s maid?” She began to shake her head. “Oh, no, I cannot allow Charlotte to go out without her maid. What would people say?”
Precisely what your brother is hoping they will say: that attention is being paid to her by the very handsome Lord David Marchston, so we should pay attention to her, too.
“I would think they would say there is nothing wrong with a lovely lady taking a drive in full daylight with a gentleman in an open carriage. If you wish to cancel the outing …” He let the thought dangle there, with all its implications—that Charlotte would be passing up a chance to be seen with him, that David might think Lady Jepstow old-fashioned (and therefore old), that her daughter might miss the chance to meet more eligible gentlemen—and saw when her resolve crumbled.
“Very well. But, please, do keep the drive to half an hour and stay in the park.” She waved her finger at him, almost flirtatiously. “I know how gentlemen are when they are with a young lady.”
“Certainly, my lady,” David replied, wishing it weren’t so easy to get people to do what he wanted. Of course, if it were less easy to get people to do what he wanted, he wouldn’t be nearly as good at his position.
The door opened as Lady Jepstow beamed at him and David frantically tried to think of things to say. Charlotte walked in, and for a moment, David couldn’t see anything but her. Or, rather, her clothing.
Which was not a good thing.
She wore a bright-blue gown stamped with enormous red and green flowers. In addition, her bright-blue hat was festooned with several feathers, each a different color. Folded over her arm was a jacket made of the same fabric as the gown, only with a green background and enormous red and blue flowers.
He hoped he didn’t make a noise, because if he had, it would not have been a pleasant one.
“Good afternoon, Lord David,” she said. He lifted his gaze from scrutinizing a particularly aggressive bloom and met her eyes. Thankfully, they were the same brown shade they had been last time he saw her. At least she couldn’t alter her own coloring.
“I have been chiding Lord David about taking you out without your maid,” Lady Jepstow said in a sprightly voice. “He tells me there is not enough room in his carriage for her. So mind you behave with the utmost caution, my dear,” she added.
If only one could give clothing a similar warning, David thought.
“Of course. I hardly think Lord David will be incautious,” Charlotte said, with a quick, shy glance at him.
His mind immediately returned to that kiss, and he kept his eyes locked with hers for a moment past propriety. He was rewarded by the sight of her cheeks flooding with color, nearly as bright as the flowers on her gown.
“Shall we?” David said, gesturing toward the door. Charlotte nodded and slid her jacket on, her maid seeming to wince as she helped her with the sleeves. He couldn’t blame the woman.
David followed Charlotte out the door, staring at the nape of her neck rather than anything else. Her skin, at least, was the same shade everywhere.
The sun shone, albeit weakly, through the thin clouds, and David helped Charlotte up into the carriage, a stray yellow feather poking him in the nose. He leapt up beside her and took the reins from the post boy.
“A half hour, mind,” Lady Jepstow said, shading her eyes with one hand while she waved with the other. David wasn’t sure which was more blinding—the sun or Charlotte’s outfit.
They set off for the park, David tilting his head to one side to avoid another feather mishap.
“Thank you for the drive, Lord David,” Charlotte said. She sounded hesitant, not her usual direct self. Was it the kiss?
“You are welcome. I wanted to take my brother’s horses out. I don’t drive a phaeton in India.” The pair of horses were matched in color as well as in stride—the same brown as her eyes, he thought. Only he didn’t think he would mention that to her. Your eyes, they are the same color as these horses’ hides. Gauche-mat, indeed.
“What do you drive when you are at home?” she asked. She sounded more like her usual self, now that she was asking questions. But, so help him, if she tilted her head in her questioning way, she might poke his eye out with another one of those feathers.
“Nothing at all, actually. In India, we—that is, the British people in residence there—travel by litter. With men carrying it,” he explained.
“Even the larger gentlemen? Don’t the men complain?”
“They probably mutter things under their breath, but they do get paid.”
“You’re answering a question! This is a remarkable day, Lord David,” she said.
He kept his eyes directly ahead of him. “That’s because I am not distracted by your remarkable clothing, Lady Charlotte,” he said in a dry tone of voice. “I have to keep my focus on what lies ahead, not what is sitting beside me.”
She laughed, that delicious low, throaty laugh that did dangerous things to him. “This outfit is one of my favorites.” She twisted her head to look at him. Thankfully, the feather missed his eye. “I wasn’t sure about it, but when Sarah threatened to quit, I just knew I had to.” She laughed again.
He risked a glance at her. “Sarah is your maid?”
She nodded. “Yes, poor thing. I think I’ll have to leave her money in my will, because she will never be able to get another position after having worked for me.”
David found himself chuckling. A rarity—he was usually so good at hiding all his emotions, except when necessary for the task at hand. She made him laugh in spite of himself.
“Speaking of clothing,” she said, again in that oddly hesitant voice. “Would you mind giving me your opinion?”
“Of your clothing? I loathe it,” David responded quickly. He felt her stiffen beside him. Damn, he had gone too far, hadn’t he? He reached out and touched her gloved hand with one of his. “I apologize. ‘Loathe’ is too strong a word. It is the oddest thing, Lady Charlotte. I find I lose my words, or choose entirely wrong ones, when I am in your presence.” He squeezed her hand to make his point.
“Thank you?” she offered.
He felt the tightness in his chest ease. “Thank you. I am supposed to be good with language, and yet …” He shook his head.
“And yet you find yourself rendered speechless when you encounter me?” she finished.
He grinned and returned his hand to the reins. “Precisely. I am the tongue-tied diplomat with you, as oxymoronic as that sounds.”
“Oxymor—?”
“Oxymoronic. Something that is in itself opposite.”
“Such as the married bachelor? Or the discreet gossip?” She looked into his eyes and smiled, presumably so he’d know it didn’t hurt. “Perhaps the well-dressed Abomination?”
His lips thinned. “I regret that someone gave you that horrible nickname.”
She shrugged. “It is appropriate. Loath though I am to admit it,” she added, a sly tone in her voice.
He couldn’t help it, he laughed again. In addition to being one of the most outlandishly dressed women he’d ever met, she was also one of the cleverest.
“I am sorry. My opinion? What do you need?”
“Actually, it is clothing. Not mine, but I wish to get my friend Emma—Miss Clarkson, you met her when we first met—a gift, and I am not trusting my own taste. What color would suit her best?”
David leaned back in the seat, slowing the horses as they entered the park. “What are you planning on buying? If it is a fan or a handkerchief, I would suggest something that would go with other things in her wardrobe.” He cleared his throat. “That is, what most people would think would go with other things in her wardrobe. A cream or another neutral hue.”
She was silent as she considered. “So not poppy red? I had been thinking of a red shawl I’d seen at the shop.”
He shuddered in mock agony. “Only if you wish everyone to wake up, since your blond friend will look like a rooster in that color.”
She chuckled and nudged him with her shoulder. “Wake up,” she repeated. “Like a rooster does. You are quite clever, Lord David.”
Her words warmed him. When was the last time a woman had complimented his wit and not his looks? Of course, she’d done that as well, but it seemed she saw beyond his face and appreciated his mind.
Just as he appreciated her despite her clothing. Again, he thought of the kiss, and he wished they weren’t out in public with all of Society parading about. He wanted to draw her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Even if most people likely already thought her senseless from her clothing.
But his wanting to kiss her senseless was precisely why it was good her mother had made sure they would be in public. Even if her mother had no clue he was so inclined.
If she had known, would that have made her more or less likely to allow her daughter to go out with him?
***
When she hadn’t been thinking about the Kiss, which had reached capital-letter status in her mind, she’d been thinking about Emma’s column. She’d managed to write one complete one, and Sarah had taken care of getting it to where it needed to go. She had thoughts on a second one, but after that … well, she hardly thought the fashionably dressed cream of London Society would be interested in reading about how she had no idea of what to write.
That was boring enough for her to contemplate; she couldn’t unleash it on an unwary public.
But there was him. Just looking at him and seeing his eyes assess her, she knew he would be a useful resource. She just had to ensure he would actually answer her questions, something he’d so far proved oddly reluctant to do.
So when he actually did answer something, she felt a great big whoosh of relief unfurl in her chest, and she wanted to kiss him. In gratitude, of course.
And in lust, and admiration, and enjoyment, and every other reason she could think of. Not love; she would not allow herself to fall in love with a man who was both out of her reach in terms of looks and who would soon be out of her reach in physical terms when he returned to India.
“Ah, Lady Charlotte and—Lord David.” It was Lord Charles Silver, Anne’s brother, who had ridden up beside them on his horse. By the sound of his voice, he was surprised to find them together. Ha! Someone doesn’t think I deserve a terrible nickname, Charlotte wanted to shout in his face. Or if he did, he likes me nonetheless.
“Good afternoon, Lord Charles,” David said, inclining his head just enough to indicate who was in charge of the conversation. How did he do that?
“Is your sister here?” Charlotte asked.
Charles shook his head. “No, she is off with our mother at the museum. Mother heard that a group of eligibles were headed there to view some scandalous statues, so Mother packed up Anne and went.”
“That is hardly a kind thing to say about your sister, Lord Charles,” David said in a soft, but nonetheless lethal, tone of voice.
Charlotte slid the hand that was resting on her lap over to his arm and squeezed in silent thanks for defending her friend. Goodness, he was all hard muscle underneath his coat. Was it just by virtue of being male? Was he particularly energetic in some exercise?
She had to stop that line of thinking right there or she might just faint. After, of course, touching him all over to see if he was hard like that everywhere.
Which was altogether more unseemly than just his arm. Even she knew that. Focus, Charlotte! she scolded herself.
Lord Charles was finishing saying something, probably not anything as interesting as what got David so hard. Muscular, that is.
“And we will be at the Millers’ this evening. Their family’s estate is next to ours. Will you be in attendance?”
David shot a glance at Charlotte, as if to ask her how to reply. Funny how that made her feel all warm inside.
“I believe my mother and I will be. My father prefers playing whist with his sister while we are in town. I look forward to seeing Lady Anne.”
David placed his hand on Charlotte’s, where it rested on his arm, hidden from Lord David’s view by Charlotte’s body. It felt sneaky, as though they were doing something forbidden in plain sight.
Which they were, really, by Society’s standards.
What else could they do in plain sight? They’d already kissed last night, and now his hand was touching hers, albeit through their gloves.
Today her gloves had no helpful instructions printed on them, as they had last evening. If they did, they might read Place Lord David’s fingers here. Imagine if she were to actually wear something that indicated precisely what she was thinking?
It would be all good looks and hard masculinity then. Definitely not proper.
“Good-bye, Lord David, Lady Charlotte,” Charles was saying.
David started the phaeton forward again, but with only one hand, keeping his other clasping Charlotte’s. He spoke when they were out of Charles’s earshot. “I find his sister pleasant, but Lord Charles is an ass. Forgive my speaking plainly,” he added quickly, darting another one of those complicit glances at her.
“He is an ass,” Charlotte said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He is the one who dubbed me the Abomination, so I’ve heard.”
She felt David’s arm clench under her hand.
She rushed to say, “I am not certain it was him. I mean, it could have been anybody. Even you, though it seems that we are friends, hate what I’m wearing.”
Silence as he considered.
“Please, Lord David, think nothing of it.”
He turned his face to her and gave her that quick, quirky smile, and she relaxed.
“I won’t. I promise to be a gentleman.” A pause. “With Lord Charles.”
Did he mean … “What do you mean, ‘With Lord Charles’?”
That quirky smile slid into something far more dangerous to Charlotte’s insides. A smile that seemed to indicate he knew precisely how much she’d thought of that kiss—no, the Kiss—all last night, this morning, and still in a corner of her mind right now.
How did he do that? She’d have to start writing down all her questions for him.
“Oh,” she said in a soft voice. She turned her head and gazed to the side, her heart racing. This was fun. Pure, unadulterated fun. She didn’t think she’d ever had so much fun just driving in a carriage.
“I haven’t been invited to the Millers’ event, so I won’t be seeing you this evening.”
And Charlotte had already been scheming how to get him to escort her out to the terrace again for one of those delicious kisses. Drat. “I would imagine you could just show up and you would be welcome. I mean, you are you.”
“Meaning because I am good-looking?” He sounded aggravated. Hm. “Have you ever considered that having great looks is as much of a burden as being mocked for your fashion? Worse, actually. You could choose to wear other gowns, including that dull one you had on the other evening, but I cannot choose another face.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she was rendered speechless for a moment. And then she found all the words to reply. “Are you joking? How can you possibly compare a nickname such as mine as what you might have—what would yours be, I wonder?” She tilted her head and allowed her gaze to travel all over his face—from the hint of a curl in his dark hair, to his slashing, masculine eyebrows, down past his lake-blue eyes, his proud, Roman nose, to those full, sensuous lips. “Perhaps the Beauty? Or just Adonis?”
“Mistara bhavya. Mr. Gorgeous,” he said in a soft voice, almost as though embarrassed.
“Pardon?”
“Mr. Gorgeous.” He spoke louder. “I had a nickname, back in India.”
He had a nickname. A very appropriate nickname, as it turned out. Charlotte felt her insides start to curl up in laughter. And then it exploded out of her, so hard she had to reach out and hold on to the side of the carriage so she wouldn’t fall out.
After a moment, he began to laugh, too, drawing her hand into his and slowing the horses with his other. He had a wonderful laugh, a deep, rich boom of a laugh that seemed to travel all the way through Charlotte’s body.
He had to stop the carriage entirely at one point, he was laughing so hard, and he fell against her, his hat tipping forward onto his face, making her hat turn all askew.
“Mr. Gorgeous!” she managed to gasp out before collapsing into giggles again.
At last, after they’d gotten more than a few curious looks from the Society people in the park who were not dying of laughter, their chuckles subsided, and they were silent. He still leaned against her, and she tried not to admit to herself how nice that felt.
Scratch that. She did admit it to herself, but she couldn’t find a better word than nice. And he thought he was the one who had trouble speaking.
After a moment he frowned and drew his pocket watch out to look at the time. “I promised your mother a half hour only, and it is forty-five minutes already.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Honestly, my mother will just be grateful you wanted to spend more time with me.”
He snapped his head around to look at her. “Do not disparage yourself so.” He sounded angry.
“I’m not,” Charlotte replied. “My mother is the one with that opinion, not me. I assume you wish to spend time with me because you asked me for a drive after we shared a wonderful kiss—oh,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. “I suppose it is far too direct to speak about something like that, isn’t it?”
He leaned over and took her hand away and brought it down to rest on his thigh.
His very hard thigh.
Oh, goodness. Or more appropriately, oh badness.
“Your directness is why I like spending time with you.”
“And,” Charlotte continued, “there is no reason you would have to spend time with me, so I am entirely certain it is because you enjoy my company.”
He winced, briefly, as though in pain. Charlotte made to draw her hand away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“Precisely.” He cleared his throat. Honestly, would no one learn that throat clearing only meant something big was about to be announced?
“I will see you at the Millers’, then, if you think I will be welcome.” Actually, that was not all that big an announcement, was it?
She was learning all kinds of things by being with him. Not the least of which involved kissing. And announcements, both big and small.
They arrived back at Charlotte’s house, and she waved him off when he made to dismount and help her out of the carriage. One of the footmen waiting at the door helped her down. She stepped onto the pavement and turned around to look up at him.
“Thank you for a wonderful drive.” She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “Mr. Gorgeous.” And she walked into her house, very aware he was looking at her back, hoping he was thinking about the woman within and not her “loathsome” clothing.
Her mother practically leapt on her as she entered. “Do not take your coat off! We are going straightaway to the museum!”
Charlotte’s smile wobbled. “The museum?” Because even without having spoken to Anne’s brother, she would have known why her mother wished to go there. Lately, the only places her mother would go to involved the possibility of eligible men—unmarried bachelors, that was.
No wonder she wanted to see her daughter married off; she had to make all kinds of excursions to ensure Charlotte was on display. It didn’t mean she should jump at the first offer made to her—because, ugh, Mr. Goddard—but it did make her feel sympathetic toward her mother.
“Yes, Lady Silver and her daughter stopped by directly after you left with Lord David. Such a stunning man, by the way. You’ll have to tell me all about the drive. But it seems that there is a recent fad among the young men to view the statues, and they were heading there straightaway. So we are going too.”
“And if I am tired?” And want to spend the next few hours replaying the time spent with Mr. Gorgeous in my head?
“You can be tired later. Right now, we are going to the museum.”
Charlotte barely had time to straighten her feathers, which thankfully remained intact after all the laughing, before being bustled into their carriage and heading off.
Who would have thought young men would want to view statues, of all things?
***
“I can see why they want to see these,” Anne said to Charlotte as the two stood in front of a very naked, very attractive, young lady. Made of stone, of course, but still. Very naked.
“I can’t believe we haven’t visited before. Very enlightening,” Charlotte replied, moving to a male statue. He had a stone fig leaf covering his most male part, but the rest of him was wonderfully nude.
Did David look like this naked?
Goodness, she wished she could find out. Merely for comparison, of course.
“Lady Anne, Lady Charlotte,” a voice said, just directly behind Charlotte. She and Anne whirled about to see Mr. Smeldley, one of the unmarried bachelors her mother was so keen on.
“Mr. Smeldley, how nice to see you. You are appreciating the art?” Charlotte said, gesturing to one of the very naked woman.
He turned a shade of red Charlotte thought was the color of at least one of her gowns. “Yes, apparently the art here is quite lovely.” His eyes darted to the statue, then he cleared his throat. “That is, it is edifying.” More throat clearing. “I like the statues.”
“As do we, Mr. Smeldley.” Poor man. If he had to explain his wish to view naked women any further, he might explode. “Are you attending the Millers’ this evening? Lady Anne and I will both be going. It is important to balance out more studious ventures—such as visiting a museum—with more frivolous things, such as going to parties. Don’t you think so?”
She heard Anne suppress a giggle beside her.
“Precisely.” The poor man sounded relieved. Thank goodness he wasn’t analyzing exactly what she had just said.
“Anne, Lady Charlotte.” Lord Charles clapped Mr. Smeldley on the back. “And you, Smelly. Enjoying the art, are we?”
He met Charlotte’s eyes for a brief, malicious second, then glanced around the room. “Perhaps the ton should hold its parties here. At least the ladies are worth looking at.”
Charlotte felt his verbal barb as though it were a physical blow. She’d allowed herself to relax, basking in Lord David’s admiration. But the reality was what Lord Charles had just said—nobody wanted to look at her.
Why, then, did she persist in it? Constantly putting things on that got her nicknames, and mocked, and made her mother’s eyes roll? She could, after all, put herself in her maid’s capable and color-coordinated hands (or eyes, rather), and look like every other young female on the Marriage Mart.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? As David had pointed out when she’d tried it. She’d look like every other young female. There would be nothing different about her, and she’d found she liked looking different.
She was stubborn also, determined to find someone to love her who would get past what she wore to find the woman within. Someone who wasn’t deterred by what a person might choose to look like. Someone who encouraged her to celebrate her personal taste and didn’t think less of her for it. Someone who thought more of her, in fact. Someone like—
“Good afternoon, Lady Charlotte, Lady Anne.” Him. Someone like him.
Even though she’d seen him just half an hour earlier, her heart still flipped when confronted with his ridiculous good looks. How did he not just sit in front of a glass all day and admire himself? She knew if she were as beautiful as he was, that’s what she would do.
“Good afternoon, Lord David. Quite a surprise to see you here. Are you looking for something in particular?”
His lips quirked in response to her jibe. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Oh, of course. He’d seen beautiful women naked and had probably shot a glance at himself naked, which had to be even more beautiful than any of these statues.
“Do you want to sit down, Charlotte? You’re looking a bit pale.” Anne took her by the elbow and guided her to a bench directly in front of one of the most naked statues in the room. Not that there could be much of a quantitative value given to nakedness; either one was or was not.
This one definitely was.
“One of these days, my brother is going to get himself punched for what he says,” Anne muttered as she sat down next to Charlotte. “I am so sorry, I wish there was a way to stop him from speaking.”
“A well-placed stocking stuffed into his mouth? Maybe you could challenge him to say nothing but compliments for a whole day? That would silence him.”
Anne laughed. “Believe me, I’m tempted. I wish he would just return to our house in the country. I did not want him here for the Season, but he and my mother insisted. She thinks he’s going to land himself an heiress.”
“I’m an heiress,” Charlotte pointed out.
“Yes, and even though you are my friend, if you marry Charles, I will have to kill you.”
“I will not be marrying your brother, then. I wish to continue breathing.” She paused. “But he might be right. I have been wondering if I should just dress like everyone else.”
Anne grasped her arm. “No, you should not! That is, not if you don’t really want to. You need to stand up for what you want, despite what others might say. You may not know it, but you are a standard-bearer for making your own decisions. Just think,” she said, clutching Charlotte’s arm tighter, “how few decisions young women get to make. We can decide what to eat, sometimes; we can choose which books to read, within a certain amount of appropriate ones; and we can pick our clothing, sometimes. The rest—who we marry, where we live, what we do, where we go—is up to others. So you being so bold, so adventurous, is really admirable.”
That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. David had only told her she was not ugly, after all.
“Thank you. You are so kind.”
“No, I’m not. And neither are you. I think that’s why I like you so much.”
Charlotte nodded in agreement, her blue feather tickling the top of her friend’s hair. “I’m just louder than you, in both speech and clothing.”
“Yes, definitely.” She squinted as she perused Charlotte’s gown. “That gown might even manage to shut my brother up.”
“Then I’ll definitely keep dressing as I do,” Charlotte said with a smile.
“Are you feeling all right, Lady Charlotte?” David stood in front of them, a look of concern on his face.
What would his face look like if she told him she had gotten woozy just thinking about him unclothed?
“I am fine, thank you.”
“I am glad to hear that,” he said, one of those delicious smiles curling his mouth up.
“Why are you here, anyway?” she asked. She heard Anne’s gasp of surprise beside her.
“I thought I might find something interesting. And,” he said, spreading his hands out to indicate the two of them on the bench, “it seems I have.”
“Well played, Lord David,” Anne said, an admiring tone in her voice.
“You can speak politely after all,” Charlotte added. He grinned at her, then made a gesture to the bench.
“May I?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said, edging over to give him room. “Please do.”
“We were discussing Lady Charlotte’s wardrobe. I am insisting that she not change, despite what some people—including my own brother—might say. It is important for ladies to maintain their own choices, wouldn’t you agree, Lord David?”
“Entirely,” he said. “Lady Charlotte has a unique vision. I want her always to be able to choose precisely what she wants.”
Oh. And he thought he couldn’t speak properly around her?
“Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.
What would she choose if she could choose precisely what she wanted?
The thought was both thrilling and frightening.