Chapter Fourteen

He was trying hard not to let annoyance show on his face, but Finlay wasn’t certain he was succeeding.

The Eddington musicale was not the first social event he’d been cajoled into attending, and it certainly wouldn’t be his last. He usually marched through the front door of such an event in much the same manner he did most things—armed with a smile and his quiver full of witty comments and compliments.

But for reasons he couldn’t name, he was finding his quiver, and his patience, strangely empty. This disturbed him because he needed to be charming. He needed to be approachable and willing to engage others in conversation, especially the influential men who meandered around him as guests. Showing how dedicated he was to the ideals of the opposition was key, especially since his father had been a conservative hardliner. If the men he was supposed to endear himself to gave him a wide berth because of it, he understood, but he feared his sudden reticence was making matters more challenging.

Finlay snagged a glass of champagne from a passing footman and took a healthy gulp, enjoying the way the effervescent drink danced across his palate. His enjoyment lasted for only a moment before he once again cursed Inverray for being late. The man was supposed to introduce him to party members, and yet the Scotsman was nowhere to be seen.

Blast him.

“Lord Firthwell?”

Finlay turned at the address, his eyes alighting on his hostess, Lady Eddington. The older woman batted her eyelashes as she smiled shyly at him, and if he was reading the signs correctly—and Finlay could always identify a merry widow or philandering wife from the other side of a ballroom—the woman was anything but shy. She was appealing, even at twice his age, but he didn’t dally with married women.

Holding his gaze, Lady Eddington turned to a gray-haired gentleman at her side. Gesturing to him with a bejeweled hand, she said, “Lord Mattonfeld, allow me to introduce you to Lord Firthwell.” The viscountess grabbed his arm, her fingers sinking into his skin as if he were a fish she’d finally lured close enough to catch. “My lord, the marquess expressed an interest in meeting you.”

The Marquess of Mattonfeld’s name had been almost a curse in his father’s vernacular. He was also a name Lord Matthews had included on his list of opposition leaders to court.

Pasting on a genial smile, he dipped his head in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Your reputation precedes you.”

The older man’s blue eyes twinkled. “I can imagine the vile claims Rockhaven told you of me.”

Finlay rubbed a hand along his jaw as he made a show of searching his memory. “He said, ‘Mattonfeld is the cleverest adder in Lords.’ Naturally, when I decided to stand for the Weobley seat, I knew I had to meet you.”

Mattonfeld’s deep chuckles briefly drowned out the other noise in the vicinity. A ghost of a smile was still present on his lips when the sound dissipated. “That’s the best non-compliment I’ve ever received.”

“I can only hope to receive such non-compliments,” Finlay quipped.

“Oh, I’m certain you’re used to receiving compliments, my lord.” Lady Eddington’s crooned comment made Finlay blink. He’d almost forgotten the woman was there, despite the fact her grip on his arm had not lessened.

He dipped his head until he could murmur in her ear. “But then some compliments are more coveted than others…especially when delivered by a lovely woman.”

She giggled and slapped his arm with her other hand. “Speaking of lovely women, my lord, have you met my daughter? Miss Eddington is standing by the pianoforte just there. She is quite the musical prodigy, you know.”

Finlay didn’t know, but then, musicales such as the one he found himself at were usually organized to showcase someone’s talents…someone very much like an unmarried daughter. Apparently, the woman’s flirtations were not for her own benefit.

Following the direction of Lady Eddington’s gaze, his eyes landed on a comely, petite blonde. She was laughing with a gentleman, her eyes crinkled in merriment and a large smile lighting her face.

“I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance,” Finlay said, not taking his eyes off Miss Eddington as he continued to admire her, “but perhaps you can arrange an introduction after I finish my conversation with Lord Mattonfeld.”

“Of course.” Lady Eddington clutched a hand to her chest. “Let me not keep you gentlemen any longer from your important discussion.”

She flitted away, her path leading directly to her daughter. Grabbing the younger woman’s arm, she appeared to whisper rapidly in her ear. Finlay smiled when the pretty young woman glanced up and met his eyes, a blush stealing over her porcelain cheeks.

“Eddington holds Gloucestershire.” Finlay turned as Lord Mattonfeld inclined his head toward where the viscountess spoke with her daughter. “That is just the sort of connection I’m certain Earl Matthews encouraged you to make.”

His mood soured at the reminder, but Finlay nodded his head. “Indeed,” he said simply.

Movement over her shoulder drew his attention, and his breath caught in his throat as his gaze collided with a pair of flinty blue eyes. A bubble of surprise rose like a geyser in his throat, and he turned his head aside to cough into his hand.

“Are you well?” Mattonfeld asked, summoning a footman with a jerk of his head.

Accepting the glass of champagne offered to him with eager hands, Finlay gulped an uncomfortable swallow around his coughs. Pushing down hiccups, he offered the marquess an apologetic nod. “I am, thank you. Sometimes the sight of a beautiful woman still robs me of my breath.”

The older man’s lips twitched, and he looked toward Miss Eddington, obviously believing she was the cause of his distress. “She has an impeccable reputation, stellar connections, and no doubt has been trained in the art of being a political hostess. She’d add legitimacy to your campaign and cement your allegiance to the opposition.” Mattonfeld studied the lady in question for a moment. “Plus, she’s quite handsome. Begetting an heir on her would not be a hardship, I’m sure.”

During the marquess’s recitation, Finlay forced himself to listen even as he tracked Charlotte’s movements across the music room. When the man paused, he licked his lips and said, albeit with some hoarseness, “I suppose my path is clear.”

Mattonfeld clapped him on the back, almost startling another round of coughs out of him. “Best of luck, my lord. Do have your secretary contact mine to schedule a meeting. There’s much to discuss, but I’m cognizant you have more pressing matters to see to at present.”

Finlay delivered a strained smile as the older man departed for a political conversation on the other side of the room. Pivoting, he considered Lady Eddington and her daughter, willing his feet to move in their direction. How was it that he’d been amenable to the prospect of meeting Miss Eddington just a minute prior, but now the idea of doing so left him peculiarly weary?

Weobley. Influence. Legacy. Remembering his goals, he squared his shoulders and resolved to charm Miss Eddington until she swooned.

“Firthwell, you appear as if you sucked on a lemon. Not your best look.”

Finlay peered down into the face of a thoroughly diverted Lady Flora Campbell. The way every nerve ending in his body hummed told him Charlotte stood next to her. “I don’t know what you mean?”

The Scotswoman cast her eyes dramatically to the ceiling, and Finlay would swear she mumbled, “My God, they’re perfect for each other.” He scowled. Surely he heard her wrong.

After exchanging greetings with the two women, Lady Flora surveyed the room. “Are you bored to tears yet? As I suspected, this musicale was just an excuse for party members to plot the takeover of Commons.”

“Perhaps they’re here for free food and champagne. I know that’s the reason for my attendance.”

Finlay and Flora chuckled in unison. As others turned in their direction, his eyes refused to budge from Charlotte’s nonplussed face.

Flora‘s dimples flashed. “That’s certainly my reason for attending every blasted event Niall has insisted I appear at.”

The tightness in his chest dissolved in the glow of Charlotte’s non-smile. “Despite my lofty aspirations, I suspect my motivation for attending is not much different.”

“That’s because in spite of your ambitions, you’ve retained your good sense.” Flora waved her hand as he imagined she flicked her crop at an unruly yearling’s backside. “Has Mattonfeld given you his endorsement?”

“He’s asked me to contact his secretary so we can discuss the issues further.”

Charlotte stood just to his left, her presence a beacon of warmth and light. It took every ounce of strength in him not to turn to her like a flower in the sun.

“That’s excellent, Firthwell.” Lady Flora clapped her hands together. “Niall has mentioned that Mattonfeld can be difficult, and the fact that he asked you to set an appointment with him is an encouraging sign.”

“I hope so,” Finlay grumbled, permitting himself a brief glance in Charlotte’s direction.

She was stunning. In the blink of an eye, he took in how the sapphire blue of her gown made it appear as if her skin were comprised of the finest cream. Her pitch-dark locks were twisted into a simple but flattering coiffure that showcased her graceful features and firm jaw. A quick glance down revealed her sinful figure accentuated in silk and lace.

Unbidden thoughts of their one night together crowded his mind. Watching her pale skin turn pink with arousal beneath his fingertips. Her nipples hardening as be blew his warm breath against them. Her back arching as she cried out wordlessly in ecstasy.

Finlay shifted his stance. My God, what in the hell was he doing to himself? His fierce attraction to her could easily become a dangerous liability.

“My Lord Firthwell, I’ve come to make the introduction you requested.”

Lady Eddington’s excited yet predatory voice tempered the storm brewing in his blood as effectively as a winter downpour. “Of course.” He hoped his face wasn’t flushed. “I was just telling Lady Flora and Mrs. Taylor how you’d promised to introduce me to your daughter.”

The menacing look Lady Eddington directed at Lady Flora, and to a lesser extent Charlotte, dimmed somewhat in the wake of Finlay’s words. She grasped her daughter and all but thrust her into Finlay’s arms. “Lord Firthwell, allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Miss Marguerite Eddington. Her skills on the pianoforte will leave you speechless, I’m sure of it.” With an indulgent look, she gestured to Finlay and raised her brows at her daughter. “And this, my dear, is the charming Viscount Firthwell. I’m sure you recall that his father is the Earl of Rockhaven and his sister is the new Duchess of Darington.”

He sensed Charlotte shift on her feet, and, out of the corner of his eye, he took in her downturned head. Remembering his manners, he bowed. “Miss Eddington, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard nothing but praise for you and your musical talents.”

Lady Flora coughed into her hand, a sound he suspected she had meant to be dainty but instead resembled a bark. Lady Eddington cut her a sharp look, but Flora merely tilted her head to the side and observed Miss Eddington and him. He didn’t want to know what thoughts were racing through her mind.

Charlotte had gone as still as a placid lake next to him, and he dared not risk a glance at her. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to tear his gaze from her face again.

Impervious to the tension thickening the air, Miss Eddington offered Finlay a tentative smile. “Thank you, my lord. I hope I do not disappoint your expectations.”

“I’m convinced that would be impossible,” he said, placing a hand on his chest.

Flora coughed once again, and Finlay bit back a laugh—or perhaps it was a groan—and extended a hand to her. “Are you acquainted with Miss Eddington, Lady Flora?” Dipping his head to the blonde, he said, “Her Ladyship is a good friend of my sister and is almost like a sister to me, as well.” He punctuated the last part with a fierce glare at the lady in question.

Unfazed, Flora clasped her hands in front of her waist and grinned. “I was lucky enough to meet Miss Eddington and hear her play at the Windemere soiree. It’s a marvel the way your fingers dance along the keys.”

A rosy blush crept along Miss Eddington’s face and disappeared into her hairline. Her mother smiled fondly at her, the woman’s stance practically oozing pride. “She practices three hours a day, whether I ask her to or not. And Marguerite’s dedication extends past just the pianoforte. She’s determined to cultivate all the skills needed in a titled wife and political hostess.”

His stomach rolled, although he nodded in approval.

“That’s very admirable.”

Looking at Charlotte askance, Finlay watched as her azure eyes went wide and her jaw grew slack, as if she couldn’t believe her audacity at speaking out of turn. In contrast, her reaction made his chest uncomfortably tight.

“I quite agree, Mrs. Taylor,” Flora said, tapping a finger against her chin. “It almost makes me regret all those lessons I skipped so I could spend more time in the stables.”

“Stables?” Lady Eddington said the word like it was an expletive. “I must admit to being a bit surprised that a lady of your station was allowed to spend so much of her time out of doors.”

“Yes, well, if I behaved as society dictates a duke’s daughter must, whatever would people have to gossip about behind my back?”

Lady Flora’s innocent delivery almost broke through the dam of Finlay’s self-control, and he turned his head away. When his gaze alighted on Charlotte, her eyes sparkling, he realized he’d jumped from the pot to the pan.

“I suspect a woman of your station would be gossiped about no matter what, my lady.” Charlotte pressed her lips together into a faux frown. “Your attire. Perhaps who you conversed with at the park. Or who you waltzed with at a ball.”

“And I suspect you’re correct.” Flora sighed. “It’s dreadful being out in Society sometimes.”

“That’s a shame.” Miss Eddington’s voice was conciliatory. “I find I adore the constant action. The whirlwind of events. The opera, the theatre, soirees, balls, dinner parties.” She paused, her chest rising and falling with excitement. “Do you enjoy the Season, Lord Firthwell?”

He had once. Not terribly long ago, he’d thrived on the non-stop social calendar and the darker activities that transpired after the chaperones and their innocent debutantes were tucked safely in their beds. Now, Finlay found he preferred quiet dinners with friends or reading letters from Alethea and Darington, or even the latest astronomy tomes, in the comfortable leather chair in his study.

Lud, was he twenty-five or fifty-five?

Finlay nodded. “I still very much enjoy seeing old friends and making new acquaintances, such as yourself.”

He risked a swift glance at Charlotte and found her with a small wrinkle between her brows, as if she knew he hadn’t been entirely truthful.

“Have we met?” Lady Eddington’s eyes narrowed as they swept over Charlotte in disdainful inspection, before swinging to Finlay. He suddenly felt a trickle of sweat slide down his spine. “I don’t recall seeing you before.”

Miss Eddington took a step back, no doubt sensing her mother’s displeasure. But Charlotte was not cowed and sank into a respectful curtsy. Lady Flora spoke before she could.

“Do forgive me for not introducing Mrs. Taylor, Your Ladyship.” Flora shook her head. “Lud, where are my manners?”

“Are you sure you didn’t leave them in the stables?” Charlotte asked, her expression serious.

“Oh, of course,” Flora deadpanned, lightly smacking her head. “Thank you for reminding me. I knew there was a reason I asked you to serve as my companion.”

“So you’re Lady Flora’s companion?” Lady Eddington drew out the last word as if she couldn’t comprehend how a servant had joined their conversation.

“She is.” Flora looped her arm through Charlotte’s, holding her by her side. “Lady Eddington, Miss Eddington, allow me to present my companion, Mrs. Taylor. When she’s not accompanying me to balls and reminding me of my manners, she teaches French and deportment to the children at Little Windmill House, the foundling home Lord Inverray founded.”

Finlay considered the way Miss Eddington greeted Charlotte politely with a small nod, but the viscountess continued to observe her with barely concealed suspicion.

“So you are a deportment instructor.” It was not a question. The older woman’s gaze jumped to Flora. “An apt companion, I’d say.”

Flora’s black brows dipped low over her eyes, the cords in her neck taut and visible. “Apt, you say? I agree. I think we all need a steady influence to remind us of what’s proper, such as remembering ourselves around our betters.”

Finlay looked down at his feet rather than risk laughing at Lady Eddington’s pale expression.

“Thankfully, I’ve never known you to forget yourself or the lessons you were taught by your mother, the duchess,” Charlotte responded as she laid a hand on Flora’s arm, and her shoulders instantly relaxed.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, smoothing down her skirts. Turning her head to take in the chattering crowd quickly filling the room to capacity, Flora flashed the two Eddington women a tight smile. “It appears my sister and her duke have arrived. I haven’t spoken with her in an age. If you will excuse me.”

They watched the Scotswoman navigate through the crowd before Lady Eddington pivoted to face Finlay. “I fear I have other guests to greet, but I’d be more than happy to save a seat for you in the very front row so you have an unobstructed view of Marguerite’s superior talent.”

“I’d appreciate that above all things,” he said, bowing to both women.

His tongue grew numb and heavy as the Eddington women walked away. He was uncertain of whether he should excuse himself or revel in the luxury of having a private moment with Charlotte.

Instead, she took the decision from him.

“She was lying, you know. Flora visited with the Duchess of Ashwood just this morning, when Her Grace gave me this beautiful gown.”

He rejoiced in his excuse to inspect her delectable figure, under the guise of admiring said gown, before he met her gaze. “I’m convinced you make it beautiful.”

“My, Lord Firthwell, your compliments could be military weapons,” she said, even as her breath grow shallow.

“I’ll remember to tout that.” He searched the room for Inverray. Surely if Flora was here, so was the man. He desperately needed a distraction from the enchanting woman next to him. “Heaven knows I’ll need all the help I can get to win this race.”

Finlay sensed her concentrated regard. “I…I’m guessing an alliance with the Eddingtons would be a boon.”

He slowly looked down at her. Taking in how the soft planes of her face had hardened into a mask, he experienced an overwhelming feeling of loss. “Yes, it would.”

She nodded, angling her head away. Not being able to see her expression made him grind his teeth. “Then don’t let Lady Flora dominate the conversation. She doesn’t mean to do it, but it’s impossible to ignore her.” Charlotte stared fixedly at a distant target, and Finlay followed the line of her sight until his gaze landed on Miss Eddington. “Pay attention when she speaks. Ask her about herself. Make her feel as if she is the only woman you see. The only woman you care about.”

“But it would be a lie,” he bit out.

…

Fire.

Fire burned in her chest. It scorched through her armor. It incinerated her resolve. Turned her lungs to ash, for abruptly she couldn’t breathe.

It made her want to cry in helplessness, and she despised feeling such.

Standing idly by as Finlay charmed a proper young lady, a woman of his class, deserving of his regard, was surely worse than the torture rack. His whispered words were like the last turn on the crank.

Pushing down the pain, down deep where she locked away her heartbreak born of death, carelessness, and betrayal, she forced herself to turn to him, no matter if it was like facing a noonday sun. “Is telling believable lies a requirement of being a politician? You’re quite proficient.”

The words were bitter and unfair. In the short time she’d known him, Finlay had become one of the two most admirable men of her acquaintance.

Finlay’s gifted lips stretched into a sad farce of a smile. “I’ve never been very good at telling lies. Perhaps I should reconsider my political aspirations.”

With those words, he delivered a polite bow and walked away, taking Charlotte’s willpower with him.