James ignored the surprised looks of those he passed as he made his way through the throng at the ball. This was the first formal gathering he’d attended since his return to London. He recognized several people with whom he should speak, but that would have to wait until he had a word with Lady Charlotte. After all, she was the reason he was here.
It had only taken a few questions here and there to form an opinion on Lord Palmer, who was younger than James by several years. Those he’d asked hadn’t provided a favorable impression. Far from it.
Charles Lowery, Viscount Palmer, was a rogue of the worst sort. One who focused solely on his own pleasures. It didn’t sound as if it mattered who he hurt in the process.
One story suggested he’d cheated at cards and won a significant amount though no one had proof. Another told of his aunt who died under mysterious circumstances, leaving Palmer a tidy sum. The last one had been the sorry tale of a young lady who’d been ruined by the cad. Why someone hadn’t called Palmer out for not proposing was beyond James.
Those rumors were made worse by the fact that Lady Charlotte was somehow involved with him. James might not understand the protectiveness he felt toward her, but he had to act on it. The alternative was to share what he’d learned with her brother. He’d prefer not to do that unless necessary as he was certain Edward wouldn’t be pleased.
As far as James was concerned, where there was smoke, there was fire. How could a rakehell like Palmer move about in Society without being taken to task for his behavior?
As James made his way toward Lady Charlotte, he was struck once again by her beauty. This evening, she wore a pale lavender gown that turned her blue-green eyes violet. Her honey tresses were gathered in a loose chignon with several strands left free to frame her face. Her head tilted as she watched him as if she were puzzled by his determined approach.
She’d learned the reason behind his presence soon enough.
“Good evening, Lady Charlotte.” He forced himself to bow and then turned to her companion. Social pleasantries were one thing he hadn’t missed while he’d been abroad. There was no need for such niceties on the battlefield. When he had something on his mind, taking the time to be polite seemed ridiculous. He’d prefer to come straight to the point.
The lady standing beside Charlotte stared at him with great interest though a certain coolness gleamed in her eyes that suggested she kept people at arm’s length.
“Viscount Redmond. What a surprise.” Charlotte turned to her companion. “Margaret, this is James Crosby, Viscount Redmond, a friend of my brother’s.” She looked back at James. “Miss Margaret Gold.”
“How do you do, my lord?” Margaret curtsied.
“Well and you?” he asked, his gaze immediately returning to Charlotte.
“Quite well. Thank you.” The amusement in Miss Gold’s tone made James realize his mistake of not waiting for her response before focusing on Charlotte.
He blinked and looked back at Miss Gold. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
She nodded, her amused smile remaining in place. At least she didn’t have dimples that threatened to distract him.
“I would like a private word with you,” he advised Charlotte, not phrasing it as a question, because it wasn’t. He needed to speak with her as soon as possible.
Charlotte’s eyes widened then she glanced about. “I don’t believe privacy is possible here.”
He gritted his teeth. Of course, they couldn’t have a private word in the middle of a ballroom. But he didn’t dare wait until he next called on Edward with the hope he’d see her. James wanted to warn her before she took another misstep and something disastrous occurred.
“Perhaps the two of you might dance?” Miss Gold lifted a brow as if surprised they hadn’t thought of the solution themselves. “That could provide an opportunity.”
James latched onto the idea without hesitation. The situation had him so rattled he wasn’t thinking clearly. “May I have the honor of the next dance?” he asked Charlotte.
“How kind of you.” Charlotte appeared as amused as her friend.
He offered his elbow, and they walked toward the dance floor, leaving Miss Gold with her sister who’d been standing nearby.
“I must say I’m surprised to see you here,” Charlotte whispered, her voice low. “I don’t believe you’ve attended any events since your return. Why is that?”
“I’m here to speak with you.”
“How flattering.” The doubt in her tone was unmistakable.
He gave himself a mental shake. No doubt he was coming across like a boorish oaf. “Forgive me. It has been some time since I’ve been among those in the polite world. My manners are rusty.”
“What is so urgent that you are risking life and limb by coming to a ball?”
James glanced about, all too aware of the interested looks from those around them. He’d nearly forgotten how crowded a ballroom could be. The realization was enough to cause him to break out into a cold sweat. Crowds made him incredibly uncomfortable. “I’ll explain when we have a moment alone.”
The current dance ended, and they took their place on the floor with James quelling his panic as he realized the upcoming dance would be a Scottish reel. He searched his memory for the proper steps only to find it blank. It was a dance, he chided himself. How difficult could this be?
He drew a breath to ease the pounding of his heart then followed the movements of the gentlemen near him, relieved when the correct steps came to him. After a misstep or two, he found the rhythm. Perhaps a few elements of Society, such as dancing, weren’t so terrible.
His gaze caught on Charlotte and in short order, all else fell away. Something about her calmed his soul as if she were his port in a storm. Dancing with her brought to mind a different time before darkness clung to him. It was pleasant to forget about all else except this moment.
This dance.
Charlotte.
She was graceful as she moved, though not with the exaggerated gestures many ladies made to draw attention to themselves. Her enjoyment was genuine, evident by the light in her eyes.
At last, the final notes of the music swelled to a halt. The couples bowed and curtsied to close the dance, and James offered Charlotte his arm. Not once had they been close enough to have a conversation. Now was his chance.
He glanced around the ballroom and noted a large column along one wall that would work perfectly to hide them from most of the other guests. He escorted her toward the column, pleased to see a tall potted plant along its side that would provide them an additional measure of privacy.
“What is your relationship with Viscount Palmer?” Though he wanted to order her never to see the man again, he had a suspicion that particular approach wouldn’t work. She wasn’t one of his men.
A blush rose in her cheeks as she lifted her chin. “What business is it of yours?”
“You are my friend’s sister. I do not want to see you hurt.” He had fond memories of the girl she used to be and a need to do what he could to keep her safe.
“I am ten and nine years of age, not some young girl who doesn't know any better. I can take care of myself.”
“I don't think you understand Palmer or men like him.”
Her blush deepened and a spark lit her eyes. “You are not related to me. In fact, we hardly know each other. Who I associate with is none of your concern.”
“Are you interested in him?” James clenched his fist. The very thought of a man with Palmer’s reputation touching Charlotte was more than he could bear.
“What?” Her whispered outrage reassured him more than a simple denial would have. “No. I am not. How dare you ask!”
“What am I to think when he accompanied you to that party?”
“Along with his sister. I was never alone with him.”
“Humph.” That wasn’t nearly good enough. “You should not see him again.”
“You do not have a say.” Charlotte shook her head. “While I’m sure you don’t care about the reason behind it, I intend to do my best to enjoy myself the next few months.” She glanced away. “I am to marry soon, and such opportunities will be lost.”
He frowned at her odd wording, ignoring the equally odd skip of his heart. “Who are you marrying?”
“I don’t yet know.”
“Then how can you possibly marry soon?”
“You will have to ask that of my father. There is little I can do about it except enjoy a few adventures while I can.”
“I appreciate the idea of enjoying yourself before you wed. However, doing so could be dangerous. Especially with a man like Palmer.” It could result in her landing in trouble or finding herself in a situation she couldn't talk her way out of. And if her father caught her, there would be hell to pay.
“You're making too much of this. I'm only trying to have a little fun. A few adventures.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. “You and Edward are free to do as you please, but I am not. You do realize how unfair that is, don’t you?”
“Your wish to enjoy a few evenings isn’t what concerns me. Who you’re doing it with does.”
“I see. Will you take me instead?” The defiant look on her face suggested she expected him to refuse. “Would you dare to escort me on an adventure?”
“Dare?” It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse. He had no intention of encouraging her in this scheme even if he sympathized with her plight. Yet the idea of her continuing to have Palmer as an escort was not to be had. “What sort of adventure are you planning next?” He couldn't believe he'd asked. What had come over him?
As her eyes held his, awareness seeped into him. Awareness that she was no longer the young girl from his memories. She was an attractive woman.
“I haven't quite decided,” she said. “But I would much prefer your company over Lord Palmer’s.”
“It would only be once.” He wanted to make it clear that this wouldn't be an ongoing situation. “After it is done, you agree to take greater care with your activities. No more outings with Palmer or anyone of his ilk.”
She smiled, revealing those charming dimples that grabbed his thoughts and scattered them willy-nilly. “I will finalize the details soon and share them when you next come to the house.”
Before he could think of a response she turned and eased back into the crowd, disappearing from sight. Only then did he realize she hadn't agreed to his request. Again.
~*~
The next morning Charlotte woke with a smile. She could hardly believe James had agreed to take her on an adventure. She needed to pick this one carefully. It needed to be something fun and that she wouldn’t have gone on otherwise.
She trusted him, though she couldn't say precisely why. As she’d told him, they didn't really know each other anymore. Her memories of him were clear as was the secret tendre that had burned brightly within her, but he was a man now in every sense of the word. It was easy to imagine him on a battlefield calling out orders. He seemed so capable and confident as if he could handle any situation that might arise. What had his time away been like? What interesting places had he seen? What tragedies had he witnessed? More importantly, what had caused the melancholy she sensed in him?
He wouldn't allow her to push the bounds of propriety as Lord Palmer did. James would be overly protective and cautious. Of that, she had no doubt. He would do all in his power to make certain they returned safely. Hopefully, that didn't mean they wouldn't enjoy themselves. From what little Edward had mentioned, he enjoyed James’ company. Surely that meant James wasn't too much of a stick in the mud.
The idea of being with him for an entire evening was rather thrilling. In his company, she wouldn't have to worry about things such as Lord Palmer overstepping or Barbara and her giggling. The excitement she felt was far different than what she’d felt previously. Though a tingle of nervousness danced in her stomach, it had more to do with being with James than doing something she shouldn't be doing. He truly was a fine figure of a man, so handsome and appealing. Even Margaret noticed, and she rarely did so.
Charlotte had the suspicion that James needed more entertainment in his life. He was so serious compared to the lighthearted young man he used to be. If she could lift the shadows from his eyes, even temporarily, she would be happy.
A knock sounded at her door and she sat up against the pillows. “Enter.”
Much to her surprise, her mother came in. “Good morning, dear.”
“Good morning.” Concern fluttered through her. Lady Wynn had a purpose if she was paying a visit.
“Your father and I have been talking...” her mother began.
Charlotte hid a sigh. She knew exactly what that meant. Her father had spoken, and her mother had nodded. Though she loved her mother dearly, she couldn't help but wonder who she'd been before her marriage. Now she agreed with everything her husband said no matter how unreasonable and unfair it seemed.
Charlotte detested her mother’s disinterest but knew firsthand how difficult it was to argue with him. His temper made any conversation uncomfortable and the few times she’d protested, let alone tried to defy him, he had frightened her. Shouting, throwing objects, and making life difficult for the entire household, including the servants. The memory of the last time she disagreed with him had her swallowing hard.
“Oh?” Although Charlotte understood her mother's position, another part of her resented the fact that she didn't stand up for herself or her children. While Charlotte knew her mother had little choice, she still had opinions. Or at least she used to. But living with her husband had slowly smothered those.
More than once, Charlotte had attempted to speak with her about it. How could she not when one look at her face revealed how unhappy she was? Some women became bitter when locked in a marriage such as hers. But Lady Wynn had become lifeless. Charlotte didn't know which was worse.
“Your father would like you to speak with Lord Samuelson at the next opportunity. Tomorrow night at the Washburn Ball should be the perfect time. He would make you a fine husband, and your father wants you to catch his notice.”
Charlotte's stomach tightened with unease. “Lord Samuelson? But he's much older than I am.” Too old in Charlotte’s opinion. An image of the tall, rather unattractive man came to mind with his somber countenance and high cheekbones.
“Nonsense. The two of you will suit perfectly. His title is an old one and his family quite wealthy.” Her mother didn't meet her eyes.
“I disagree.” Perhaps her mother had smothered her feelings, but Charlotte had no intention of doing so. While she hated the idea of putting her mother in an uncomfortable situation, she had no choice. This was the rest of her life they were talking about. “Surely I have some say as to who I should marry.”
“Your father knows best.”
Charlotte reached for her mother's arm and squeezed it gently until she met her gaze. But even then she could see the distance in her eyes. For her vacant expression this early in the morning meant one thing—laudanum.
Though Charlotte had suspected it on a few other occasions, there was no other explanation behind that look. No doubt a conversation with her father had been enough for her to seek something to smother her misery despite the early hour.
Charlotte's best hope was to do everything she could to remove her mother from the middle of the situation. Somehow she'd have to find the strength and courage to ask her father to see reason.
But that was not anything to be done rashly. She needed to plan her approach and find the right moment with the hope she could convince him to see her side of things. The chances of success were slim, but she had to try.
“Mother, what if I found a more appropriate suitor?”
“Your father knows best, dear,” she repeated. “You should allow him to guide you in this matter.”
“The qualities he considers important for a potential husband do not align with mine.”
“What would you know of such things?” Her mother shook her head. “He has your best interests at heart.”
“I rather think he has his own best interests at heart. He doesn't care whether or not I'm happy.”
“You sound like a spoiled child.” She gave a disapproving look. “I expect more from you. Now then, why don't you ring for your maid and decide which of your gowns you should wear for tomorrow night’s ball? Your father is certain Lord Samuelson will be there. You must look your best.”
“But mother—”
“No more.” Her mother smoothed her gown, her gaze already on the door. “We will not speak of this again until after you've had a chance to spend time with Lord Samuelson. Make sure you dance with him.”
“Are you coming to the ball?”
“We shall see. I haven't yet decided.”
Her mother attended few events anymore. Charlotte wondered why, though she had the idea that seeing others happy and content with their lives must make her own life all the more painful to bear. Better to spend the evening in her bedchamber with a good book and a bottle of wine, anything to escape her circumstances.
That was not how Charlotte intended to spend her life. While she knew marriage was a compromise, she at least wanted to like and respect her husband. True partnerships were rare. And she had no reason to hope for something of the sort. She wanted to have children and share her love with them one day, but she also wanted a marriage she could more than endure.
That was all her mother was doing. Charlotte would do everything in her power to see that wasn’t her own future. Perhaps it was as simple as making sure Lord Samuelson didn't like her without being too obvious.
“Don't forget to select one of your best gowns. You must make a favorable impression.” When her mother repeated herself, it was never a good sign.
Charlotte would be sure to make an impression, but she couldn't promise it would be a positive one. However, she had to take care as she didn't want Lord Samuelson to say something to her father that would reveal that she’d deliberately sabotaged the meeting. Her father would make her pay if she did, and she might never get the chance to do what she wanted.
Only the thought of planning an outing with James kept her from despair.