The Marquis and I

The next morning, Charlotte and her sister visited Madam Lisette the modiste to whom they had been giving their custom.

“I wish you happy,” Madam said as she spread out drawings over a long table. “I ’ave ’eard of your engagement.”

As had everyone else in the ton. “Thank you, Madam.”

Sleep had not come easily last night. Every time Charlotte thought she would surrender to Morpheus, another thought invaded her mind. Lord Harrington had shown himself to be someone other than what he had pretended to be when they had first met. Apparently, the attentions he had paid to her early on—pretending interest in her brothers and sisters—were not how he intended to behave as a husband. If he actually got around to proposing, she would reject him. Although, he would most likely not take no for an answer. That would be awkward.

Yet, were Kenilworth’s attentions real? If they were, could she love him, and could he love her? Why did he wish to wed her in the first place? Perhaps, for her, there was another gentleman entirely.

She gave herself a shake. No matter what happened or failed to happen, she was getting a new wardrobe. That was something to be happy about.

“What do you think of these?” Grace asked.

Charlotte looked at a carriage gown in Spanish brown—a color that looked well on her—and a walking gown in damascene, a deep plum. They would be perfect for autumn. Although, whether she would be allowed to wear them if she did not wed was another question. “They are lovely.”

Madam showed her several other designs, including evening gowns, ball gowns, and day dresses. By the time she and her sister left, the order exceeded what had been purchased for the Season.

Deciding to simply enjoy the excess, Charlotte took out her list as Grace gathered up swatches. “The milliner next, then the shoemaker.”

Later that morning when they returned home, Charlotte’s spirits were much restored. She walked into the hall and stopped. Flowers filled the round walnut table, and both front parlors. “Where did these come from?”

Royston held out a silver salver with two cards, one from Lord Kenilworth and the other from Lord Harrington. The butler cleared his throat. “Lord Kenilworth arrived shortly after you left this morning. There is a note on the back of his card.”

Picking it up, she turned it over.

Will you do me the honor of saving me two waltzes at Lady Pennington’s ball, to include the supper dance? Please.

She would send him her response later. “What does this have to do with the bouquets?”

“Lord Kenilworth brought the first bouquet.” He pointed to a lovely arrangement of Provence moss-roses, which were her favorites, mixed with nigella and ivy. “Lord Harrington arrived before his lordship departed.” She took the other card.

I would like to stand up with you for the supper dance at Lady Pennington’s ball tomorrow.

G. Earl of Harrington

This was an easy decision to make. Kenilworth had asked first, and more politely. “Let me guess, Lord Harrington sent a bouquet as well.”

“Indeed, my lady. The red roses are from him.”

“Well, that accounts for two of the arrangements, but there must be at least ten of them.” As well as the marigolds, delphiniums, and lupus. He was obviously guessing as to what she liked, yet how had Kenilworth known . . . Of course, the children had told him. More importantly, he had obviously inquired. “Fifteen, my lady. Thus far, Lord Kenilworth has the advantage by one. They have been arriving every hour. Mrs. Pennymore has run out of vases.”

“Poor Pennymore. What a position for a housekeeper to be in.” Grace collapsed onto one of the chairs, and began to laugh. A few moments later, she took out her handkerchief and mopped her eyes. “The flower war,” she gasped before another peal of laughter erupted. “Matt was right. They are vying for you.”

“Yes.” Charlotte dropped into the other chair, unable to believe a rivalry was occurring over her. “But what are we going to do with all these bouquets?”

* * *

Other than their ride in the Park, this evening would be the first time Con and Charlotte would appear together in public. During the past few years he’d shunned these types of events—where young ladies and gentlemen expected to find matches—but now found himself looking forward to the evening.

He looked once again at the reply to his request to stand up with her tomorrow evening. It would be the second time, tonight being the first, that he would have two dances with her.

Dear Lord Kenilworth,

I would be pleased to grant you the supper dance and one other waltz.

Regards,
Lady Charlotte Carpenter

Or, perhaps, he was merely looking forward to having Charlotte in his arms during the waltz, and on his arm for as much of the rest of the evening as he was able. A thought that pleased him more than it would have a few days ago.

What would please him even more was to have her in his home and in his bed. In some ways it was a pity that she was not a more biddable lady. It would save him from the worry that she might still actually jilt him.

Then again, he would probably not like and admire her as well. Hadn’t that been his complaint against every year’s crop of ladies who were just out? That they were all insipid and boring?

He looked in the mirror one last time as Cunningham made some last-minute adjustments.

“Very fine, my lord.”

“I believe you are right. I expect to return before one o’clock.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Con went down to the drawing room and poured himself a brandy. A few moments later, he heard the rustling of his mother’s silk skirts in the corridor and stood as the door opened.

She glanced at his goblet.

“Would you like a sherry?” He held up the decanter.

“If you please.” He gave her a glass of the wine, and she took a sip. Her forehead pleated softly.

Had the sherry gone off? “Is anything wrong?”

“Not at all, dear.” She smiled. “My, you look handsome. I wanted to remind you that as a betrothed gentleman you may dance more than twice with Charlotte.” Mama tapped her finger against the glass. “In fact, you may live in her pocket this evening if you like and no one will think you rude for not dancing with the other young ladies.”

“Ah. Thank you.” He was pleased to learn this bit of information. Perhaps he had been away from Polite Society too long. “I was unaware that the proprieties had changed.”

“They have not,” his mother replied acerbically. “Your status has.” Webster appeared to announce dinner, and she placed her hand on his arm as they made their way to the dining room.

He held the chair for her at the foot of the table that had been shortened to accommodate the two of them, and considered what she’d said. He might indeed be allowed to keep Charlotte by his side, but he had the distinct feeling that would raise her ire enough to defy him. And that was not what he wanted. It would not only fail to advance his cause, but it would make him a laughing stock. It was much better to take his lead from her and not expect her to run in his harness.

He would like to see her refuse Harrington. For some reason, Con could not like the younger man. Charlotte had been clearly upset when she returned from her walk with the coxcomb. Had Harrington tried to press her to marry him? Or worse, berated her for being betrothed to Con? He wished he could ask her to confide in him, but it was too soon for that.

Con had taken his seat, and his mother had signaled the footmen to serve. She would never become used to the plates being set on the table. He wondered how Charlotte would keep the table once this house was hers.

Two hours later, he entered Lady Hereford’s ballroom. The woman was a friend of his mother’s, thus enabling him to discover that she loved the new German dance. News that did not make him happy. There were to be three waltzes, and he had Charlotte for only two of them. That meant some other gentleman, probably Harrington, would have his arms around her.

He spotted her halfway down the room, not far from Worthington and her sister, surrounded by her court. Several of them were much younger than he and obviously new on the Town. Endicott was there, as were Harrington and two other gentlemen with whom he was not acquainted. One of the men caused his brow to rise. Con was surprised that Worthington would allow Lord Ruffington within a yard of Charlotte. However, the man stood back and did not engage in the banter.

Unfortunately, it took Con several minutes to reach his betrothed’s side. It was amazing how many of his colleagues in the Lords had wives and eligible young daughters who must meet him. He managed to slide in between Charlotte and a young swain whose shirt points threatened to poke out one of the man’s eyes.

She had been laughing at a remark and, when she looked up at him, her eyes still sparkled with jollity. “Good evening, my lord.”

He bowed slightly. “My lady.” Other than Harrington, the other gentlemen seemed to step back a fraction. “I trust you are having an enjoyable evening.”

If Con was waiting for her to announce that his presence was all that was needed to make the night perfect, he would have been disappointed.

“I am. Lord Endicott has told me a very funny story about the two of you as children.”

Con cut his friend a look. “Not the bull.”

Charlotte’s laughter sounded like the tinkling of bells. “Exactly the one. Is it true you jumped down and distracted the bull so that his lordship could get away, and then had to hide behind a cow?”

“Cows.” He was sure he should not mention that several of them had been ready for the bull’s attentions. “One of them took pity on me and helped me get to the fence.”

“How clever of you.” She placed her fingers on his arm when she gazed up at him. “I hope you rewarded her later.”

That he wanted to carry her off and make her his did not surprise him. What shocked him was that his yearning had nothing to do with his pride. “Cows are much harder to please than horses, but I believe treacle was involved.”

The prelude to the first waltz began and he said, “My dance, I believe.”

She made a point of glancing at the dance card hanging on a silken ribbon from her wrist. Every line was filled. “It is, my lord.”

Harrington scowled and Con wanted to laugh.

Con and Charlotte took their places on the dance floor. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, he wished she would step closer to him. He put his hand on her waist, and her eyes widened for a moment before she lowered her thick, dark blond lashes. When they began to dance it was as if they moved as one. No other woman felt as if she were part of him like she did.

There was an attraction. He had not been mistaken when he’d felt it in the carriage as they’d fled from the inn. Yet how was he to convince her? She was likely too innocent to recognize the feelings she no doubt had when they touched.

He caught a glimpse of her brother-in-law as they circled the floor. Worthington was watching her like a hawk. There would be no help from that quarter.

Charlotte smiled at another couple.

“Who are they?” Con asked.

“One of my cousins, Miss Blackacre, and Lord Bentley. They recently became betrothed. They will marry in the country at his father’s estate.” Her voice softened when she mentioned the country.

“Will you be glad when the Season is over?”

Charlotte met his gaze with a serious one of her own. It occurred to him that she did not merely make polite responses, but honest ones.

“I think I shall. I have had a wonderful time in Town, but I miss the relative quiet of the country.”

“I know what you mean.” London was almost unbearable during the summer. He usually made a point to visit his estates, but also escaped to Brighton for a few weeks. Afterward, there were house parties to which his mistress would also be invited. It occurred to him that he did not have many friends to whom he would introduce Charlotte. He would remedy that as soon as possible.

“Will you travel to Belgium?” she asked.

“Many people are, but I cannot help but think that visiting the site of a probable battle is not the best idea.”

She grinned. “That is what my brother says.”

“I would imagine he has much more to say on the subject than that.” In fact, he knew Worthington’s thoughts on the matter.

“I have no doubt you are right,” she said, relaxing into his arms.

Con held her closer in a turn.

“I would like to visit Europe, but only after the war has ended,” she added.

Harrington’s father had arranged for the man to work with Sir Charles, Britain’s ambassador to France, and would be gone for a few years. “Have you ever thought about living on the Continent?” Con asked.

She seemed surprised. “In truth, no. I would not like to be that far from my family for so long.”

Lord Kenilworth’s question reminded Charlotte that Harrington would soon leave for France. She wished him well, but had no desire to be with him. Even if she had fancied herself in love with him, she would not have wanted to leave her family and friends for years at a time.

Her breath hitched as Kenilworth held her a little closer than he had before. Not inappropriately close, of course. Neither of them wanted to court any more gossip. Yet his hand lay hot and heavy on her waist, sending shivers up her back and warming her body. She had never had that feeling before and did not know what to think of it. Lately, it seemed as if any touch of his caused some reaction. A prickling of awareness she had never experienced before.

Charlotte had lost count of how many times she had danced this Season. With some partners—fortunately not many—she’d had to watch her toes. Silk or even kidskin slippers were no match for a gentleman’s evening pumps. Many times the man had danced extremely well, yet she had never before felt as if she was floating around the dance floor. Never had the waltz seemed so effortless, and she was sorry when the set came to an end.

As they strolled back to where her brother and sister would return and where her circle usually stood, Lord Kenilworth took two small bowls of ices from a footman, handing her one. “This is an inspired idea for a warm night.”

“It is.” She took a taste. Lemon. “How refreshing the ice is.”

One day when she had a home of her own, she would do the same. Matt and Grace arrived at the same time Charlotte and Lord Kenilworth did. Soon Dotty and Merton, Lord Endicott, Bentley, her cousin Oriana Blackacre, Elizabeth Turley, Harrington, and some of the younger gentlemen joined them.

Charlotte glanced at Elizabeth and found her sliding a quick look at Harrington. She had said she might be interested in him. And if they had not previously met... “Miss Turley, have you been introduced to Lord Harrington?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened a bit, and the corners of her lips curled up. “No, I have not.”

Harrington frowned, although Charlotte did not know if it was his usual expression these days or he was unhappy about something else. “In that case, may I make you known to Lord Harrington. My lord, Miss Turley.”

Elizabeth curtseyed, and he took her outstretched hand when he bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Turley.”

“I am delighted to meet you, my lord.”

Lady Hereford was bearing down on them, ready to make the gentlemen dance with ladies who did not have partners for the next set. “Miss Turley,” Harrington said quickly, “please tell me you will do me the honor of standing up with me.”

“You are in luck, my lord. This is the last set I have available.”

Charlotte was glad to see that Elizabeth’s smile and tone were nothing more than polite. If she was interested in Harrington, she should not let him think she was too eager.

“Thank you.” He bowed again as Lady Hereford sailed up to them.

“My lords and gentlemen, I have several young ladies who require partners. I shall be happy to make the introductions.”

The younger men muttered under their breaths, but the older ones bowed to their fate without complaint. Dotty whispered something in Elizabeth’s ear before she went off to the dance floor, then turned to speak to Grace, and Merton had moved to speak with Matt. In a few moments, the only gentleman left next to Charlotte was Lord Kenilworth, who had only slightly acknowledged Lady Hereford’s summons and had not followed her at all.

Charlotte would have to give him a hint. “Should you not have gone to dance with someone else?”

“But you promised to protect me.” He raised a brow. “Did you not?”

Suddenly, the vow she’d made during their carriage ride came rushing back to her. She could not believe he had been serious. “I thought you were joking.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head slowly. “I never joke about my safety.”

Charlotte was torn between laughter and exasperation. He could not remain by her side all evening. “You should ask Lady Merton or Miss Turley to stand up with you. You will be safe with them.”

“Miss Turley’s last set has been taken, and Merton doesn’t look as if he will willingly give up his wife.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “You, my lady, are my only hope.”

Incorrigible man. “I trust you do not think I shall remain here all evening.”

“Not at all.” He acted surprised. “Your dance card is full. I shall hide behind the potted plants until you have finished your sets.”

How ridiculous he was. He reminded her of a cat who insisted on remaining on one’s lap after having been made to get down. Charlotte took a deep breath. “Very well. Have it your way.”

“Thank you.” His lips touched her knuckles and a frisson of awareness slid up her arm. Now what was she going to do?