Lady Whistledown Strikes Back (30 page)

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS,
14 JUNE 1816

“I thought we had an agreement.” Charlotte paced back and forth in front of her mother’s writing desk. “Lord Matson was supposed to be allowed to call on me.”

“Charlotte,” Lady Birling replied, setting aside her pen, “he has been allowed to do so.”

“Then why haven’t I seen him?”

“Lord Matson is obviously a man with many business and social obligations. I told you that we doubted the depth of his commitment to you. And better to discover that now, before the gossips can make it look as though he led you on and then tired of you.”

<> That thought had occurred to her from time to time, especially at night, alone in her bed, but in the daylight her penchant for reality thankfully won out.

“How can he tire of me when we never see one another?”

“Perhaps he has done so already.” Her mother gave an obviously forced smile. “Now, don’t you have

a luncheon today with Melinda Edwards? You shouldn’t be late.”

Charlotte hid a sudden frown. Over the past few days she had been frighteningly in demand. She’d attributed it to her mention in Whistledown, but friends, relations, her mother, all seemed to require her presence for eating or shopping or strolling in between drizzles. Now she abruptly began to wonder whether her parents were attempting to keep her out of the house so that Xavier
couldn’t
see her. He’d been given permission to call on her, but no one had said she must be home to see him.
Drat.
“Melinda sent over a note this morning begging off,” she lied. “I believe she has the sniffles.”

“It’s this atrocious weather.” Lady Birling stood. “We don’t want you coming down with anything.

Why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest?”

A short time alone to think up a strategy seemed a very good idea. “Yes, Mama.”

Not certain whether to be angry at the machinations going on around her or elated that Xavier might not have been avoiding her, Charlotte made her way upstairs to her bedchamber and sat in her reading chair. Beethoven jumped into her lap, but after a glance at the pensive look on her face, changed locations to the windowsill. So that was how her parents meant to deal with Xavier. Give their permission, make her unavailable to him, and then push Herbert into making a proposal without delay.

Her window rattled. With a yowl Beethoven leapt down and scooted under the bed, while Charlotte whipped her head around. Clinging to the window frame, a scattering of flower petals and pollen across his hair and shoulders, was Xavier.

“Let me in, Charlotte, before I break my neck,” he muttered, his voice muffled through the glass.

Gasping, she unlatched the window and shoved it open, grabbing an elbow to help haul him through the opening. “What in the world—”

Sprawled on the floor, he pulled her down across his lap and kissed her hard and deep. Charlotte sank into his embrace. Her mother might call it a fantasy, but she was finding it real enough. And so intoxicating that she could hardly bear not being able to see him.

“Hello,” he said after a moment, running a thumb across her lower lip.

She blinked, trying to pull herself back into a logical realm. “What are you doing here?”

Now he was stroking her fingers, concentrating on each appendage as though it were something precious. “I called at the front door first,” he said in his low drawl, “but your butler said you had an influenza and couldn’t be disturbed.

You’re not ill, are you?”

It was a terrible lie to tell, especially to someone who’d lost a family member to the same illness.

“No, I’m not ill.” Relief touched his face.

“Good. But why have you been avoiding me, then?”

“How can I avoid you when you’re not about?” she returned.

He gazed at her. “I’ve called on you every day. You’re the one who’s been elsewhere. Hence my trellis-climbing today.”

Charlotte drew a breath. “You’ve called every day?”

“I told you I would.”

“They told me you hadn’t been by. And I’ve been … sent out visiting with everyone. Even aunts I barely knew I had.” Slowly Xavier nodded. “It seems some people are so convinced we don’t suit that they’ve been attempting to force reality to match their convictions.” Brushing her cheek with gentle fingers, he kissed her again.

“But it didn’t work. You climbed up my trellis.” Enveloped in bis embrace, Charlotte carefully brushed some of the flower refuse out of his tawny hair.

“And nearly broke my neck. It doesn’t look as though anyone’s used it as a ladder before.” She smiled. “No one has.”

<> “Well, if this nonsense continues, I’m going to bring some carpentry tools with me next time and make some repairs.”

Charlotte could imagine it; Xavier slipping into her bedchamber, into her bed, in the middle of the night, while her parents thought they’d successfully thwarted any encounters at all. Warm damp started between her thighs, and she shifted closer to him, sliding her arms around his shoulders. “That would be nice.”

“I suggest you not move around like that,” he said, his voice more strained.

“I’m not here to ravish you. Not this time, anyway.”

She had no idea what to say to that. It sounded very wicked, and it sounded as though her parents were going to have to take stronger measures if they wished to keep Lord Matson away from her. Of course first they would have to find out that he’d begun calling on her in a more direct manner—and she had no intention of informing them.

“So your parents gave permission for me to call, then made certain you wouldn’t be here to see me, all

the while telling you I must not be interested.”

Charlotte drew a breath. “They’re not… evil or anything, you know. They think I’m becoming too attached to you, and that you don’t return the sentiment.”

Xavier lifted an eyebrow, realizing that he was perfectly content to sit there on her floor with her for

the rest of the day. For the rest of his life. “They’re wrong.”

She sighed. “And they’ll never acknowledge that fact. I’m sure they’ll have Herbert proposing by Vauxhall.”

Anger tore at him. “No, they won’t.” Setting her back a little, he touched her cheek, gazing into her soft brown eyes for a long time. “Marry me, Charlotte,”

he whispered.

She opened her sweet mouth, then closed it again. “I can’t. Not without their permission.”

Reminding himself that he liked her in part because she was at heart a good, proper chit, he took a

breath. “Say for a moment that I had their permission.”

“But you don’t. And you won’t. I love them, aside from their disbelief that I would attract anyone on my own, but they won’t agree to something they think could put a blemish on the family, even if it’s only in their own imaginations.

No matter how much I might want it.”

That was what he wanted to hear. “You would say yes, if not for that.”

Slowly she nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll manage the rest.”

With an exasperated look, she plucked the last bit of pollen off his jacket. “I know you’re probably used to getting what you want, but it won’t—”

He stopped her argument with another kiss. Kissing her seemed the very best thing ever invented. Or the second best thing, rather. It occurred to him that if he ruined her, her parents would probably be happy to marry her off to him. But he didn’t want to resort to that—though he would keep the option open. Nothing was going to prevent him from having her. He would find a way around this, because he refused to lose her to anyone else. And especially not to damned Herbert Beetly.

They talked for nearly an hour before Alice scratched at her door. With a yelp Charlotte scrambled to

her feet. “What is it?”

“Lady Birling wishes to see you, miss.”

“I’ll be right down.”

“I could hide under the bed,” Xavier suggested, rising behind her.

“You could, but eventually you’d starve to death.” She smiled, feeling giddy despite the poor prospects for the two of them. He’d asked her to marry him, for heaven’s sake.

“Promise me something, Charlotte,” he said softly, drawing her into his arms again.

“What?”

“Promise me that whatever your parents or Beetly say, you won’t give in. I’ll make this right.”

Because she couldn’t help it, she leaned up and kissed him. Could it be enough that her heart soared at this moment? Even when she knew he was bound to fail? Of course there was always the slight chance that he’d actually succeed. “I promise.”

He slipped back out the window, cursing at the condition of her trellis as he descended. Charlotte watched him go over the back fence, before she joined her mother downstairs, only to discover that, of all things, her cousin Sophia had invited her to spend the night.

“Am I permitted?” she asked, eyeing the invitation. Despite their age difference she’d always enjoyed chatting with Sophia, but since Easterly’s reappearance she’d barely set eyes on her.

Her mother sighed. “Your father and I have been discussing her invitation since yesterday. I don’t like it, but she is family. And hopefully no one else will find out about it. But you’re not to discuss Matson. That nonsense never happened, as far as we’re concerned.”

And obviously her mother, at least, had begun to realize that something more substantial than a luncheon or a shopping excursion would be needed to keep her unavailable to gentlemen callers. Next would probably be a surprise week in Bath with Grandma Birling. Well, she’d be as discreet as she could, but with Sophia she’d always felt like she could discuss anything. And she was desperate for a friendly ear where Xavier was concerned. “Yes, Mama.”

All the while she packed her overnight bags she wondered whether Xavier would try to visit her again tonight, and then break his neck on the trellis when no one came to open the window.
Oh, dear.
Unsettled as she was, the only thing she could do about it was pack twelve times and eat the entire plate of pastries Alice had fetched for her to snack on.

Finally she dressed in her favorite blue visiting gown with matching hat and ribbons, and dove into the family coach as soon as it pulled onto the drive.

When she arrived at Sophia’s twenty minutes later, her cousin was waiting for her in the foyer. Lady Sophia Throckmorton always looked cool and collected and completely in control, and this afternoon Charlotte envied her for it. As aggravating as Charlotte’s situation with Xavier was, Sophia had at least as many worries with her husband returning to London just as she’d decided to marry another man.

The footman had barely taken her bags when Sophia came forward and gave her a sound hug. “I’m so glad you could come!” she exclaimed. “I am in dire need of good, logical, feminine conversation. Are you hungry yet? I ordered a light dinner to be served at seven.”

Now Charlotte was beginning to regret her pastry snacking. “That’s fine,” she replied. “I just had tea and couldn’t eat another bite.”

“Excellent. I’ll have it brought to my room. I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you, but I must tell

you that I have set a rule for this visit.”

Charlotte lifted her eyebrows. “A rule?”

Unexpectedly Sophia hugged her again. She probably felt the need for a friend herself, Charlotte reflected, feeling guilty that she hadn’t been a better cousin. “Yes, a rule,” Sophia continued. “We can discuss clothes, hats, gloves, hemlines, jewelry, shoes, carriages, horses, balls, food of all sorts, women we like

or don’t like, and which of the latest dances we most enjoy, but we are not going to say one word about men.”

Damnation.
Charlotte forced a smile. “I think I can do that.”

“Perfect!” Taking her arm, Sophia led her to the stairs. “Come and see the new gown I just purchased.

It is blue with Russian trim, and it’s just the loveliest thing. Oh, and I have a pale pink silk gown with delightful red rosettes that I think would be just the thing for you.”

It sounded lovely, but abruptly Charlotte wondered whether Xavier would ever see her wearing it, and what he would think. “For me? I couldn’t—”

“You can and will. I purchased it on a whim last month, but it is just not for me, and I so hate to waste things.”

As they went to look at the gowns and have a nice long coze, Charlotte wondered what it would be like to be able to see a gown, decide she liked it, and just purchase it—without having to worry whether it made her look fast, would draw too much attention from possibly scandalous men. She jumped when the housekeeper scratched at the door to announce dinner was being brought up.

Chatting had been nice, but as they finished eating and Sophia poured tea, she had to admit that it had done nothing to distract her from Lord Matson.

She so wanted to talk about him, to know if Sophia would understand how she felt and agree that it would be worth it to risk nearly everything to be with him.

Their conversation trailed off. Charlotte was beginning to debate whether to break Sophia’s rule or not when her cousin opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind.

Charlotte paused with the teacup halfway to her mouth. “Yes?” she prompted.

“Nothing. I was just—it was nothing.”

Blast it.
Charlotte went back to sipping her tea. Now she had no distraction at all, and faded cobalt eyes and a warm, soft smile seemed to lurk in every thought. It wasn’t fair, that her parents’ doubts over her allure and their fear of scandal could ruin her one chance at a happy life. Especially when she knew that

if they would take the tune to know Xavier, they would realize that he wasn’t a rakehell at all—he’d been sad and lonely, and had decided to enjoy himself a little when he’d arrived in Town. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t hers. And then there he was, stating that he could single-handedly set everything to rights, while Lord Herbert Beetly stood at the ready.

Sophia’s cup clinked into her saucer. “What are you thinking about so seriously?”

Charlotte blushed. “I was thinking of—” No, no breaking the rule unless Sophia did it first. “Nothing really. I was just daydreaming.”

“Your parents are at it again, aren’t they? Trying to wheedle you into marrying.