Lady Whistledown Strikes Back (31 page)

I vow, I would shake

my Aunt Vivian until her teeth rattle.”

“Oh, she means well, but—”

“They all mean well, but that doesn’t mean they are right. Perhaps I should speak with Aunt Vivian and Uncle Edward about the dangers of being wed too soon. Do they not see my sad state of affairs as a warning? That every woman should wait until she is at least twenty-five to make such a decision?”

Charlotte blinked. “Twenty-five?” She wanted to marry a different man than her parents had chosen,

not merely push back the beginning of her misery.

“Or older.”

“Older? Than twenty-five? But that would be six years! Surely—I mean, if you met the right person,

that is, if you
thought
you’d met the right person, there would be no reason to wait.”

While Charlotte tried not to look too pitiful, Sophia gazed at her. “No, I don’t suppose there would be any reason to wait if you’d met the right person. The problem is that there are no guarantees. I married for love, you know. Sometimes even that is not easy.” She paused. “Perhaps we should suspend our rule and speak frankly about—a man, a particular man, just to give an example.”

“No names, though,” Charlotte broke in, remembering her mother’s warning.

“You know how my mother hates me gossiping.” This way at least she could keep Xavier’s identity a secret and still talk about him—and receive an honest opinion and advice, which she desperately needed.

“Agreed,” Sophia stated.

Charlotte grabbed Sophia’s hands, so grateful she felt near tears. “How nice to be able to speak frankly!”

“So it is! I believe that is why men manage to dupe us poor women so often; we do not share our feelings about them in an honest and frank manner.”

Sophia gave her cousin a knowing gaze. “But you know what I mean when I say that
men
are prideful, difficult creatures.”

And very arrogant. “Yes, yes, they are.”

“All of them.” Sophia paused again, obviously choosing her words—and her advice—carefully. “And stubborn men are the worst.”

Charlotte nodded. “Especially those who refuse to listen to reason, even when they have to know you’ve been completely logical.”

Sophia’s expression became more enthusiastic. “You are so right!”

“I also believe that some men enjoy causing disruptions simply so they can charge in to set things right again. Or think they can.”

“That is certainly true. I also hate the way some men are forever trying to get us to—” Sophia blinked, her color deepening. “I’m sorry. Perhaps—”

“No, you’re right.” Her own cheeks heated, but this was the best chance she was likely to have to discuss Xavier frankly. “They are always stealing kisses.

And in the most inappropriate places, too. And all you have is their word that it means anything at all.” What if she was just an infatuation for Xavier, after all?

What if she managed to turn Herbert away, and then Xavier turned his back a week later, once the game was won?

Her cousin stood, her expression somber. “I’d rather have Lady Neeley’s horrid parrot than any man I know.”

Oh, now Charlotte was making Sophia feel bad, too. “Or that monkey Liza Pemberley is forever carting about,” she said, trying to cheer them both up. “I heard that it bites.”

“Does it?”

“I’ve never seen it do so, but it would be lovely if it did,” Charlotte returned with a slight smile. “I can think of at least one person I’d like that monkey to bite.”

Lord Herbert. Then if nothing else, at least he might change his expression for a moment.

Sophia’s lips twitched. “It would be quite handy to have a trained attack monkey at one’s command.”

“Better than a dog, because no one would see it coming.” And perhaps if she owned a monkey, not everyone would think her so dull and ordinary. She sighed. “I daresay the monkey doesn’t even really bite. It always seemed quite a docile creature to me.”

“Yes, but one never knows with monkeys. Or men.”

“So I’ve noticed.” She frowned. “I’ve often thought that…
men …
always seem to think they know best.”

“Pride. They are swollen with it, like the Thames after a rain.”

Something prinked against the window. Charlotte sighed again. Splendid.

More rain.

Sophia glanced at the glass, then turned back. “I also hate it when certain men refuse to admit when

they are wrong. I—”

Two taps came this time. For a bare moment Charlotte wondered if Xavier had found her, but she quickly shrugged off the thought. He wouldn’t risk causing her a scandal by climbing through someone else’s window. “Is it raining? What
is
that?”

The sound came again. “That is not rain,” Sophia declared. “It sounds more like a fool standing outside my window, throwing rocks.”

She didn’t seem all that upset about it, but then Sophia was poised to be married as soon as she and Easterly reached an agreement. “Ah, it must be Mr. Riddleton,” Charlotte said. “He’s quite infatuated with you, isn’t he?”

“I don’t believe he is as infatuated with me as you might think.” Before Sophia could elaborate, a shower of what had to be pebbles hit the window.

“Goodness!” Charlotte exclaimed, frowning at the window. It wasn’t Xavier; she was certain of that.

And Sophia seemed to have a good idea, anyway. “He sounds a bit determined. I think he is using

larger pebbles.”

Her cousin sighed. “Perhaps I should see what he wants, before the window—”

The window shattered. The guilty rock rolled up to Sophia’s toes.

“Blast it!” Sophia grabbed the rock and made her way through the broken glass to the window, looking

as though she meant to hurl the stone back at the perpetrator. “I cannot believe Thomas—” She stopped, leaning out.

“What is it?” Charlotte asked, her breath catching. It wasn’t Xavier; it couldn’t be.

Sophia, though, seemed to know exactly who it was. Leaning further out the window, she began a low-voiced conversation with the vandal. Charlotte listened for a moment until she realized it must be Easterly himself. Now if her mother found out, she’d never be allowed to go anywhere to visit.

But if Lord Easterly had had to resort to breaking Sophia’s window in order to get her attention, maybe their situations weren’t that different. At least Sophia could decide who and when she wanted to see all on her own. Charlotte
wanted
to see Xavier, wanted to kiss and be kissed by him, wanted things that

he’d only hinted about, and everyone told her it was impossible. Everyone but Xavier, but she had much more experience with her parents than the earl did.

She fingered one of the rosettes on her new silk gown. He might convince the baron and baroness to let them wed, but she doubted it. The Birlings were wealthy enough that she didn’t need to marry for money, and they certainly considered that Lord Herbert would add more respectability to the family than Xavier could.

It shouldn’t even have been a question—and she abruptly realized why she refused to give up hope. She loved him. She loved Xavier Matson. Since she’d set eyes on him she’d been infatuated, but since they’d spoken she admired him. And now that she’d come to know him, she loved him.

” ‘Ere now! Whot ye doin’ throwin’ rocks at a lady’s winder?”

“Oh, thank you, Officer!” Sophia called.

Charlotte jumped, scrambling to her feet. Peeking over Sophia’s shoulder, she could make out Lord Easterly surrounded by three men wearing the uniforms of the watch. Someone was in trouble.

Lord Easterly glared up at them, not looking very pleased. “You tricked me, you—”

” ‘Ere now, guvnor! Not in front o’ the ladies. Come along. It’s to gaol wit’ ye.”

“Do you know who I am?”

Charlotte smothered a giggle. She didn’t think the watch would care who he was, considering. Perhaps she and Xavier were luckier than Sophia and Easterly and Riddleton. At least she and Lord Matson wanted the same thing.

Her cousin, though, seemed to want her estranged husband dragged off in chains.

Strange as the thought was, it left her feeling more hopeful. She and Matson wanted the same thing. He meant to do something about it. What could she do, then?

Lord Herbert Beetly or Earl Matson? Really, ladies, which would you choose?

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS,
17 JUNE 1816

Xavier arrived at the Birling House door just as Lord Herbert’s coach turned up the drive. For a moment Xavier considered returning later, but he had a few errands to run this afternoon, and he needed to arrive at Vauxhall before Charlotte and her escort. Besides, he had no intention of setting up camp in the middle of enemy territory. He’d already chosen his field of combat.

The butler pulled opened the door, nodding twice to acknowledge both men as Herbert joined them on the front portico. “My lords.”

Beetly eyed him. “You’re not welcome here, Matson.” “Perhaps not,” Xavier returned, lifting his bouquet of roses and handing it to the butler before anyone could tell him that of course Charlotte wasn’t home—not for him, anyway, “but my flowers are nicer than yours.”

“I didn’t bring any flowers.”

“No, you didn’t, did you?” Xavier tipped his hat. “Good afternoon.”

He hated leaving Beetly there; Charlotte had promised she wouldn’t do anything hasty, but he knew that in the face of her parents’ criticism and Beetly’s mediocrity it wouldn’t be difficult for her to forget that not only was she better than that but she also
deserved
better than that.

It killed him every time he went to that door, knowing that her parents would have removed her from his grasp. But he went anyway, to make certain the Birlings knew that he wasn’t about to give up. She already knew that; he hoped she believed it.

At least he could tell himself that he only had to wait until tonight. From what he’d been able to discover, thousands would be attending Vauxhall, all to witness the reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo on the occasion of the battle’s one-year anniversary. Prince George had apparently managed to spend thousands of quid on the event, money he’d had to borrow and would never repay. Considering that he would be able to see Charlotte there, however, Xavier was willing to forgive the extravagance.

“Lord Matson!”

Xavier jumped, slowing his mount as he looked in the direction of the feminine voice. “Good morning, Miss Bakely,” he greeted, tipping his hat.

She approached him, two of her female friends clutching hands behind her and audibly giggling. “Good morning. Do you attend Vauxhall tonight?”

“I plan to, yes.”

“It’s going to be a sad crush, they say. With fireworks and a battle on the lake!”

“So I’ve heard.” Though what an aquatic battle had to do with Waterloo, he wasn’t entirely certain.

“I assume you mean to attend, as well?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you there, then.” She was angling for an escort, obviously, but he had other plans. Having to entertain some flighty, tittering chit while he longed to have Charlotte in his arms didn’t seem a very pleasant prospect.

“My parents have rented a box on the east side of the rotunda. I’m sure they would love to see you again.”

<> Hm. Showing up there once she’d invited him was a sure way to the parson’s mousetrap. And the odd thing was, a few weeks ago he probably would have gone along with it: She’d been on his list, and back then he didn’t care whom he married, as long as the process was painless. His feelings had obviously changed. “I’ll manage if it I can,” he hedged.

Charlotte said that she liked him and enjoyed being in his company. Her only objection to his marriage proposal had been that her parents wouldn’t approve. Xavier decided to take her agreement to heart—
if he
could get her parents to go along with the marriage idea. That particular problem continued to bother him. He’d tried being polite and reserved, and they hadn’t given an inch of ground. Suave and charming hadn’t worked, either. He could elope with Charlotte, he supposed, but he doubted she would willingly go so far against her parents’ wishes. What he did know was that touching her, hearing her voice, had become as necessary to him as air.

Cursing under his breath, he turned his gelding south. Whatever happened, he would be ready for it; as long as it entailed Charlotte becoming his.

It took Lord Herbert’s carriage twenty minutes to go from the borders of Vauxhall Gardens to the water bridge entrance. Herbert sat back in his deep leather seat looking bored, but Charlotte perched at the coach’s small window peering out at the huge mob of citizens. Lords and ladies, merchants, demimondaines, actresses, shopkeepers—everyone who could afford the two-shilling entrance fee milled at the entrance for their chance to cram inside.

“I’ve never seen so many people all in one place,” she exclaimed, telling herself that she was looking to see how many of her friends were present, and not to determine if Lord Matson was there. He’d said he would attend, but that had been days ago. He hadn’t even climbed into her window since Friday, and though she’d avoided exile to Bath, her parents had seen to it that she hadn’t been home to receive any

of his visits.

“The crowd would be more manageable if the proprietors would raise their entrance fee,” Herbert commented. “Hold tightly onto your reticule; even pickpockets pay to get into festivities like this.”

“I’m certain I don’t have anything to fear in your company,” she said. If she was stuck with him for tonight, perhaps she could at least pretend he was gallant and dangerous.

“I’m not doing anything foolish because you can’t be bothered to look after your own valuables,” he replied, stepping down as the carriage stopped and helping her to the ground. “I thought you didn’t like those silly games.”

“I don’t. What’s the sense of me having an escort, though, if you don’t intend to perform any action on my behalf?”

“I’m escorting you; that’s my duty. And it’s your duty to stay out of trouble.”

Charlotte freed her hand from his as soon as she could. “That doesn’t sound gallant at all.”

He gazed at her for a moment. “I might feel more gallant if I didn’t know you were encouraging Lord Matson behind my back.”