Lady's Wager (2 page)

“I’m sure it was your and your uncle’s influence which
induced his generosity.” Elizabeth’s delicate cheeks reddened as she focused
her attention on Minnie, who jumped at the folds of her yellow walking dress.
The color emphasized Elizabeth’s blonde hair and the paleness of her skin.

“All we did was provide the invitation. The rest was left
in your careful hands.”

Charlotte stepped up to the mirror, accepting her bonnet
from the maid and arranging it over her black curls. Elizabeth watched her,
mischief playing in her light blue eyes.

“It’s a pity you don’t find Lord Woodcliff more agreeable.
Wouldn’t it be grand? I and Lord Ashford, you and Lord Woodcliff, two friends
marrying two friends?”

“Heaven forbid.” Charlotte straightened the loops of the
bow beneath her chin. “I could never care for a man as arrogant as him.”

“I don’t think he’s arrogant.”

“You didn’t have to endure his company at the Royal
Academy.”

While Elizabeth and Lord Ashford had admired the paintings
and each other, Aunt Mary and Charlotte had been left to accompany Lord Edward Woodcliff
around the gallery. She’d attempted to engage him in a discussion of art but
he’d proved taciturn, only finding his tongue to correct her knowledge of Mr.
Reynolds’ work. She’d quickly abandoned her attempts at conversation but Aunt
Mary, with an eye to a match, had asked about his travels abroad. His answers
had been brief with more references to his reduced circumstances than his month
in Rome. The
coup de grâce
had come when he’d described his time at Eton
and Cambridge and how little they’d done to truly educate him. When Charlotte
had informed him only a gentleman could find education droll when ladies were
denied it as a condition of their sex, he’d laughed. Then he’d assured her Eton
and Cambridge possessed little to recommend them to any lady. Only a censorious
look from Aunt Mary had stopped Charlotte from offering a curt reply to his
view of female education and the rest of the exhibit had been enjoyed in terse
silence.

“You must be the only one of our sex in London who isn’t
interested in the only son of an Earl,” Elizabeth mused.

“You mean a Viscount looking to refill the family
coffers?” Her dealings with the Comte, and many other men in Paris with long
pedigrees and little money, had hardly left her in awe of a title.

“Not all men are after funds,” Lady Treadwell countered.
“And even a poor man may truly love a lady. Besides, a gentleman as well
regarded as Lord Woodcliff can hardly be called a fortune hunter.”

“Then he’ll make some other heiress very happy by the end
of the Season.”

Lady Treadwell wagged one finger at Charlotte. “Your
mother used to say such things. Like her, someday someone will catch your eye
and we’ll see you married yet.”

“We can only hope,” Aunt Mary huffed.

“Now let’s be off,” Lady Treadwell urged. “I can’t stand
here discussing men all day.”

After bidding Aunt Mary goodbye, Lady Treadwell led
Charlotte and Elizabeth to the waiting landau. Charlotte settled in next to her
friend and across from Lady Treadwell as the driver took his seat and snapped
the horses into a brisk walk.

“Do all young ladies in Paris speak as you do, or were you
the exception there as well?” Elizabeth asked Charlotte.

“In Paris a woman of any real merit is expected to have an
opinion - here her opinion is confined to fashion. I hardly know what to say
without thinking I’m transgressing some sense of propriety or other such
nonsense.” Yet even Paris hadn’t been all happiness and charm, especially after
the Comte’s betrayal.

“I sometimes forget how little of London you know and how
difficult it must be for you after so many years abroad,” Lady Treadwell
sympathized.

Charlotte rejected her sympathy with a confident toss of
her head, refusing to admit to anyone how awkward and lonely London sometimes
made her feel. “It’s not so difficult. I have Aunt Mary and Lady Redding and
you and Elizabeth to guide me.”

“Even if you hardly listen to anything we say,” Elizabeth
chided.

“I listen, I just don’t always follow.”

“Like your mother,” Lady Treadwell laughed. “She used to
give your grandmamma a world of trouble. But your father didn’t mind. He said
she made life interesting.”

One pleasant aspect of London was being among so many
people who’d known her parents. From the landau, she spied a husband and wife
and their daughter leaving a grocer’s. The young girl with dark hair clutched a
paper twist of sweets as her father picked her up to carry her. The sight of
them together made Charlotte’s chest catch. How different life would’ve been if
Charlotte’s parents had lived. London would be her home, instead of a strange
land.

As the landau made a turn and the family disappeared from
sight, Charlotte set aside her old pain. There was no use pondering what could
have been. They were in England now, and she would make the best of it.

The Stuart’s fashionable neighborhood soon gave way to the
more densely packed London district. Flower girls, hawkers, piemen and ballad
singers all fought to be heard over the din of carriages, horses and carts
clacking across the stones.

Charlotte took in the clear sky over the buildings,
wondering if Paris also enjoyed today’s fine, spring weather. Heaven knows when
she’d see the grand city or all her old friends again. Not until Napoleon was
defeated, and for her, the day couldn’t come soon enough. Hopefully, her
friends weren’t suffering too much under his rule and the Englishmen they’d
known in Paris had all been able to make it back home. There was no way to
know. All correspondence with France had been halted by the blockade.

The landau turned onto Bond Street where it came to a halt
in the morning crush of carts and hackneys.

“There’s no use forcing the carriage to Hookham’s front
door. We’ll walk,” Lady Treadwell announced to her driver who descended to help
the women out.

Fashionable gentlemen and ladies crowded the sidewalk as
they went about their business, ducking into the jewelers to order a bauble or
strolling to Sir Thomas Lawrence’s studio to admire the latest portraits.

Charlotte hugged her books to her chest, smirking at the
thought of Sir Lawrence’s work.

“What do you find so amusing?” Elizabeth asked, holding Charlotte’s
arm so as not to be lost in the crush of people as they followed Lady Treadwell
toward Hookham’s.

“Sir Lawrence’s studio. The old society crones enter there
with the ravages of time only to be carried out on canvas the very image of
youth and vitality.”

“Charlotte, you shouldn’t say such things,” Elizabeth
softly scolded.

“Why? It’s the truth.”

“Yes, but you shouldn’t say it in public.”

Lady Treadwell suddenly stopped and stepped in between
them, taking their elbows and turning them toward a small group of well-dressed
men talking animatedly together. “Fate has favored us today. Do you see the man
there, the tall one in the dark blue coat with brass buttons? That’s Beau
Brummell and the man standing next to him is the Prince.”

“The fat man?” Charlotte asked.

“Now is no time for sharp words, Charlotte,” Lady
Treadwell warned. “Mr. Brummell and the Prince are the epitome of fashion in
London.”

Charlotte had heard about these men in Paris but seeing
them in the flesh proved a great disappointment. As she studied the Prince, he
caught her eye then exchanged a few quiet words with Mr. Brummell. She stifled
a laugh as Mr. Brummell turned his head toward her, his chin struggling to get
over his great, starched cravat. He raised his jewel encrusted gazing glass to
examine them and Charlotte heard a small breath of shock escape Elizabeth’s
lips.

“You mustn’t stare,” Elizabeth said. “His gazing glass is
the wickedest in London and could ruin the Season for both of us.”

“I must introduce you,” Lady Treadwell announced.

“We shouldn’t intrude,” Charlotte resisted.

“It won’t be an intrusion. Ever since my dear husband and
I supported the Whigs against Pitt I’ve enjoyed quite an acquaintance with His
Highness. And if either of you wishes to make an impression on the Lady
Patronesses and obtain a voucher to Almack’s I must introduce you.”

“I have no desire to attend Almack’s,” Charlotte protested,
and Lady Treadwell fixed her with a stern look.

“Of course you do and with your uncle involved in
shipping,” she whispered
shipping
as though it were obscene, “you’ll
need a recommendation from no less than Mr. Brummell himself to secure your
invitation. I’m afraid there’s no other way.”

“But aren’t you friends with two Lady Patronesses?”
Elizabeth asked.

“When it comes to Almack’s, even friendship is no guarantee
of admittance.” Lady Treadwell waved at the Prince. “I’ve caught his attention.
Now we must greet him or I’ll be considered quite rude. Come along, and
Charlotte, please mind your tongue.”

“I’ll be the very picture of a polished London lady.”

Charlotte and Elizabeth trailed behind Lady Treadwell as
she started off toward the gentlemen. Elizabeth gripped Charlotte’s elbow with
an anxiety Charlotte didn’t share. This wasn’t the first prince Charlotte had
met.

“What will Grandmamma say?” Elizabeth worried.

“I think she’ll be quite pleased. After all, what harm can
there be in a simple introduction, in the middle of Bond Street by someone as
well respected as Lady Treadwell?”

The Prince closed the distance between them, Beau Brummell
following languidly behind him. The other gentlemen kept a respectful distance
but remained within hearing of the ladies.

“Lady Treadwell, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” The
Prince bowed as Mr. Brummell stepped up behind him, bowing and mumbling his
greeting.

“Your Highness, Mr. Brummell,” Lady Treadwell dipped
quickly. “May I introduce Miss Knight and Miss Stuart?”

Mr. Brummell met their curtseys with a shallow nod and a
practiced look of ennui.

“I’ve seen Miss Knight before,” the Prince drawled in his
Devonshire lisp, “but not you Miss Stuart. I’d have remembered beauty such as
yours.”

Charlotte forced her lips into a smile, hoping it was
gracious enough to hide her distaste for these gentlemen who reminded her of
the lecherous old aristocrats she’d worked to avoid in Paris. “I’m only
recently returned from Paris where I’ve been these past few years.”

“Paris,” the Prince mused, “
c’est magnifique
. The
best food, the most magnificent architecture, truly the pinnacle of taste.”

“You’ve been to Paris Your Highness?” she asked, finally
finding some joy in the royal attention. It was short lived as the Prince
dismissed her question with a flick of his fingers.

“Where I’ve been is none of your concern. What concerns me
is a wager I’ve accepted from Mr. Brummell. You’ve arrived in time to help us
settle it.”

“Your Highness, I’m afraid we don’t gamble.”

The Prince laughed, his large belly shaking beneath his
tight jacket, the gold buttons straining to hold it closed across his girth.

“We’d be honored to help you settle your wager,” Lady
Treadwell quickly interjected, smiling broadly at the Prince.

“Excellent. Mr. Brummell recalls it was Cassiopeia who was
punished for her pride in her daughter’s beauty. I say it was Cassandra. Who do
you think it was Miss Knight?”

Elizabeth wilted beneath their attention, her words and
her wits appearing to have deserted her in the Prince’s presence.

“Come now Miss Knight, you must have an opinion,” the
Prince urged. Nearby, the gentlemen watched, seemingly eager to hear her
answer.

Lady Treadwell lightly nudged Elizabeth who at last
stammered out an answer. “I’m sure Your Highness is right in his assumption of
Cassandra.”

Charlotte’s anger rose over the indignity Elizabeth
suffered at the hands of these pompous men. Before she could think further on
the subject the Prince’s eyes were on her.

“And you Miss Stuart, what do you say?”

Charlotte met the Prince’s bold look, her pride not
allowing her to play coy. “It was most surely Cassiopeia.”

“And why do you say Cassiopeia?” Mr. Brummell pressed. The
other gentlemen elbowed each other as though part of some shared joke.
Charlotte watched the Prince’s eyes narrow at the dandy, revealing he no longer
shared Mr. Brummell’s amusement.

“Cassandra could tell the future but was cursed because no
one would listen. Cassiopeia brought down the wrath of the serpent on Ethiopia
by boasting of Andromeda’s beauty. The gods banished her to the stars, forcing
her constellation to hang upside down as punishment for her pride.”

The gentleman sniggered and Mr. Brummell’s small eyes
danced with glee. The Prince remained silent and Charlotte realized Mr.
Brummell and the other gentlemen were laughing at the Prince. He deserved it.

“See, Prinny,” Mr. Brummell said, “there are ladies who
aren’t afraid to express themselves.”

The Prince stared down his nose at Charlotte. “Young
ladies should defer to a gentleman’s superior opinion.”

Better sense told her to turn away and act suitably
humbled but instead she kept her gaze rigidly fixed on his.

“A lesson well learned, Your Highness,” Lady Treadwell
offered in an attempt to mollify the Prince. “Don’t you agree, Charlotte?”

Charlotte was momentarily caught off guard but quickly
recovered, offering the most humble smile and submissive look she could manage.
Lady Treadwell obviously wished to keep the Prince’s good opinion and
Charlotte, despite her irritation, courted his favor for the dowager’s sake.

“Yes, Your Highness is a very wise teacher,” she offered
in a courteous and respectful voice.

Their responses appeared to placate the Prince for his
face softened into a self-satisfied smile and he puffed up, pleased with
himself. “Indeed, I’m an excellent teacher. Miss Stuart, as you are new to
London, I forgive you. Lady Treadwell, it was a pleasure speaking with you and
your young charges. Good day.”