Lady's Wager (7 page)

Charlotte looked at Aunt Mary expecting another long
lecture about respectable behavior. She was stunned when Aunt Mary threw back
her head and laughed.

“You mean Charlotte is Miss Out and Outer?”

“I’m who?” Charlotte demanded.

“Miss Out and Outer,” was all Aunt Mary could manage
through her breathless chortles.

“This isn’t funny.” Charlotte’s voice rose two octaves as
she perched on the edge of her seat, her own fit of the vapors threatening.
“How can I, or my efforts to raise money for St. Dunstan’s, be taken seriously
if I’m referred to as Miss Out and Outer?”

Lady Redding leaned forward and placed a comforting hand
on Charlotte’s arm. “You must, as your uncle is fond of saying, see the opportunity
in this. It’s given you visibility where none existed before. If they know of
you then they know of your charities and are more likely to be generous.”

Charlotte fell back against the squabs desperate to regain
her composure. The evening hadn’t even begun and already it felt like a
disaster. “How can I walk into Almack’s with everyone referring to me as Miss
Out and Outer. I’ll be laughed at and the subject of everyone’s gossip.”

Just like in Paris after the Comte’s hasty wedding to the
widow.

“My dear,” Aunt Mary chuckled, “London isn’t quite so
interested in your story.”

“I hate London. I wish we could go back to Paris!”
Charlotte clapped her gloved hand over her mouth, surprised by her outburst. It
shocked Aunt Mary too for the last of her laughter quickly dissolved into a
look of genuine compassion.

“Charlotte, you must accept that with the war, Paris is no
longer open to us.”

“Then Venice. Can’t we go back to Venice?” Charlotte
pleaded and Aunt Mary slowly shook her head.

“You must find your place here in London. I know it’s
difficult but I assure you, with time it will be easier.”

Charlotte bit her bottom lip, fighting back her
frustration. It was hard to make the best of things when everything seemed to
conspire against her.

Aunt Mary slipped across the carriage to join her. “My
dear, what’s wrong?”

Charlotte looked past her out the window to the rows of
fine houses with their illuminated windows and black doors.

“I’m just nervous about tonight,” Charlotte lied, unable
to tell her how scared she was of being humiliated in society once again. She’d
never been afraid before in her life. Even when she’d crossed the Channel alone
in foul weather to reach her aunt and uncle after her parents had died, she
hadn’t been frightened. When they’d fled France after the collapse of the peace,
she hadn’t been afraid. Yet the idea of being ridiculed again for her poor
choices in London, just as she’d been in Paris, shook her confidence.

“I know it isn’t easy for you,” Aunt Mary patted
Charlotte’s hands. “But if you remember everything we’ve told you, you’ll do
fine. If nothing else, simply smile and remain quiet. It’s all you need to be a
success.”

“I’ll do my best.” Though she wasn’t convinced it was so effortless.
One small misstep in Bond Street had already resulted in rumors. What damage
might a larger one, like her near kiss of Lord Woodcliff, wreak? Maybe she
should heed her aunt’s advice and better mind herself, but it was so difficult.

Aunt Mary took her by the shoulders and pinned her with a
firm but loving look. “Forget the sobriquet and all those silly people and
promise me you’ll try and have a good time tonight.”

Charlotte smiled, grateful
once again for her aunt’s love and care. There was no reason to worry. Charlotte
had faced and overcome the rumors in Paris, surely she could survive a ridiculousness
moniker here. “I promise.”

*****

The carriage turned off St. James’s Street onto King
Street where it came to a stop in the crush of conveyances waiting to approach
Almack’s front door. Charlotte leaned toward the window to get a better look at
the famous assembly hall. Almack’s was an unimpressive brick building with
little to recommend it except for the glittering pomp of its patrons. She
watched as a dazzling display of young women in fine silk, jewelry and
feathers, followed by mothers elegantly clad in darker shades and larger
jewels, spilled out of their carriages and up the front steps. Gentlemen, both
young and old, of every size and shape, sauntered toward the entrance in their
required white neck cloths, knee-breeches and long tailed dress coats.

Charlotte offered Aunt Mary a nervous smile as the
carriage ambled toward the entrance then came to a stop. “I suppose this is
it.”

“We’ll have a wonderful evening,” Aunt Mary assured her,
then followed Lady Redding out of the carriage.

I hope so.
Charlotte took a steadying breath,
offered her hand to the footman and descended onto the sidewalk. She accompanied
the ladies up the stairs to the columned door where women and men made their
way noisily inside. They approached the elegantly dressed Lady Patronesses who
stood guard over the entrance. Lady Redding introduced Charlotte to the
formidable women and Charlotte executed a flawless curtsey, determined to pass
muster. The Patronesses gave their approval with terse nods and the three
ladies proceeded to the main ballroom.

Charlotte felt the eyes of the room upon her the moment
they entered. She fought the urge to turn and run, then chided herself for
being so silly. If Bonaparte’s soldiers didn’t unravel her then a room full of
chits and pinks would not do so now. She threw back her shoulders, stuck her
chin defiantly in the air and followed Aunt Mary and Lady Redding confidently
into the thick of the crowd.

As they made their way toward the dance floor, she heard
snippets of whispers from the young men and ladies she passed.

“Beau Brummell, she won his bet.”

“Miss Out and Outer.”

Charlotte, unaccustomed to such attention, calmed her
nerves by taking in the neoclassical architecture of the hall. The large ballroom
was decorated with massive mirrors and gilt columns hung with tasseled swags.
Six large, arched windows graced one wall, and at the far end, seated on a
raised balcony, the orchestra played the beautiful melodies of Handel. Despite
the ornate decorations, what impressed Charlotte the most were the gaslights in
their elaborate cut-glass lusters. Their glow added a certain warmth to the
room it otherwise lacked and Charlotte thought such an addition would do very
well at St. Dunstan’s.

Charlotte turned her attention back to the gathered
assembly. Ladies, the youngest in white, the older ones brilliantly arrayed in deeper
tones, stood along the sides of the dance floor while their hawk-eyed mothers
sized up the assembled gentlemen as potential sons-in-laws. The mothers of the
young ladies on the dance floor stood together chatting, their eyes examining
each couple for any sign of interest from the gentleman with fifty thousand
pounds, or the lord set to inherit. Charlotte’s spirits fell as she viewed the
scene, for she disliked the greed inherent in the marriage mart.

“Smile dear, you aren’t being led to your death,” Aunt
Mary whispered.

Charlotte pulled the corners of her mouth up into a smile,
doubting the muscles of her cheeks would survive the evening. As they made
their way along the edge of the dance floor, Charlotte saw Elizabeth dancing
the minuet with Lord Ashford. She noticed the loving way in which they regarded
one another, their smiles matching the adoration in their eyes. Something in
her chest tightened at the sight of them. It was almost like jealousy.

No
,
it’s just disappointment. I was counting on
Elizabeth to keep me company this evening. I’m happy for her
.

Yet the feeling was there, weighing on her heart in a most
unexpected way.

Aunt Mary took Charlotte by the arm. “Come, we’ll have a
better view from the other side of the room.”

As they made their way through the crowd, Aunt Mary tapped
Lady Redding on the shoulder with her fan. “Emily, do you see him?”

Lady Redding stopped and looked around. “No, not yet.”

“Who are you looking for?” Charlotte asked, suspicious of
the two ladies as they flashed her guilty smiles. Lady Redding quickly turned
to an older gentleman standing a short distance away.

“Lord Billington, come meet my young friend, Miss Stuart.”

The lanky lord stepped forward and bowed to Charlotte, his
eyes never leaving her chest. “A pleasure Miss Stuart and might I say, what a
lovely diamond necklace.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte snapped open her fan and placed it
over her chest struggling to smile through her disgust. She knew he was
weighing the worth of her jewelry in an attempt to guess its value and hers.
The sums must have added up, for a broad smile cracked his face but failed to
illuminate his dull eyes.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

“She’d be delighted,” Aunt Mary answered before Charlotte
could decline.

Charlotte offered Lord Billington a stiff hand and allowed
him to lead her to the floor. Luckily, the dance was a quadrille and prevented
most conversation, though Lord Billington attempted to chat with her every time
the steps brought them close together.

“Your uncle is in shipping?” Lord Billington asked. Condescension
laced every word and the tediousness of the night stretched out before her.

“Yes.” Charlotte followed the steps away from him,
regretting it when the rhythm of the dance brought them back together.

“I have lands in Nottinghamshire,” he informed her after
many minutes of silence filled by the notes of the musicians and the shuffle of
feet over the boards. “Though they aren’t as profitable as they used to be. You
know how it is.”

She knew exactly how it was and what he implied by the
comment. Hiding her irritation behind a sweet smile, she took his limp hand for
the final promenade.

“How very unfortunate, for my lands haven’t been as
profitable either.” It was a lie but it had the desired effect for Lord
Billington immediately lost the greedy gleam in his eye.

“I see,” he stammered, studying the other young ladies
around them as they clapped for the musicians. Afterwards, he escorted her back
to Aunt Mary, hastily making his excuses before heading for another mother and
her daughter who wore noticeably larger diamonds than Charlotte.

“What did you say to him?”Aunt Mary asked.

“Nothing unusual,” Charlotte shrugged. “We merely
discussed our lands.”

Aunt Mary narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Charlotte,
then resumed her conversation with Lady Redding, leaving Charlotte to study the
other young ladies filling the room. All the unmarried men were sizing them up
as though they were fine horses at a market and not one of the ladies seemed to
mind, but Charlotte did. She didn’t want a man’s interest in her to depend on
the size of her diamonds or her inheritance, but on her character, and her
heart.

Her shoulders sagged under the futility of her wish. After
all, what man in London would ever look at her in such a way?

Through a break in the crowd she spied Lord Woodcliff
approaching, his eyes set on her with the same intensity which had captured her
at Mr. Taylor’s. It anchored her to where she stood, even though the rational
voice inside her urged her to flee to the women’s retiring room or anywhere he
wasn’t.

It wasn’t just her attention he garnered. Aunt Mary turned
in a flounce of mauve satin to face him and Lady Redding fell silent beside her
as Lord Woodcliff came to stand in front of them.

Charlotte fingered the string of her fan, the same tingle
which had made her forget herself at the art dealer’s making her near dizzy
again. If he asked her right now to kiss him in front of all Almack’s she
would.

No, she wouldn’t. She detested him. Didn’t she?

“Miss Stuart, would you care to dance?”

This was almost as bad as if he’d asked her to kiss him.

The noise of the crowd filled their silence. Aunt Mary poked
her in the back with her fan.

“Yes, of course.”
No!
She couldn’t possibly
maintain her decorum, or her tongue, with such a querulous partner. Or maybe
she could. If she refused to rise to any challenge he leveled at her, a dance
might be tolerable, pleasant even, and certainly preferable to standing around
admiring the woodwork.

She placed her gloved hand on his offered arm and the
flutter in her chest struck her the way lightning used to strike the masts of
the ships she’d travelled on during storms. In a fog of astonishment, she
accompanied him to the dance floor, aware of every shift of his muscles beneath
her palm, each solid fall of his shoes against the floorboards. Curious about
the man raising such a reaction in her, she slid a sly glance at him. His black
evening jacket added to his commanding presence, the white cravat tied beneath
his chin accentuating the line of his jaw and the brown hair cut short just
above his ear.

He caught her admiring him and she quickly looked away,
but she hazarded another glance and found him smiling at her. She returned his
smile, reveling in the warmth of it and, with reluctance, let go of him as they
took their places next to each other for the dance.

“I’m very pleased to see you here tonight,” he offered as
they circled one another for the opening steps. “I hope you might entertain me
with your thoughts on art.”

The dance forced them to separate for a moment but they
were soon back together. “I’m happy to oblige but such subjects have often been
our downfall.”

He surprised her with a solemn look. “I must apologize for
my previous behavior.

It would give me great pleasure
if we could begin again.”

Charlotte almost missed a step before she recovered
herself. It was such a strange request but so earnestly made she couldn’t
refuse. “I believe we can.”

He took her hand over her head and her other across her
stomach to lead her through the allemande. Without thinking, she curled her
fingers tighter around his, matching his tender pressure, the warmth of his
grip stealing over her like the heat of the room. If it hadn’t been required by
the dance, she wouldn’t have let go, but she did, circling the woman next to
her before coming to rejoin him, the quick turn as much as Lord Woodcliff
making her head swim.