Page 41 of Pride & Petticoats

“Fustian nonsense, m’dear! I hardly think a British officer would have any ill will toward you.”

She didn’t know why not when she certainly held a great deal of ill will toward them. But she did not comment right away. Instead she narrowed her eyes at Dewhurst. He was quite good at playing the dandy role. His voice was higher than she was used to hearing it, his movements overblown. Charlotte caught a flash of black hair and, pointing to the man, said, “Who is that?”

“Couldn’t say,” Dewhurst answered.

“What about him?” Charlotte said, pointing to another black-haired man.

“Dash it if I know,” was his response. “Look how he’s dressed, Middleton. You want a theatrical tragedy? Look at that tailcoat.”

Charlotte raised a brow, realizing she was unlikely to learn much with Dewhurst in this mode. “Ah, yes,” Freddie continued, “but take Colonel George Hanger there. Complete to a shade. And the Duke of York. The cut of that coat doesn’t suit him, but he’s usually bang up the prime. Can’t think where he got that coat, though. Dreadful color, too.”

Charlotte sighed. She was learning nothing of any interest, except that the Duke of York had poor taste in tailcoats. If Cade really needed her help, Lord help them all.

“Are there any Englishmen who can speak on a subject other than fashion?” Charlotte mumbled irritably.

“I can speak on love,” Middleton, who must have been listening to their conversation, put in. “ ‘Love goes toward love as school boys from their books; but love from love, toward school with heavy looks.’ ”

Freddie smirked, but before he could make some rejoinder the majestic curtain rose, and Charlotte turned her attention to the stage. She quickly realized she was the only theatergoer who had done so, as the conversations around her did not cease, merely increased in volume to carry over the music.

She had forgotten to ask which opera they were seeing, not that Dewhurst would know much more than which tailor had made the costumes, but she found the overture enchanting.

A few minutes later an actor entered and the audience applauded. His voice swelled as he began a light aria. The libretto was in Italian, which Charlotte did not understand, but she felt the raw emotion in his voice. It shot through her, and she felt her throat constrict with emotion.

As the opera continued, a tragic love story unfolded. And when the two lovers sang of their passion for each other, Charlotte wept at the beauty and unfairness of it all. Freddie handed her a handkerchief, and it was such a nice thing to do, such a sweet gesture when she was trying so hard not to think of him, not to put him in the dashing role of the opera’s hero, that she started blubbering all over again.

FREDDIE WAS ACTUALLY rather relieved Charlotte was too wrapped up in the opera to notice him.

He did not think he would be able to hide the look of pure amazement on his face.

Since the moment he’d seen her that night, he’d been hard-pressed to take his eyes from her. Once again, she looked ravishing in her low-cut, green crepe dress. The lines of the design molded to her sumptuous body, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and hinting at the curve of her hip. As if the sight of her had not been temptation enough, she had then been squeezed beside him in the carriage, her sweet curves pushing against him, arousing him to no end.

But it was her face that drew his glance again and again once they were seated in his box. She gazed at everything with the innocent wonder of a child. Her smile was beatific, her eyes sparkled, and in those moments, he knew her to be the most purely beautiful woman he had ever known.

And she continued to amaze him. Not only was she actually watching the opera when the ton merely went to the opera to see or be seen, but she seemed to be enjoying it. Her face betrayed her every emotion—she flinched at the actors’ pain, laughed at their successes, wept at their defeats. This behavior was certainly unprecedented in his circle, and looking around, he saw more than one member of the upper classes had noted her unusual behavior and were commenting on it behind raised palms or fluttering fans.

She seemed to recover slightly by the intermission, and Freddie offered to fetch the ladies refreshments. When he returned, the box was almost too full for him to enter. Apparently Sebastian had been right about the ton. They couldn’t wait to meet Charlotte.

When Freddie had waded through the crowds, he caught sight of the Selbournes beside Lydia. Lucia, Alex’s wife, was laughing at something Lydia was saying, and Alex was silent and brooding, as usual. Freddie caught his eye, and Selbourne nodded at Charlotte appreciatively. For some reason, Selbourne’s—any man’s—admiration of Charlotte set his bristles up. He felt a very uncharacteristic stab of possessiveness.

Selbourne moved closer to Charlotte, who was smiling and nodding at Sebastian, and Dewhurst found himself holding his breath. Selbourne was not the real test, of course. That would come tomorrow night at the ball, but if Charlotte could not hold her own on friendly soil, they were all doomed. Sebastian noted Alex and made the introductions, whereby Selbourne bowed, took Charlotte’s hand, and kissed her gloved fingers. Charlotte’s eyes met Freddie’s over Selbourne’s shoulder. She seemed to know he was evaluating her performance, and she gave him a saucy smile.

Straightening, Alex slanted a glance at Freddie. “You must be the American Dewhurst can’t stop talking about,” he said.

“I hope he has not found too much fault with me, Lord Selbourne,” she said, still watching Freddie.

Impudent girl. He shot her a look of warning.

“Considering your marriage not only flouted convention but”—with a glance at Dewhurst’s mother, Selbourne lowered his voice—“probably needled his mother as well, he has nothing but praise for you. Which, as I’m sure you concur, is as it should be.”

Charlotte looked a little surprised by that statement, but Lucia took Freddie’s chair, saving Charlotte from a reply.

After the requisite introduction, Lucia said warmly, “Your accent is wonderful, Lady Dewhurst. You make every word sound coated in honey.”

“Thank you, Lady Selbourne,” Charlotte said. “Yours is the first kind word I’ve had regarding my accent.”

Lucia smiled. “Oh, I imagine everyone is just jealous but too proud to admit it. And please call me Lucia. Freddie is such a good friend that I’ve almost adopted him as a brother. I want us to be like sisters.”

“Thank you. Then you must call me Charlotte. I so dislike the formality of titles,” Charlotte said with a knowing look at Freddie.

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