Page 63 of Pride & Petticoats

“Mon che´rie, you are wed to a raffine´ of the ton! Tout le monde is at your feet. You shall never wait for anything again, n’est-ce pas?”

But Charlotte did wait an eternity for the brass and ebony drawing room clock to strike five.

For once she rejoiced that she had very few people in England whom she could call friends. Etiquette demanded that mere acquaintances call no later than five, the hour from five to six being reserved for good friends and relatives like her new sisters-in-law. But Charlotte did not expect to see them, so at precisely five, Lady Dewhurst departed and Charlotte stretched out, exhausted, on the mint green chaise longue.

“What a commotion!” Addy clucked as she hurried into the drawing room. “How’s my sugar? You’re not too tired, are you?”

Charlotte smiled, glad to have the old Addy back again. “No. I’ve survived another day in Society, and, of course, I suppose I shall have to return all of these calls, but right now I’m content to lie here.”

“You hungry, sugar? I can get Monsieur Julian to fix you something good.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow and sat up on her elbow. “And what is this sudden closeness between you and the cook? Come to think of it, what is going on with everyone today? Hester was positively polite. Mrs. Pots smiled at me, and I haven’t heard Wilkins fuss once today. Is there something I should know?”

“Oh, Miss Charlotte, these here servants are finally showing real respect after they seen how you took care of Mr. Dewhurst last night. You didn’t tolerate no dawdling or silliness. They’ve never seen you take control like that. I imagine that’s what did it.”

Charlotte flopped back on the plush bolster pillow and contemplated Addy’s words. Perhaps that was it. She had never considered how much the servants must esteem Freddie, but then her own servants in Charleston had loved her as well. And why shouldn’t Freddie’s servants respect him? He was generous and fair as far as she’d seen.

Another tap at the drawing room door, and Charlotte sat up, half hoping to see her husband in the flesh. Instead she was greeted by Dawson. The butler had been dutifully showing her callers in all day.

“The Countess of Selbourne has just arrived. Is my lady still receiving?”

Charlotte shot up and straightened her gown. “Of course! Show her in immediately, Dawson.”

The butler nodded, and a moment later a smiling, beautiful Lucia crossed the room and clasped Charlotte’s hands in warm welcome. “I only have a few moments. Lord Selbourne is to collect me at half past five, but I will see you tonight at my sister’s ball?”

Charlotte nodded, and Lucia seated herself comfortably next to Charlotte on the chaise. “How have you been, Charlotte? You are positively glowing. Matrimony agrees with you.”

Charlotte laughed. “I should ask how you’ve been. You’re the one who’s glowing.”

“She ought to be,” a familiar voice rumbled from the doorway. “She’s finally going to make me an uncle—well, in a manner of speaking.”

Freddie smiled warmly at Lucia before his gaze flicked to Charlotte. His eyes were on her for barely an instant, but Charlotte’s pulse began to rush. All the intimacies of the night before came flooding back to her.

“How could he!” Lucia demanded. “It was supposed to be a secret!”

Lord Selbourne appeared behind Freddie in the doorway, and Charlotte was stunned to see him smile contritely. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “But Dewhurst figured it out.”

“Figured it out!” Lucia rose and stood before her husband with her hands on her hips. Wisely, Freddie moved aside. “How, precisely, did he figure it out?”

“Can’t remember exactly.”

“I think I began to suspect,” Freddie interrupted, eyes twinkling with mischief, “when Selbourne strode into Brooks’s and bellowed, ‘I’m going to be a father!’ at the top of his lungs.”

Charlotte giggled, and Freddie waggled his eyebrows.

Lucia leveled a scathing glance first at Freddie, then at her husband. “Alex, how could you! That was not part of our plan, and you know it.”

“Ah, yes, The Plan,” Selbourne said in a tone that intimated he’d had vast experience with his wife and her plans.

Lucia raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, I suppose you know what this means, don’t you?”

“I do, do I?” Selbourne said smugly.

“Yes. It means that we must call on my mother and tell her the news. She will never forgive us if she’s last to know.”

Alex’s smug expression cracked and splintered. “Your mother?”

“Come on,” Lucia said tugging on his arm. “We’d better go before it’s too late. Mamma will be dressing for the ball this evening.”

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