Page 65 of Pride & Petticoats

He straightened and stepped away.

Charlotte was watching and shook her head. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it?” Turning, she opened the large white paneled door of the drawing room.

Freddie could not stop her name from escaping his lips, and he was mortified when she looked back at him, eyes hopeful.

He would not allow her to control his emotions. He would rein them in. He would temper his reaction to her. He made a show of flicking the pleated cuff of his lawn shirt, then said almost as an afterthought, “Be ready for the Winterbournes’ ball at nine. I see that Madam Vivienne has delivered your wardrobe. Wear the russet gown tonight.”

Charlotte gave him a scathing look, and said, “It’s a comfort to know you never forget what is truly important.”

THE CARRIAGE RIDE TO the Winterbournes’ mansion in Grosvenor Square was so silent Charlotte could hear her blood pumping through her heart. She swore she could hear the coachman’s heart beating and the horses’ as well. But she could not hear Freddie’s heart, though her husband was seated beside her. Dewhurst, she decided, had no heart.

Although Freddie hadn’t said a word about her gown, she knew he was not pleased she had so deliberately disregarded his wishes. But by the time Charlotte tripped lightly down the marble steps in Dewhurst’s foyer to where Freddie awaited her, the late hour rendered any protest or argument on his part futile. Freddie had simply nodded at her, and with his usual élan, escorted her to the carriage.

Where he proceeded to ignore her completely. Charlotte did a passable job of ignoring him as well. She stared out the window and hardly ever gave him a sideways glance. Her husband might hate her and be ready to finally rid himself of her, but at least she had the servants on her side. Dawson had smiled at her, Mrs. Pots whispered that she looked lovely, and even Wilkins had nodded with something in his face that resembled approval. Not everyone hated her.

A ridiculous hour later—ridiculous considering Freddie’s town house was only a few blocks from Grosvenor Square—Freddie and Charlotte, the Baron and Baroness Dewhurst, arrived at the Winterbournes’ ball. They were more than fashionably late, and the dancing had already begun.

Charlotte thought the town house was overwhelming and the marquess and marchioness even more so. She clutched Freddie’s arm when she stepped into the huge marble-tiled entry and glimpsed the gleaming massive white marble staircase before her. She half expected Freddie to admonish her for wrinkling his tailcoat, but he said nothing, merely led her to the marquess.

Charlotte hesitated when she saw him. Not only were his height, his broad shoulders, and his granite expression imposing, he looked so much like his half-brother, the Earl of Selbourne, that for a moment Charlotte wondered why Lucia was not on his arm. But then she remembered that the petite, dark-haired woman next to him was Lucia’s older sister, Francesca. The sisters bore little resemblance to each other, sharing only the same engaging smile.

“Dewhurst,” Lord Winterbourne said stiffly. “Glad you could make it.”

Charlotte smiled behind her gloved hand. The marquess barely moved his mouth or the muscles of his face.

“How are you, old boy?” Freddie said with a flash of the lace at his sleeve. “I wouldn’t miss your do for the world.”

Winterbourne twisted his mouth in a sort of half smile, half grimace, and Freddie gestured to her. “This is my wife. Charlotte, the Marquess of Winterbourne.”

“Lady Dewhurst,” Lord Winterbourne said in a low voice and bent over to kiss her hand. “Welcome. Please meet Lady Winterbourne, my wife. Francesca, this is Lady Dewhurst.”

Freddie and Charlotte took a step to the right and Charlotte curtsied to Lady Winterbourne. The marchioness was as genuine and sweet as her sister, Lucia. “How good to finally meet you, Lady Dewhurst. You’re perfectly lovely as promised.”

“Thank you.”

The marchioness turned her laughing, chocolate brown eyes on Freddie. “It’s about time you married! Lucia and I despaired of you ever settling down.” She winked at Charlotte. “He’s been quite the libertine these last few years, my lady. A horrendously bad example!”

Freddie smiled lazily. “I hardly think your own husband ever needed me to serve as instigator. In fact, I rather believe the boot is quite on the other leg.”

“Not anymore,” the marquess said, wrapping an arm about his wife’s waist. “Now we’re both leg-shackled, and we’ll have to leave the carousing to the bachelors.”

Freddie smiled, but his attention was elsewhere. “Excuse me, my lord.” He nodded. “Ladies. I see my cousin, and I’ve been meaning to speak to him.” He gestured to Sir Sebastian, loitering nearby in the dining room, and with an overdone bow, he took his leave.

“Now, my lady, you must come with me,” the marchioness said. “My sister has been asking for you.”

Lucia was indeed craning her head over the crush of people waiting in the hallway to enter the ballroom. Charlotte could hear the strains of the orchestra playing a minuet. Somehow Lucia made her way through the throng, and a moment later, Lucia reached them and embraced Charlotte warmly. “Isn’t she beautiful, Francesca? I adore that gown, Charlotte. The color was made for you.”

Lucia and Charlotte left Francesca to do her duties as hostess and moved toward the ballroom. Charlotte shivered under the scrutiny of the ton. It felt as though everyone she passed took a moment to assess her appearance. Some of the men even had the audacity to raise their quizzing glasses. Women as well!

Charlotte knew that Lucia could not be oblivious to the inspection, but she never appeared to notice it or allow the stares to bother her. She chatted amiably, and Charlotte realized that she was not safe from scrutiny, but in the presence of the powerful, striking Countess of Selbourne, she was at least protected from scathing remarks. Charlotte took a glass of champagne, sipped it, and began to relax.

That was, until she entered the ballroom, and Lucia remarked, “I do not know how long I shall have you to myself. Undoubtedly every man here will want to claim you for a dance.”

Charlotte laughed derisively. “Not likely.” But the idea of having to chat with a strange man as he twirled her about was unsettling. She wanted to be free to look for Cade, not forced to focus on etiquette and social niceties.

As the music swelled to an end, Lucia waved at Freddie’s cousin Middleton, who strode blithely through the door. “Sir Sebastian!” she called.

Charlotte looked up to see the handsome, fair-haired lover saunter their way. “Ah, my mistresses Selbourne and Dewhurst, ‘which of you all will now deny to dance.’ ” He twirled his quizzing glass expertly so that the light glinted off it.

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