Page 67 of A Lady's Wager
His smile slowly returned, and she was beyond pleased to see it. “What skills would those be?”
“Your knack for being very conveniently annoying.”
His smile turned to a grin, and she knew an answering one settled on her lips.
“My annoying nature is entirely at your disposal, Lady Charlotte.”
HAD JULIAN BEEN ASKED TOguess how Charlotte would respond to learning she was the subject of a wager, and that he had been causing her grief in service of that wager, he’d have declared without hesitation that she would be hurt and angry and likely denounce him to all and sundry whilst consigning him to the very devil. Instead, she’d declared her desire to help him continue his efforts.
Shocking. And humbling. He knew he didn’t deserve her forbearance or forgiveness. He would, however, do all he could to help her avoid a marriage she didn’t wish to enter into.
In the interest of that commitment, he hied himself to Charlotte’s London house for another at-home, determined to make himself equally as bothersome as he had on his last attendance there, should Mr. Travers or Mr. Vernon be in attendance or should her father seem to be favoring another gentleman.
And it was, in fact, another gentleman whose path he crossed first upon entering the drawing room. Heaven help Charlotte if Sir Duncan was her father’s choice. As Julian dipped a quick acknowledgement, he glanced around the room, looking forsome indication that the haughty baronet had somehow found his way into the earl’s good graces. But the earl was not present.
“I don’t imagine any of us can say we are surprised to see you here, Lord Wesley.” Sir Duncan looked back at the gathering. “He certainly seems determined to annoy Lady Charlotte with his near-constant presence.”
“I would never presume to be your equal in that.” Julian offered the veiled insult with a perfectly pleasant tone.
Sir Duncan’s stormy expression told him the remark had been understood. The titters around the room told him it had also been overheard. Though Charlotte smiled in obvious enjoyment, she didn’t laugh, keeping the composure required of a hostess.
Mrs. Baskins, the wife of another gentleman with whom he’d attended Cambridge, offered a word of greeting, as did the lady sitting beside her. Julian offered words of pleasure at being in company with another lady whom he knew through a mutual friend. He was not insincere in his greetings, but he was not entirely focused either. All his thoughts were on Charlotte. What a change the past weeks had wrought.
Standing in front of her at last, he bowed. “Lady Charlotte. Thank you for receiving me.”
“Thank you for calling. I fear my father is feeling a touch unwell and will not be joining the gathering.”
“I am sorry to hear that.” He indicated a chair beside hers. “Might I be so bold as to request the honor of sitting so near you?”
“You certainly may.” She smiled as he sat. “Mr. Daubney is not with you today. That is a rare thing.”
“He is calling elsewhere. Miss Selby is not with you. That is also a rare thing.”
Charlotte sighed, the sound a bit dramatic. “Alas, she is days from her wedding, and her time is consumed with the final details of that.”
“Are you pleased for your friend?” he asked.
“I am. Mr. Granville is a fine gentleman, and they are genuinely happy in each other’s company. I could not be more pleased for Louisa.”
Did she have any expectation of being happy in the company of anyone her father was likely to choose? She deserved to be happy. She deserved to build a life with someone who valued her happiness.
Mrs. Baskins spoke into the momentary silence. “Many have remarked at how pleased we all are that you are going about more in Society, Lord Wesley. You have hardly done so these past few years.”
Though he might have felt some castigation in her declaration, he chose to focus on her expression of delight at his presence. “I confess I had been avoiding theton. Knowing how my predecessors had too often behaved, I feared being misjudged. I ought to have shown more faith in the discernment of Society.”
Expressions of both empathy and reassurance echoed around the room. He was touched. After a lifetime of being assumed to be a mere copy of his reprobate father and scoundrel grandfather, he’d found it easier to tuck himself away and limit his interactions to Franklin and a select few others. Perhaps he’d been doing himself and his potential associates a disservice. Perhapshehad been the one to misjudgethem.
“I hope you will continue to be more a part of the social whirl,” Charlotte said.
He met her eye, feeling the pull to her growing with every encounter, every conversation, every glance. “I intend to be.”
Her soft smile warmed him through. The thin ice Franklin had warned him about had melted entirely. Sink or swim, he was in deep.
The ladies who had called on Charlotte were, to a one, inviting and welcoming and kind. He didn’t know if they treated him that way out of pity or civility toward a guest in a home in which they too were guests, or if they had honestly decided to think well of the current holder of a title that had for generations been attached to people who’d hardly lived worthy of it. But he realized, sitting there, that he had some ability to determine which reason took hold. By absenting himself from Society, he had robbed himself of any ability to influence how he was perceived. His return, however oddly brought about, had given him an opportunity.
As he was the last to arrive, he was also permitted to be the last to leave, though being a single gentleman calling on a single lady, he dared not remain for more than the briefest of moments after the last caller departed.
He offered his farewells at the door and made his way to the street. He had walked to the earl’s fashionable home from his rented rooms and intended to return in the same manner. But mere steps away, he realized he’d lost his case of calling cards. It must have slipped from his pocket at some point, likely while seated in the drawing room.
