Page 6 of Too Wylde To Tame
“Charity?”
Charity.He turned it over and over in his mind. “Is that her name? I confess to not knowing it beforehand.”
Randford shook his head in confusion. “Forgive me for saying this but I’m not certain Charity— well, between the scandal of my marriage to Felicity and then their cousin’s hasty marriage to Davenport, it is imperative that Charity not be touched by anymore scandal. And your family, despite your every effort to the contrary, remains scandalous.”
“So that is a refusal,” Frederick surmised.
“Not outright, no. It is a caution. Charity’s nature is somewhat rambunctious. She laughs loudly, she voices her opinions quite firmly and she has no qualms about telling the truth. Perhaps even when she should not. If your intentions are honorable and your resolve is set, I will see to it. But if you are wavering in the least, then I would suggest proceeding with discretion.”
“My resolve is quite firm… I cannot explain it other than to say that from the first moment I saw her, and heard her laugh, I simply knew. I do not think I could entertain the notion of marrying anyone else. Does that sound positively mad?”
Randford shook his head and began to line up his next shot. “On the contrary. It sounds alarmingly familiar… Still, discretion might be better. I’d intended to wait for the end of the Season but it is almost gone now. We will retire to the countryside a bit earlier and host a house party. I’ll see to it that you are on the guest list.”
“And there will be other prospective suitors there as well I take it?”
Randford looked up. “Yes. It wouldn’t be very sporting if she were given no choice at all, would it?”
In short, while the Viscount might not forbid the match, Frederick would have his work cut out for him. It wasn’t in his nature to be charming and dance attendance on anyone. He was too direct, too forthright… and too serious, by all accounts. But if he wished to win her hand, he would need to utilize every bit of charm he possessed. “No, it would not. Thank you for… well, not dashing my hopes altogether. At least now there is a slim chance.”
Randford missed his shot by only a hair’s breadth. With a sigh he rose to his full height. “Be yourself, Welbey. Entirely and without reservation. Do not try to beat others at their own game—you’re not the sort to write odes to her beauty or compare her eyes to sparkling stars in the sky. But you are the sort who will have a conversation with her as though there is a brain in her head. That will serve you better than anything else.”
Frederick wasn’t so certain. Having no pretensions of greatness when it came to writing sonnets or offering flowery compliments, he’d never been very successful with the ladies. He’d long ago reached the conclusion that the only ones who tolerated him were the ones angling for a titled husband. The idea of being married to a woman who saw him as interchangeable from any other gentleman of standing had never appealed to him. “I will keep that in mind.”
Randford smirked. “Take your shot, Welbey. That is advice that applies to this game and to life.”
With those sage words of wisdom ringing in his ears and plaguing his mind, Frederick did just that.
* * *
Charity was considering pleadinga megrim and going home. The evening, thus far, had been a dismal failure. The only gentleman who had expressed any interest in speaking to her, much less dancing with her, was that terribly unsuitable Lord Jameson Dartwell. He’d made quite a nuisance of himself, really. Bringing her lemonade she had not asked for, insisting that he must have a dance with her. Though it was considered impolite to refuse an invitation to dance, she had managed to decline in what she hoped was a civil fashion at the very least.
Had she any sense at all, she’d simply call for the carriage and depart immediately. She could go home, climb into her narrow bed in the room she currently shared with Cordelia who was home with a stuffy nose and listen to her cousin regale her with whatever gothic tale she was currently reading. It would surely be a more productive use of her time.
Turning to her aunt to make her excuses, Charity was brought up short by the appearance of her brother-in-law. Beside him was a gentleman she did not recognize, but he was quite handsome with dark hair swept over his brow and an aristocratic bearing. It was height which was the most startling thing. Very few gentlemen stood taller than her brother-in-law, but this man had several inches on him. Despite his rather impressive height, he wasn’t rail thin, though he did tend toward a leaner physique.
“Charity, if I may, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine… Lord Frederick Dartwell, Viscount Welbey. Welbey, let me present my wife’s sister, Miss Charity Wylde.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” Charity said with what she hoped was a welcoming smile.
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Wylde, I assure you. If the truth be known, I harassed Randford to arrange an introduction in the hopes that I might persuade you to dance… unless I have missed my opportunity and your dance card is entirely full.”
The only thing her dance card was full of was dust and disappointment. Perhaps a stray cobweb collected from disuse. “I believe there is room for you, my lord.”
“The next set?”
Charity paused, as if trying to recall whether or not she was already engaged for the next dance. After what she hoped was a reasonable pause, she replied, “I do believe I am free for the next dance.”
As if on cue the dance floor cleared and the orchestra struck a note to indicate the next number was about to begin. From the first strain, it was obviously a waltz. A flutter of nervous energy erupted inside her as he held out his hand to her. Charity placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the floor. She knew how to waltz. She waltzed very well in fact. That the only people she had ever waltzed with were her dancing instructor and family members should make no difference at all. But those dances had left her unprepared for what it would feel like to be held in the strong arms of a handsome man.
As they turned about the floor, finding the rhythm of the waltz, her nerves settled somewhat. She became far less concerned about trodding on his toes than saying something that would be deemed terribly inappropriate. It was a well known fact that she often spoke without thinking and much of what she said tended to be, if not scandalous, then at least not what a young lady of her standing should say.
“Tell me, Miss Wylde, are you finding London to your liking? Is it preferable to Bath?”
That was a question she could answer easily enough. “Any place I feel is preferable to Bath, my lord. I am finding London to be quite to my liking. Are you much for the city?” There. It was perfectly polite and appropriate and she hadn’t made an utter fool of herself.Yet.
His answering smile was positively devastating. His face lost the severity that she’d noted in it initially. The most charming dimples appeared in his cheeks and his eyes twinkled warmly with his amusement. “I am not much for any city. I prefer the country, I’m afraid.”
She laughed. “Then why in heaven’s name are you here? One should never spend their time in a place they do not wish to be.”
