Shana Galen (13 page)

Of course he was, but, oh, why could she not get away from him!

He was watching her closely, a strange look on his face. And when their gazes met, the look in his dark green eyes sent heat rushing to her face.

Charlotte did not know how long they stared at each other—it seemed like an eternity—before his mother leaned over and inquired what she thought of the theater.

Charlotte tore her eyes away from Freddie’s and answered, “Oh, it’s just stunning, madam. Quite grand.”

“I am sure you have nothing in Charles Town to match this,” the woman said smugly. Charlotte smiled, letting the woman have her moment of glory. It seemed to mean so much to some people
that others were impressed by their grandeur. She saw no harm in giving Dewhurst’s mother a moment’s pleasure, especially when Charlotte was finally impressed.

But the mention of Charleston also brought Cade into her thoughts, and Charlotte turned her attention back to the theater with a new purpose.

She began scanning the patrons, looking for his black hair. She turned to scan the boxes and in so turning, Charlotte again met Freddie’s lingering gaze.

Lord! The man was still watching her! What
could
he find so interesting? Knowing him, he was probably adding up every mistake she had made so that he could fully enumerate them later.

“Mr. Dewhurst,” she began, intentionally omitting his title. He gave her a look of annoyance, and she began to wonder what else she could she say to keep that searing look from returning to his eyes. “Are there many officers in attendance this evening? I have seen several red coats.”

His eyes scanned the theater with affected ennui. “Suppose I see a few officers. Worried?”

Charlotte shrugged. “A British officer might not like the idea of an American, the enemy so to speak, in such close proximity.”

“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 intermis
sion, 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.

Freddie ignored her jibe, focusing instead on her smile. She was practically beaming at Lucia. He couldn’t recall seeing her smile so warmly be
fore, and the effect was truly stunning. With the lights glinting off her copper hair and her wide, full lips and entrancing eyes, she was ravishing. Freddie realized that, if she hadn’t already been his, he would probably be paying her as much court as the other men clambering for a position inside the crowded box.

“How are you enjoying the opera, Lady Dewhurst?” Selbourne asked. And Freddie was grateful someone was listening to the conversation.

“It’s entrancing. The score is so beautiful and”—she paused, glancing behind her—“the costumes divine. Don’t you agree, Lydia?” Everyone turned to Lydia, who Freddie realized had been pouting at the lack of attention. Now that Charlotte had found a way to involve her, she smiled and began a long speech on her opinions.

After Lydia had gone on a moment, Lucia leaned over to Charlotte, and Freddie edged closer to overhear their confidences. “I hope we can find a few moments to chat at my mother’s ball tomorrow night. I would so love to hear about life in America. I fear I have inherited a love of other cultures and peoples from my mother.”

“Oh, of course. I did not realize Lady Brigham was your mother.”

“Oh, good Lord, yes. The night is sure to prove extremely tedious, but my mother is on a mission, and that ranks above all else.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “Mission?”

Lucia nodded. “To marry off my twin brother. He’s fighting the nuptial knot as hard as he can, but once my mother gets her apron strings firmly round his neck, he’ll be doomed.”

“Your mother sounds like a formidable woman.”

Lucia closed her fan in her palm. “Oh, you do not know the half of it, Charlotte. But, I have to say, she is a kind woman and does everything with the best intentions.”

Freddie frowned. Lady Brigham was an interfering harpy with a mania for Italy. She was more selfish than kind, and he doubted she’d ever done anything with any intention but her own in mind. But, as usual, Lucia seemed to have a talent for casting others in a sympathetic light. In the past on more than one occasion, he’d spied a bit of muslin he’d liked to have known better, only to have Lucia deter him by making him feel guilty.

He missed the transition into the next topic, but he caught the look Lucia gave him. He wondered what strokes she was using to paint him. What did she want Charlotte to see? And what did his little Yankee see when she looked at him? His money, his title, his dandy persona? Or could she see something of the man lurking inside?

“I suppose we must be going,” Lucia said, glancing at Selbourne. “Like you, Charlotte, I adore the opera. And while Italian is not Selbourne’s favorite language”—Freddie smiled
when Alex scowled at his wife, who laughed merrily—“I think he is enjoying this one as well.”

Lucia rose and gave Freddie her hand. She leaned forward, ostensibly to kiss his cheek, but whispered instead, “Don’t muddle this one up, Freddie. You worry about whatever your little mission for the Foreign Office is and leave the romance to me. I have a plan.” Freddie stiffened as apprehension, icy cold, washed down his spine.

“Lucia—” he began, but Alex came up behind her.

“Come wench, I have matters pertaining to Italian to discuss with you.” Lucia laughed and winked at Freddie as she exited the box. He frowned. One would have thought that after seven years living with the dourest man in England, Lady Selbourne would have adopted some restraint. But underneath the title and the fortune, she was still Lucia Dashing—concocting harebrained plans and kicking up larks.

The remaining invaders were beginning to disperse as well, and Freddie was finally able to reclaim his seat beside Charlotte. As he did so, his mother leaned over and whispered, “Lord and Lady Selbourne’s notice of you is quite an honor, Charlotte. They are extremely wealthy, and despite the matter of their elopement, eminently respectable.”

“They seem very happy,” Charlotte replied.

“Theirs was a love match,” his mother informed her.

“Love match!” Freddie interjected turning around. “More like an exercise in humiliation. Selbourne made an absolute cake of himself over her.”

“He seems to think it was worth it,” Charlotte observed.

“Hmpf,” Freddie replied.

The strains of the orchestra rose again, and Freddie glanced surreptitiously at Charlotte, wondering just how much effort she was worth.

F
reddie waited until Charlotte had gone to her room before seeking out her servant. Fortunately the woman hadn’t yet retired to the servants’ quarters, and he found her discussing the benefits of frequent polishing of the silver with his butler, Dawson.

“Miss Addy,” Freddie said and gave a sweeping bow. “May I have a moment of your time?”

She gave him a weary look then shrugged. “I s’pose.”

He led her into the drawing room and indicated she should take a seat. She shook her head. “I know what this is about. That skinny little man is complaining about his starch again. Well, you just tell that little weasel that I’s got a right to the starch, too.”

Freddie stared at her for a long moment, watching the frantic way she clutched at her ragged shawl. “Madam, I have no notion what you are going on about, but I assure you that whatever it is, I will rectify the situation.”

Addy snorted. “Nothing’s free.”

Freddie inclined his head. The woman was no fool. “All right. Then I will make sure you have—?”

“Starch,” she supplied. “A lot.”

“A lot of starch if you give me a bit of information on your mistress.”

Addy crossed her arms and stuck her lip out. “Oh, no. Miss Charlotte’s like my own child. I couldn’t betray her.”

“Oh, I’m not asking for any information like that. I just want to see that we get along better and make sure she’s happy here.” And that was all it was, wasn’t it? There was nothing to his request. He simply wanted to make their sham marriage appear more real. “I just want to know what she likes,” he continued. “What flowers and jewels does she prefer, for example?”

“Hmpf. You won’t get far offering her jewels. She wear that necklace her mamma gave her, and she don’t never take it off.”

Freddie nodded. “Good to know. I think you earned yourself some starch, Miss Addy. Now what else can you tell me?”

Addy gave him a long hard look. “I likes you, Mr. Dewhurst. Lawd knows why because you
dress prettier than most girls I know. But I thinks you’re good for Miss Charlotte.”

“Then you’ll help?” Freddie smiled. Now this was the effect he was used to having on women.

“Oh, I’ll help,” Addy said. “But you goin’ have to give me more than starch.”

She lifted up a corner of her ragged shawl, and Freddie sat back to listen.

Charlotte heard the carriage wheels clatter over every cobblestone in the streets between Bruton and Berkeley Square, where Lord and Lady Brigham lived. It was the night after the opera, and they were en route to the Brighams’ ball. It was a short distance, but the crush of traffic slowed their progress to a crawl, and by the time they arrived, Charlotte’s nerves were frayed and she was ready for the ball—the entire charade—to end. But she’d frozen that polite smile on her face, and she would not remove it until she found Cade.

But as soon as she and Dewhurst stepped over the threshold of the Brighams’ spectacular town house, Charlotte realized the charade had only just begun. Here all of London was on stage. Dewhurst led her deep into the foyer and through the receiving line, pausing before a tall woman with short, springy platinum curls.

“Signora Brigham,” Freddie said bowing gracefully. He was deep in his element now.

“
Buona sera
, Lord Dewhurst,” Lady Brigham
said so loudly that Charlotte almost stepped back. The woman had a high-pitched tone that must have carried into every room of the mansion. “And who is this lovely
signorina
?”

“Lady Brigham, may I present Lady Dewhurst, my wife. Charlotte, Viscountess Brigham.”

Charlotte curtsied. “Good evening, madam.”

“Oh!” The woman’s eyes widened. “But you’re not English.”

“Lady Dewhurst is from Charleston,” Freddie supplied.

“Charleston?” Lady Brigham’s blond brows furrowed. “Is that near Norwich?”

Norwich? Charlotte was appalled. How could this woman not know where Charleston was? “Certainly not, madam. It’s—” Charlotte began.

“Near the Scottish border,” Dewhurst finished for her. She gave him a sharp look, and his jade green eyes glinted playfully. Now what game was he concocting?

“
Mamma mia!
Lord Dewhurst, I had no idea you were acquainted with anyone who lived so far
north
.” Lady Brigham fluttered her fan rapidly. Charlotte opened her mouth to protest, but before she could do so, the party was interrupted by Dewhurst’s cousin.

“Dewhurst. Fashionably late as usual.” Middleton strode into the foyer. He had obviously attempted to put his Elizabethan dress aside for the evening, but now he wore wide, baggy mauve
trousers, lavender waistcoat, and green tailcoat he wore. It hurt Charlotte’s eyes to look at him.

“Good God, sir,” Dewhurst said. “Did you fall and hit your head? You look like a zany.” Freddie took his cousin’s arm. “Do sit down. You might have a concussion.”

Middleton grinned and shook off Freddie’s arm. “I hear the ladies like bright colors. ’Sides, I don’t care a fig if Beau Brummell’s here. I’m a connoisseur of love, not fashion. It’s the ladies I want simmering with lust when they spy my Cossack trousers,” he added in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Simmering with lust, eh?” Dewhurst muttered.

Middleton turned to Charlotte, who was still trying to understand the appeal of such a vibrantly colored outfit. “Lady Dewhurst—” Undoubtedly he was about to spout Shakespeare, but his words were lost in the loud gasp her husband let out. A few guests had gathered to watch the antics of these pinks of the
ton
, and Charlotte saw more beginning to crowd around.

“Selbourne, old boy. Has someone died?” Dewhurst called.

Charlotte turned to see Lord Selbourne—she rarely had trouble remembering
he
was a lord—and Lucia, arm in arm, approaching. Lucia was smiling, but Selbourne scowled. “Don’t start, Dewhurst.”

“But, I say, the last time I saw so much black was
at the funeral of my great-aunt Agatha. You remember, Sebastian?”

Middleton nodded sagely.

Charlotte actually thought Lord Selbourne looked quite nice in black breeches, a black velvet waistcoat, and an ebony tailcoat of superfine. His basic cravat was stark white, and the simplicity was refreshing next to Middleton’s profusion of purple.

“At least I don’t look like a puffed-up peacock,” Selbourne retorted.

“Peacock! You wound me, sir! This color is referred to as Spanish blue. Peacock blue does not suit me a’tall.”

That earned a laugh from the onlookers.

“I suppose now that you have an audience, I’ll never escape without some remark concerning my cravat. Make it so that I may escort my wife inside.”

“Audience! Sir, I think it is you who enjoys an audience. Why, I half expect you to propose marriage to my new wife at any moment.”

Charlotte blushed, and there was more laughter. Lucia slapped Freddie playfully on the arm. “Be nice, Freddie.”

“Madam, I am always nice.”

“No, you’re not. You antagonize Alex, and then I have to smooth his ruffled feathers.”

“Ah, who is the peacock now, Selbourne?”

Charlotte didn’t hear Alex’s response because
Lucia stepped in to save her. “Lady Dewhurst, what a pleasure to see you again. These boys may insult each other all night. We needn’t wait for them. Please, come with me inside. I’ll enjoy squiring you about and introducing you to all the bucks and beaux.”

Lady Brigham was immediately at Lucia’s side. “
Mia figlia
,” she whispered. “Do you think that is such a good idea? Lady Dewhurst is
Scottish
.”

“Oh,
Mamma
,” Lucia said walking away and pulling Charlotte with her. “Don’t be silly! Charlotte’s not Scottish. She’s an American!”

“
Mamma mia!
”

Lucia was as good as her word, and Charlotte was introduced to so many people that she was sure she’d never remember half of them. She was belatedly glad of Dewhurst’s lesson on titles, but she found she couldn’t remember who was a duke and who a viscount. Lucia helped her without being obvious, and Charlotte could have kissed her for being so kind.

“Kind?” Lucia said with a laugh later, when they had gone into dinner, and Charlotte tried to express her appreciation. “I am not being kind, Charlotte. I have ulterior motives.” Lucia whispered the last conspiratorially and gestured to Charlotte to take a seat beside her at the table. The dancing was just beginning and the crowds at the tables laden with rich offerings were thinning.

“I don’t believe a word you say. You’ve rescued
me more than once this evening, Lucia, and I am certain smoothing over my social blunders is not how you wished to spend your evening.” Charlotte felt her cheeks heat, thinking about the plethora of mistakes she’d made in the last hour; often she was in the middle of a faux pas before even realizing it.

It was all so different from Charleston. She’d never faltered at social occasions during the Charleston Season, but now she understood why Freddie had scoffed at her comparisons. London was nothing like Charleston, and Charlotte had to admit that she was out of her league here in London. While her family did hold a prominent position in Charleston society, they had never been part of the upper echelons.

Charlotte straightened her shoulders and glanced in one of the long, rectangular mirrors lining the room. It amazed her that she still resembled the girl who’d danced at balls in Charleston. In five years she’d changed—become a different person—as different as her first ball gown from the one she wore now.

Light yellow satin with a V neck and full shoulder sleeves, the gown tapered to a hem embroidered with small white and yellow flowers. Below the exquisite hem peeked dainty white slippers adorned with silver rosettes. Lady Dewhurst had given Charlotte a small ivory fan decorated with white and yellow flowers that perfectly matched
those of her dress and the small flowers peeking from the curls in Charlotte’s hair. The last touch was a strand of lustrous yellow pearls draped around her white neck. Charlotte felt uncomfortable without her mother’s emerald necklace, but Addy promised to keep it safe until Charlotte returned and could exchange the pearls for her most prized jewel.

“I knew this color would be perfect for you,” Dewhurst’s mother boasted. “You shall not see many ladies tonight in yellow. Their complexions would appear far too sallow, but with your coloring, it is perfect. And do not touch your hair!” she ordered, slapping Charlotte’s hand away. “That Hester is a genius.”

Charlotte had to admit the lazy maid was a talented hairdresser. She’d made a mental note to change the girl’s duties. Mrs. Pots wouldn’t like it, but Charlotte was gaining authority with the housekeeper, too. If only she could see the menu…

Charlotte took a deep breath. She must remember that all this finery was merely illusion. Underneath the silk and the lace, she was still Charlotte, the American wholesaler’s daughter. Soon she would find Cade and the pretty illusion would end.

“You have a very serious look on your face, Lady Dewhurst,” Lucia said, breaking Charlotte’s reverie. “I’m terribly sorry, but sober thought is
not allowed at
ton
balls. We are all about folly and frivolity, so put your insipid smile back in place.”

Charlotte laughed. “Very well, then, but you have to promise not to report me to Freddie. If he finds out I’ve broken another rule, he’ll quiz me until my head explodes.”

“Agreed. On one condition. Tell me what had you looking so distraught.”

Charlotte glanced down at the fan, the tassel of which she was twisting around her fingers. “I was thinking of home, of my first ball, and my father and brother.”

Lucia put a warm hand on her arm. “Freddie tells me they died recently. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Charlotte nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Then she said, “Lady Selbourne, thank you for escorting me about tonight, but I am certain you must wish to return to your husband.”

“Alex? At a ball? Oh, I assure you I have no wish to see my husband tonight.”

Charlotte frowned. Almost all she’d thought about since Lucia had led her away was Freddie—what he was doing, where he was, with whom he was dancing. She didn’t want to think of him, but no matter how hard she tried, each time she heard a man’s voice or a laugh, she turned in search of her golden angel. But wherever he was, it was not where Lucia had taken Charlotte.

“All I wish to do at a ball,” Lucia was saying, “is
dance and laugh and drink champagne. All Alex wants to do is grumble and drink gin. He is a far better companion in the country.” Lucia popped the last small cake on her plate into her mouth.

“But if you wish to dance, then you should do so,” Charlotte said. “You mustn’t let me stop you.”

“Oh, you’re not,” Lucia assured her. “In fact, I have a confession to make, Charlotte.”

Charlotte raised a brow. What deep, dark secret could this sparkly blond doll be hiding? Lucia looked around her, and apparently seeing no one she need worry might overhear, said, “You see, I had not realized how distracting having an American at the ball would be to Mama. She is so busy worrying what everyone is saying about you that she’s had no time to think of me.”

“I don’t think I understand. Why don’t you want your mother to think of you?”

Lucia sighed and looked at her hands, folded in her lap. “Because I cannot bear another conversation about the prospect of grandchildren. You know that my mother has actually started trying to give me…hints. It’s absolutely
mortifying
.” Lucia’s gaze did not meet Charlotte’s as she spoke, and she’d linked her fingers together now.

“You don’t have any children then?” Charlotte asked gently.

“No, and I’m beginning to think that we never will. And I am coming to terms with that possibility, Charlotte, really I am.”

“And Lord Selbourne?”

A shadow of pain bruised Lucia’s porcelain face. “Alex says I am enough. We have three nephews and a niece we see quite often, but my mother…” Lucia sighed.

Charlotte took her hand and held it tightly. “You want children, don’t you?”

Lucia wiped a tear away and glanced around to see if any lingering guests had observed her. “Desperately sometimes,” she whispered, her eyes watering a little. “I love my niece and nephews, but I would so much like one of my own.”