Page 13 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
Return to reason, return to reason, return to reason.
Charlotte tried to apply Arthur’s mantra to her thoughts, but it was no small task. She could not just forget the worst day of her life. She felt herself panting from fear, and forced her breathing to slow.
She had to stick with her plan.
The one thing she could possibly control right now was snagging a duke. Charlotte pictured the Duke of Westcliffe’s kind face, but it was quickly overtaken by a stern visage with gray eyes reminiscent of an approaching storm bent on causing damage.
Captain Hughes.
Drat that man! He was a distraction she could not afford, especially after revealing too much of herself in a lapse of judgement in Hyde Park. She leaned back in an attempt to resume her bath, but when her upper back reached the surfaceof the tub, she was jolted by the coolness of the metal. Her ruminations had consumed her thoughts longer than she realized, and the temperature of the bathwater had dropped before she could even wash herself. She picked up the wash ball and quickly lathered the soap on her body before moving to her hair. Her hands massaged her scalp. Despite the cool water, a degree of tension left her body as her hands worked their way down the rest of her hair that extended to her lower back.
Once her hair was sufficiently lathered, Charlotte dipped her head under the water to rinse off the soap. The coolness of the liquid struck her face like someone slapped her and undid any of the relaxation she had experienced with her scalp massage. Her hands pushed off the bottom of the tub to thrust her head through the surface of the bathwater and into warmer temperatures. Her body was covered in gooseflesh, and all she could focus on was the chill that surged through her body. She leaned forward in the tub with her hands resting on her thighs and took shallow breaths.
Her mind was blank.
Before any untoward thoughts could reenter her stream of consciousness, she stood and climbed out, grabbing a nearby towel. After she dried off, she rang for Bailey to help her dress and arrange her hair.
Charlotte was ready to start the day.
Charlotte beat her aunt to breakfast, which was no surprise. Aunt Frances stayed abed late into the morning, and often took a repast in her room. The skirt of Charlotte’s white, long-sleeved morning dress floated around her as she went to the sideboard and chose a few slices of ham and a fresh roll to butter.
“A chocolate,” she said to one of the servants standing nearby. He nodded and left to gather the beverage.
She situated herself at the table and prepared her roll. She waited for the butter to melt, then allowed the bread to soften in her mouth. Her chocolate was brought in, and she stared at the cup, butter knife still in hand, entranced by the swirling steam that emerged from the warm drink.
Swish, swish, swish.
“Well done!” came a sudden voice from the doorway.
Charlotte dropped her utensil in surprise, the metal clattering against the porcelain plate.
Her aunt swept into the morning room with her lace-trimmed white cap and morning dress adorned with a fichu to mask the low neckline.
Charlotte looked at her aunt suspiciously. Aunt Frances never commended her. When Charlotte was fourteen years old, her recently widowed aunt arrived at High Crest Hall to spend her year of mourning and strategize her next marriage. She was stunned to find that Charlotte was well-versed in gentlemanly subjects, courtesy of sitting in with Arthur and his tutor, yet incompetent in any of the feminine arts. Since Charlotte was an extension of her aunt, and her aunt’s main purpose was to rise as high as possible in Society, she set her mind to molding Charlotte into a proper lady.
“Aunt Frances, you’ve never applauded anything I have ever done.”
Her aunt let out a huff. “Charlotte, that is ridiculous. Did you not go into the drawing room?”
“No, I was quite famished so I came to eat breakfast.” Charlotte gave her aunt a smile. “What’s in the drawing room?”
“Flowers from your admirers, of course! All thanks to my tutelage during your wayward youth.”
As much as she resented her aunt for forcing her to endure countless hours of unpleasant comportment lessons, she had to admit they were useful during this unexpected foray into the inanity that was London Society. “I’m glad I’ve finally flourished. Until now, my life has been meaningless. Thanks to a bouquet of flowers from a dandy I don’t know with pockets to let, I have truly succeeded.” Charlotte grinned at her aunt.
Aunt Frances shook her head in dismay, but Charlotte thought she caught a hint of a smile. “You were a hopeless cause until I came to High Crest Hall. It is time to put on your brightest face for visiting hours. You have one purpose and one purpose alone: to snag a titled husband.”
Although for a vastly different reason, Charlotte could not argue her aunt’s point. Aunt Frances sat at the head of the table and requested a tea, before she dove into the lineage, financial status, and reputation of each gentleman who had sent flowers. Her aunt, the woman who rarely left her bed before noon, had gotten up early to catalog the sender of each bouquet of flowers. Aunt Frances rambled on, all the while repetitively lifting her Wedgewood teacup from the table and bringing it almost to her lips before placing it back on the table, too excited to take a sip. Charlotte wondered how long before her aunt became impatient for her to see the flowers.
She did not have to wait long.
“We must go to the drawing room. You’ve had enough. Come. Come.” Aunt Frances stood from the table with grace, her back perfectly straight.
Charlotte shoved the last few pieces of ham into her mouth, hoping her aunt was too agog to notice her poor manners. She rose and followed her to the drawing room. Charlotte stopped in the doorway.
It was an impressive sight.
Every furniture surface and even much of the floor was covered by various shapes and sizes of floral bouquets. She did not think she had even danced with that many gentlemen. She looked over at her aunt. Charlotte had never seen such a look of glee on her face. Aunt Frances swept her hand melodramatically in a wide arc in front of her, to encompass the breadth of the room. “Charlotte, this is all for you. You made quite a splash last night.”
