Page 14 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
“Was it me, or was it my dowry?”
“Does it matter?” her aunt said, moving from bouquet to bouquet. “You need a dowry to wed, and you need one of these bouquets to lead to a wedding.”
Charlotte was not ignorant of the fact the hefty dowry Grandpapa had bestowed upon her was unbelievably tempting to many debt-ridden lords. She did not begrudge the gift though, since he included two specific clauses to protect her. It was his way of looking out for her, even after he had passed. He knew how common it was for thetontosquander their fortunes in the blink of an eye.
The first clause was that if she did not marry by the age of twenty-five, her dowry would be released to her. The second was that if she did marry, Charlotte retained control of her money. She hoped thetonremained in the dark regarding these stipulations because the second one would certainly deter many lords if they knew. Luckily, Aunt Frances had spread the word of the impressive size of her dowry to entice suitors without a mention of anything further. Charlotte would worry about details later.
She walked around the drawing room, weaving through the floral arrangements, looking at each of the cards with superficial notes that reminded her none of the suitors knew anything about her.
Your eyes are the color of a warm spring morning.Charlotte frowned. A warm spring morning could have any color in it.
You have the voice of an angel.She had a terrible singing voice and doubted her speaking voice could be equated to a heavenly sound.
Your hair is the color of sunshine.Her hair was chestnut brown, far from a solar-hued blonde.
As she went through each one, she became more and more disenchanted. Meanwhile, she heard the swish of her aunt’s skirts behind her as she double-checked each card with the notes she had already written on a sheet of foolscap.
By the time Charlotte had finally made her way around the room, which took a good deal of time, she noticed one very important suitor was missing: the Duke of Westcliffe.
Before Charlotte could ask Aunt Frances about the omission, she shooed her out of the room to prepare herself for visiting hours in order to have “the most important afternoon of her life.”
James waited a while in Hyde Park, not wanting Lady Charlotte to think he was following her. Once enough time had passed, he led his horse along the cobblestone streets that led to Gabe’s town house. He left the gelding in the mews, then made his way to the back of the home. The servants were already stirring, and he could smell the scent of bread wafting from the kitchens. Once inside, he made his way up the stairs toward his room to bathe and get ready for the day.
On the second floor, he paused and noted the grim faces of Lockhart ancestors staring down at him from the wall ofpaintings as if disgusted that a commoner like him tainted their sacred halls. He noticed that Lady Carrington’s bedroom door was still closed, and the door to Gabe’s chamber was ajar. His friend must have spent the night at the London town house he kept for his mistress, which was a common occurrence. James climbed to the next level and found his room, which was adjacent to Lady Bridget’s, due to the lack of other suitable guest rooms.
Gabe had told James he knew he was honorable and would not dare seduce his younger sister, in a politely menacing way only an older brother could convey. James had reassured Gabe he felt more like a second, overprotective brother to Lady Bridget. He tried to repay Gabe’s generosity by giving Lady Carrington and Lady Bridget a sense of safety at night with his presence, while Gabe slept elsewhere with his paramour.
James entered his room, which was simply though tastefully decorated in varying shades of blue with rosewood furniture. He took several long strides across the room to snatch up a letter that had been placed on his desk.
James broke the unmarked seal and scanned the contents.
Meet me at two o’clock.
Although it was an anonymous note, James knew it was from the Bow Street Runner Gabe had arranged, Malcolm Morris. He performed his morning ablutions, all the while running through every possible outcome of the impending meeting. He then went down to the morning room and requested a coffee from an awaiting servant, before wandering over to the sideboard, distracted by his thoughts. He placed kippers, eggs, and a roll on his plate, and seated himself at the table. His breakfast was interrupted by the entrance of Lady Carrington, who floated across the morning room, and Lady Bridget, who walked behind her mother with her eyes lowered in a demure fashion.
After the women had ordered their tea, James exchanged pleasantries with them until Lady Carrington dove into talking about the prior night’s ball.
She looked at James with concern. “You left early, Captain Hughes.”
“I’m afraid I have been at sea for too long and am not used to London balls. It was a crush, and I needed some space.”
“That’s understandable. How long have you been away from the Royal Navy?” She delicately placed her teacup on its saucer and gave James her full attention.
James shifted in his chair. Lady Carrington asked from a place of maternal concern. “I was injured two years ago in battle, and it took me months to recover. Once I was ready to return to service, the war was winding down. I have been on half-pay since then, but ready to fight again when needed.”
“I can see how that has felt like no time at all. Gabriel mentioned that you have been mostly on your own while you travel between ports. London must be quite overwhelming.”
James was surprised Gabe had told his mother about his job managing the many shipments of his friend Jack Doherty’s Birmingham enterprises.
“Indeed, especially with so many grand events.” James hoped that would be enough to satisfy Lady Carrington. She smiled warmly, and then without missing a beat, turned to Lady Bridget to discuss her daughter’s hair arrangement for tonight’s ball.
James quickened his pace of eating because he wanted to avoid any further interrogation, and also because he had never learned to eat slowly. Between his childhood under his tyrannical uncle’s thumb and his career in the military, he had learned to never take a meal for granted. There were no such things as leisurely meals. James excused himself from the tableand went up to his room to change into more appropriate clothing for the afternoon meeting.
He opened the wardrobe in his room and pulled out a faded coat, frayed linen shirt, and worn trousers. He did not bother with a cravat or a waistcoat. He slipped on a pair of scuffed-up boots in preparation for disappearing into the sordid masses of London.
James silently closed the door to his room and looked up and down the hallway. Luckily, it was empty, so he hurried toward the servants’ stairs and made his way out of the house.
Once he had left the property through the back gate, he picked up his pace and strode through the alleyway until it fed onto the main thoroughfare. He hailed a hackney and hopped in, closing his eyes and leaning back onto the torn squabs.
