Page 8 of A Lady's Dangerous Secret
High Crest Hall had rolling hills, clear skies, and the scent of nature, not masses of people, smoky air, and a persistent reek. Charlotte could not wallow in self-pity though. She was in London, and she had to save herself. She let out a sigh and raised her eyelids.
Two pairs of eyes, one emerald and one blue, stared back at her from the opposite settee.
“You must be Lady Charlotte, the Marchioness of Hardwicke’s niece,” a poised and striking woman with dark-brown hair and green eyes stated matter-of-factly.
“I am…” Charlotte mumbled. Her attention darted between the woman who had just spoken and her partner, a woman whose light-blonde hair and delicate features epitomized archetypal English beauty. The second woman’s blue eyes, lighter than her own, ran over Charlotte’s figure in an assessing manner. She caught Charlotte’s gaze and leaned back, giving her a lazy grin. “We’re absolutely delighted to finally meet you. Your aunt has talked much about your debut.”
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know either of you,” Charlotte ventured, wondering if these women were friend or foe. They were a part of theton, so Charlotte’s first instinct was to label them as enemies.
The dark-haired woman sat with perfectly straight posture and replied in a well-modulated voice, “How rude of us. I’m Beatrice Walford…my father is the Marquess of Derby, and this is Eleanor Balfour, daughter of the Earl of Downham.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Charlotte responded hesitantly, still unsure as to the direction of the conversation.
Eleanor took the reins. “We feel like we already know you. My older brother, Jasper, is close with Arthur. Your brother has spoken much about you. You seem most unconventional and the opposite of what your aunt has been telling anyone who would listen. We couldn’t wait to meet you in person and figure you out ourselves.”
If Eleanor knew Arthur, this pair of women had to be friends, not foes. Arthur was everything to Charlotte. He was the only one in her family who truly understood her, and when he went off to Eton, Charlotte had immediately felt the void. Her forced trip to London to find a titled husband would have felt like a death sentence, aside from the fact she would be able to see her beloved brother. He was the only bright spot in this dismal affair, even if he was always busy with Parliamentary work.
Charlotte’s face relaxed. “I’m very close with Arthur, so I would trust what he told you.”
Eleanor smiled back. “I don’t mean to be so forward, but he seemed surprised that you were coming to London. He didn’t think you wished to marry, though your aunt has indicated otherwise. Beatrice and I have no desire for our lives to be dictated by a husband or by all those awful rules we must follow, so we thought we had found another lady of the same mindset.”
“My aunt made me memorize all ofDebrett’sthough I admit, I’ve purposefully forgotten as much as I can,” Charlotte said.
The two other women chuckled then Beatrice added, “I’m glad I still don’t have a governess to rap my knuckles or worse for not knowing every ounce of information in that terrible book.”
Charlotte smiled at the women and tried to determine what she could reveal. Although she had just met these two women, she felt an instant connection with them and their forthrightness after she realized they were all on the same side. Yet, trustingtoo easily had been the downfall of many. “I truly don’t want to marry, but a certain situation has forced me to reconsider.”
She saw both ladies’ eyes narrow. The words tumbled out of her mouth, “I’m not in the family way or ruined in that sense.”
Beatrice looked back at her and firmly responded, “Even if you were, we would not judge. We all have our scandalous secrets, and nothing in thetonstays hidden for long. The only safeguard is to keep it to yourself or rid yourself of anyone who would tattle.”
Charlotte swallowed.
Little did they know that was exactly what she had done.
Charlotte’s conversation with the two ladies was halted by her aunt marching into the ladies’ retiring room.
Aunt Frances loomed over her. “Charlotte, His Grace has arrived. What have you been doing?”
She lifted her chin defiantly, momentarily forgetting her life depended on the aid of her aunt in finding a powerful husband. She quickly recovered. “I was freshening up to prepare myself for the Duke.”
“Come along.” Her aunt grabbed Charlotte’s arm and yanked her up from the settee. She rolled her eyes toward her new friends before her aunt dragged her out of the room.
Despite dreading a waltz with a geriatric aristocrat, her mood was lighter after meeting Beatrice and Eleanor. She had never had any true friends besides Arthur growing up. High Crest Hall was a vast estate without nearby peers of the Realm whose children would be suitable acquaintances for her. Thus, Arthur had begged their parents to allow him to be tutored at home for as long as possible. When he finally left for Eton, Charlottewould play with the children of the estate’s tenants or staff. As she grew older, though, her status as the earl’s daughter created a barrier she could not overcome. She assumed the Season too would be lonely, especially because Arthur was often immersed in his governmental affairs and took no interest in Society events. Now, she had a glimmer of hope she would not have to navigate thetonalone.
The transition back into the chaos of the ballroom was jarring. Aunt Frances appeared immune and deftly maneuvered them through the crush. Sooner than expected, Charlotte was standing in front of two gentlemen vastly older than her. The first man appeared to be at the start of his seventh decade with a portly figure and thinning black hair sprinkled with gray. The second man looked younger than him and decidedly trimmer. He had sandy-blond hair with a dusting of white in his modest side-whiskers.
“Your Grace,” her aunt said, as they both dipped into deep curtsies, then straightened. “Westcliffe, Lord Finch. May I present my niece, Lady Charlotte Tipton.
After Charlotte raised her head, she started to turn toward the stout man assuming he was His Grace.
But the taller man with the athletic frame reached for her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Charlotte.” A pair of kind, hazel eyes looked at her. “May I have the honor of the next dance?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Charlotte stammered. The neither frail nor ancient duke offered his arm.
As they walked, she stole a glance at the Duke and his imposing profile. This was not the man she was expecting. He looked to be a similar age as her own father, but that was where the similarities ended. The Earl of Pulverbatch enjoyed the finer aspects of life. Charlotte pictured her sire’s protruding abdomen and ruddy face, much like that of her eldest brother, Henry. Thetwo were content sitting about, drinking brandy, and living a life of leisure, only exerting themselves for an obligatory hunt or ride through the park. The Duke, on the other hand, was clearly a Corinthian.
The musicians played the first chords of yet another waltz. Lady Stanhope had really outdone herself. The Duke gracefully positioned himself before he swept Charlotte into his arms. While they moved across the dance floor, he looked down at her with a tender look that seemed like it could be paternal. It was her best guess since her own father never looked at her in such a way. They danced in silence at first, which she appreciated. She needed time to get used to her partner. She felt surprisingly comfortable with the Duke, similar to how she felt dancing with the Earl of Carrington. It was the opposite of the riot of emotions she experienced with Captain Silverstone, though she did not have the luxury to dwell further on that maddening man. She needed a titled husband as quickly as possible. Before meeting the Duke, Charlotte had already crossed His Grace off her mental list of prospects, but now, he was at the top. And time was not on her side.
