Page 6 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
She took off her hat, her dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders.
Louisa looked askance at her friend. “The bonnet will hide the tangle of your hair.”
“I should be able to slip through the mews and into the house unseen.” She added, “My mother is probably still abed. If my father is awake, he will be in the library engrossed in a book.”
“I imagine neither of my parents has risen,” Louisa replied lightly.
With four sons, Louisa’s mother seemed quite unsure of what to do with a daughter when Louisa came along. Her family lived near Charlotte’s in Kent, and Louisa gravitated to Charlotte’s mother, who was more than happy to mother the girl.
Charlotte didn’t mind Louisa being underfoot as her only sibling was a brother. She enjoyed the company of another girl her age and had spent many happy hours exploring the chalk hills of the North Downs with Louisa by her side.
“How did you convince Villiers to come along with us?” Louisa asked as she helped Charlotte don the walking dress.
Villiers was her father’s coachman. Other than Louisa, Charlotte had few friends growing up, often playing at the estate in Kent all by herself. Her brother could not often be bothered to play with a girl and had left for Eton at a young age. Villiers had always been nearby, ostensibly watching out for her. She thought the elderly coachman had a soft spot for her as he made sure he was always available to drive her whether in London or the country.
“He dotes on me,” Charlotte replied with a grin. “I told him about our plan to save Thorne’s, and he was sympathetic to our cause.”
“It seems we have come out of your adventure unscathed,” Louisa said drily.
“Unscathed and knowing no more about White’s than before I went to St. James’s Street,” she grumbled. “Will you come home with me, or do you want me to take you back to Carstairs?”
Louisa shook her head. “Mother would come looking for me soon enough. I have a fitting at the modiste this afternoon.”
Despite her chance encounter with a handsome gentleman outside of White’s, Charlotte had to admit her efforts that morning had netted scant useful information. The only thing that remained for the day was to attend Lady Cairs’s ball and hope the matron could be convinced to help Charlotte and her friends save Thorne’s Lending Library.
“My mother is confident that should I attend Lady Cairs’s ball this evening, I will meet the man of my dreams there.” After rolling her eyes, Louisa added, “As Edith is also attending the ball, we can discuss our next step tonight.”
“We must plan a way forward,” Charlotte replied with more confidence than she felt. “I will not accept defeat.”
* * * * *
That evening Lady Cairs put a hand to her generous bosom when a footman announced Ashford and Cecil. Resplendent in peacock purple, the lady’s head snapped toward where he and his companion stood on the above landing before descending the staircase that led to the rooms below.
The ballroom consisted of several state apartments combined to provide a large room for dancing. Carpets had been removed, the wooden floors polished, and the room was lit by a hundred candles. Young ladies in light-colored gowns mingled with gentlemen in dark coats and white neckcloths.
Cecil nudged him in the side with an elbow. “I think our hostess might have an apoplexy.”
“I agree. The lady looks quite shocked to see us,” he replied with a chuckle. They approached the dowager and greeted her. The matron wore an overabundance of rosewater, and Ashford stifled a sneeze.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Lord Cecil?” the lady asked as she eyed them both closely. “Your mother must surely be behind your appearance this evening.”
With a wink, Cecil replied to their hostess, “I merely wanted to see the splendor of your ballroom again. You are known to be the greatest of entertainers, my lady.”
“Be off with you,” Lady Cairs retorted and swatted Cecil with her fan. “Why Lord Ashford keeps in your company, I do not know. He is such an easygoing young man.”
Ashford sketched a shallow bow before he skirted the plump matron to follow his friend further into the room.
Now he was here, he must quell the urge to disappear into one of the card rooms to avoid all the marriage minded mamas. He had no idea what the lady he was searching for looked like. He knew her voice and the smell of her perfume. Tuberose was a heady, mature scent for a young woman to wear. He could only hope the fragrance was as rare as he believed and would not be liberally used by several other ladies that evening.
Cecil strode to a refreshment table, and Ashford followed. He selected the least gruesome of the available beverages: Regent’s punch. No ratafia, negus or watered-down lemonade for him.
“It isn’t too awful,” he said conversationally after the two men found an unoccupied spot in the corner of the room, and he took a sip of the potent liquid. The beverage contained a surfeit of rum.
“How do you expect to find the lady from White’s?” Cecil asked after he took a drink of the punch and grimaced.
“She wears Tuberose perfume. And her voice.” He paused. “It is very distinctive.”
Cecil’s gaze sharpened as he raised a brow. “How so?”
