Page 65 of Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library
Charlotte grinned back, hoping her disappointment in not seeing the marquess at the lending library didn’t show.
“I might just have to get two ices,” she said to Louisa. “For you surely owe me more than that.”
* * * * *
“Thank heavens Diana isn’t featured in that dratted novel,” his mother said after Ashford told her of his recent conversation with Lady Lamb. “Now, she may return from exile without worry.”
Although he wouldn’t have characterized his sister’s stay in Bath as a period of exile, he did not correct his mother.
“The viscountess had no recollection of the incident Diana was worried about.” He shrugged and sighed deeply. “All that bother for nothing.”
“We had to know for sure, Ashford,” his mother replied gravely.
They were seated in the dining room where he’d joined his mother for a light luncheon. The restlessness was taking over again. He was starting to believe it was more than merely missing the countryside. He was bored. In a rut.
“Diana has behaved erratically ever since the death of her fiancé.” He shook his head. “I am sympathetic, Mother, but that does not mean she can go about blackening the good name of our family.”
He was surprised when his mother did not answer, but merely nodded.
“When she returns to London, I will welcome her home, but she must temper her behavior.”
His mother sighed. “One thing life has taught me, my son, is that we cannot understand what others are going through unless we have walked a mile in their shoes.”
For a moment, he imagined what it would feel like to lose someone he loved. His mother had lived through that pain, as had Diana. An image of Charlotte flashed in his mind, startling him.
“I will try to remember that.” He stood up and called to Chloe, who was sniffing the shoes of a nearby footman. “Come along, girl. I think we both need a walk out of doors.”
As he walked to the park, Chloe by his side, his thoughts turned to his friends. Which one of them would be the first to marry?
Cecil might joke about his brother marrying young, but he knew his friend approved of his brother’s wife and was happy for the boy. Cecil’s mother resided in the country. The viscount rarely spoke of her, and Ashford didn’t push for any confidences.
He hadn’t truly been worried Cecil would marry the daughter of someone in trade, no matter his financial difficulties. There were enough heiresses in London with a pedigree not to warrant the need to wed a tradesman’s daughter.
As for himself? What with the war and Diana’s exploits, he hadn’t thought that much about his own future. Maybe Nathaniel was right. It was time to do so.
Ashford hoped his friend would find a lovely young woman worthy of him. Nathaniel was a kind, generous man. Easy going and with a good temper. As for Cecil? Any woman who captured Cecil’s heart, if he had one, would be exemplary indeed. He couldn’t conceive of such a paragon of womanhood existing.
He was dissembling again. Thinking of others rather than himself. It was so easy to see the clear path for others. He needed a lady of breeding and good family to beget his heirs. It sounded passionless, but there it was in a nutshell. Was it not the same for the females of the ton?
Lady Charlotte was too often in his thoughts these days. Was her brother the sticking point, or was he simply looking for an excuse as Nathaniel had suggested?
She was from a good family, an heiress. No stain attached to the line.
Would she have him? He knew he had hurt her with his attitude toward her brother. He’d judged her and her brother far too harshly. When it came down to it, was Diana’s behavior any better than William’s?
He hadn’t seen Charlotte for several days. Not since the shooting near Thorne’s. He remembered how lovely she’d looked at Alicia’s card party. Lord Meers was not wrong to want to capture her attention. Charlotte was sweet, witty, and intelligent; she also had a kind and giving nature. Perhaps he should ask Alicia to warn the lady about Lord Meers. He was an infamous fortune hunter, after all.
He must see Charlotte again. Speak with her. He wasn’t sure what love felt like. All he knew was that when she was near him, he couldn’t think, could barely breathe. Either he was in love or ill.
* * * * *
Charlotte tried to feel excited about attending a ball given by the Duke of Norfolk. It was the event of the season. Although the duke was known to have one of the finest libraries in all of England, she doubted she would have a moment to privately examine the books on hand at Norfolk House.
“You look a picture, my lady,” her maid Sally said as she put the finishing touches on her mistress’s coiffure.
The maid had been eager to dress Charlotte’s hair in a style from Ackerman’s magazine, with ringlets next to her face, the hind hair brought in rows of plaited braids to the top of her head.
“Thank you, Sally,” she replied with a smile, observing her reflection in the looking glass on top of her dressing table. Dabbing Tuberose perfume behind her ears, she was ready for the ball.
