Page 45 of Tamed By a Duke
"Papa told me just now," Bianca continued, as the two girls broke apart, "I sent word to Mr Dubarry and then I came to tell you. Oh, Charlotte, thank you so much for all that you've done."
"It was no trouble at all," Charlotte assured her sister, but Bianca bit her lip doubtfully in response.
"Are you certain?" she ventured, her head cocked to one side like an inquisitive bird, "For I should hate to think that you have suffered these past few weeks. Grandmama seems to think that Penrith will propose this evening, but I beg you Cat, please do not accept for my sake."
"If he does propose and I accept, I can assure you Bianca, that it will be for my sake," Charlotte said, before clearing her throat nervously, "I love him, you see."
Silence filled the room as Bianca opened and closed her mouth in a manner that put Charlotte to mind of a fish out of water. Her surprise was to be expected, Charlotte supposed. After all, poor Bianca had been listening to Charlotte parrot on about wishing to be a spinster for years.
The girls were prevented from discussing matters any further by the arrival of Helga, who pronounced that the carriage was waiting.
The journey to St James' Square seemed to Charlotte to be interminable. Finally, after nearly an hour negotiating the mass of carriages which thronged the road, Charlotte, her papa and Lady Everleigh arrived at Penrith House.
"Quite the turn-out for such a last-minute invitation," Brandon sniffed.
"It's an invitation from Penrith," Lady Everleigh whispered in return, "People would skip their own mother's funeral to be present. Lud knows, I would skip yours."
Charlotte ignored the bickering between the pair, instead focusing on the back of the person before her as the queue of people entering the house snaked up the front steps.
What if Grandmama had been mistaken? What if Penrith did not intend to propose? What if he had invited her, simply to tell her that he had no more wish to see her?
All of Charlotte's worries and fears quickly disappeared as, at last, she was presented to the duke.
"Miss Drew," Penrith bowed, his face an unreadable mask, "Might I claim the first dance, before anyone else has a chance?"
"Yes, your Grace," Charlotte whispered, fumbling in her reticule to find her dance-card. The people waiting in the queue craned their necks to try and see what the hold up was, while a red-faced Charlotte poked about in her bag. Her fingers finally grasped the card, but the instant that she took it out, it was plucked from her grip by the duke.
"Actually," Penrith said, in a voice loud enough for all to hear, "I should like to claim every one of your dances, Miss Drew."
Penrith winked—actually winked—as he tucked her dance card safely into his breast pocket and turned to greet the next of his guests. Charlotte, who was feeling rather stupefied by such a public declaration of interest, had to be prodded in the back by her grandmother to remind her to move on.
Once inside the ballroom—which was lit by a half dozen glittering chandeliers—Charlotte became separated from her family by the crush. She moved dazedly through the crowd, seeking somewhere quiet to hide, but before she had a chance to find a retreat, a hand reached out and cupped her elbow.
"I believe this first dance is mine."
"Your guests," Charlotte stammered, as she turned to find Penrith watching her.
"My guests are being greeted by my brother," Penrith gave a careless shrug, "Besides, there is no one else I wish to speak to, now that you are here."
Charlotte did not know how to respond to such a bold declaration, but luckily Penrith did not seem keen on idle chat. With a strong, steady hand at the base of her back, the duke guided Charlotte toward the dancefloor, where the orchestra was tuning up for the first dance of the night.
True to his word, Penrith did not seek to dance with anyone else bar Charlotte. In fact, he seemed disinclined to even speak with anyone, though many tried to ingratiate themselves.
"People will talk," Charlotte cautioned, as yet another guest was politely dismissed in favour of Charlotte's company.
"Let them," the duke shrugged, "In fact, let us give them something proper to gossip about."
Penrith took the glass of ratafia that Charlotte was holding and placed it on a passing footman's tray, before leading her once more to dance.
The next dance was, Charlotte realised with a gulp, a waltz. She had never danced one with anyone—barring her dancing-master—and she worried that she might trip up.
"Do not look so frightened," Penrith whispered, as he took Charlotte's right hand in his, "Dancing is supposed to be enjoyable."
"That's easy to say, when you dance so well," she countered, though she forced a smile and placed her free hand on Penrith's broad shoulder.
"Just let me lead," he replied, his eyes all burning intensity and promise.
Charlotte flushed; was he speaking of the dance or of life in general? She was unable to decipher the meaning behind his words, however, for the orchestra began to play, and Penrith drew her towards him.
