Page 37 of Tamed By a Duke
"Pfft," Violet sighed irritably in response, "All I ever hear are questions as to Sebastian's whereabouts. I am not his keeper, I'll have you know. I don't note his every step. How should I know where he is?"
This testy response was so unlike Violet, that for a moment Charlotte was stunned into silence. A pair of dark blue eyes quickly registered Charlotte's confusion, and Violet gave a heavy sigh, before apologising.
"I do beg your forgiveness," she said, "I am afraid that Sebastian has been causing me quite the headache these days and I find that even the mention of his name sets me off like a cannon. Can you pardon my ugly outburst?"
"There's nothing to pardon," Charlotte gave her friend a smile, "I know something of frustrating siblings."
"My thanks," Violet grinned, her usual serene expression restored, "Now, tell me why it is that you are hiding? It can't be from a lack of willing conversationalists, like yours truly, for half the room must be clamouring to gain your attention."
Charlotte bit her lip; she did not wish to trouble her friend with the confusing whirl of thoughts which filled her head. She could not tell Violet that Penrith had called on her every day for a week. That he had sent bouquets of hot-house flowers every morning. That he had taken her riding on the Row three times and that he had—just that morning—promised that he would fill her dance card with his name, and his alone.
Nor could she tell Violet how much this thrilled her. How much she wanted to be held in his arms. How much she longed to repeat their passionate kiss in the rain and that dreams of the duke's embrace kept her awake at night.
No. Charlotte could not tell her friend this because she was stubbornly holding on to the belief that she was not at all in love with the Duke of Penrith. Even though, deep down, she knew that she was.
"Perhaps it is a case of love-sickness which has you hiding here with me?" Violet guessed, in a teasing voice, "Has the pompous duke actually captured your heart?"
"He's not pompous," Charlotte replied, quick to defend Penrith, "He is, I fear, misunderstood."
"Thank goodness he has you to understand him."
There was a definite note of teasing to Violet's voice and as Charlotte caught her friend's eye, she realised that she had seen through her facade of indifference. Though that facade was so flimsy, that Charlotte wondered how she herself had been blinded by it for so long.
"What have I done?" she whispered with a groan, "I was not supposed to fall in love with Penrith. It was not part of the plan."
"The course of true love never did run smooth," Violet replied with a grin and a Gallic-shrug, "So what if you did not intend it? Love has knocked on your door and you must answer its call."
Gracious; Charlotte had not known her friend to be such a romantic. As though sensing her surprise, Violet flushed a little.
"I am an artist," Violet said defensively, "It's almost a legal obligation that I also be a romantic."
"Is it romantic to begin an affair with a gentleman under false pretences?" Charlotte queried glumly, for what was holding her back from plunging head-over-heels for Penrith was guilt. Guilt at her deceit.
She had planned to capture his attention—had gone so far as to write a list to find her target—and her treachery was now weighing on her conscience.
"Most affairs begin under false pretences," again Violet shrugged in a pococurante manner, which put Charlotte to mind of Violet's French mama. "In fact, most social interactions are entirely false and contrived. Do men not seek to be seen as affable when they are first introduced? Do women not strive to give the appearance of a winsome coquette when presented with an eligible gentleman? I think you'll find that most everyone is wearing a mask, and the fact that you wish to remove yours and reveal your true self to Penrith, before he is bound to you by duty and law, is admirable."
Gracious. It was not like Violet to be so loquacious, nor was she usually given over to philosophical musings. Charlotte squinted through the dim light at her friend and saw heavy, dark circles beneath Violet's eyes.
"What type of trouble has Sebastian made for you?" Charlotte queried, suddenly suspicious.
"Oh, nothing untoward," Violet replied, pasting a smile onto her wan face, "I am lucky that he is not like most young-bloods, and that he is not making a fool of himself at the gaming tables. He is simply being Sebastian; nothing more, nothing less. Come, let us forget our troubles and go to save Julia—I have just spotted her in Lord Horace's greasy clutches."
Violet linked arms with Charlotte and guided her away from the safety of their hiding place. Charlotte was not quite convinced of her friend's explanation—in fact, she rather thought that Violet was now wearing a mask of her own—but she reasoned that a ball was not the time to press her on matters.
So, Charlotte allowed herself to be led across the room, through the glittering crowd, to where Julia stood. Lord Horace, a stout young man with a florid face, was chattering eagerly to Julia, who gave the appearance of polite interest. Charlotte knew her friend well enough, however, to know that the pretty smile on Julia's face was fixed, and that while she was nodding her head at suitable intervals, she was not listening to a word Lord Horace said.
"Miss Havisham, Miss Drew," Julia called, as Violet and Charlotte approached, "How wonderful it is to see you. Do excuse me, Lord Horace."
"Of course, of course," the young lord blustered, "Perhaps I might call on you soon to continue our discussion on bloodstock, Lady Julia?"
"Perhaps," Julia's reply was an expression of both uncertainty and possibility, and Charlotte had to admire her social nous. Lord Horace, for his part, was left scratching his head as the ice-cool Lady Julia made her escape, for he could not claim any obvious injury or insult, but he knew that he had been deuced.
"What a wonderful word; perhaps," Charlotte whispered, as the trio went in search of refreshments.
"It does go down better than a firm 'no'," Julia agreed, rolling her blue eyes, "Men are such delicate creatures, you see. One must use kid-gloves when handling them, or they are liable to break."
Charlotte could not help but think of Penrith; he was no china-doll. He had weathered many of Charlotte's barbs without even blinking, and his ego was suitably robust enough to stand hearing a firm 'no' from time to time.
