Page 38 of Not his Marchioness
The primary purpose had been to present herself and Rhys as a devoted couple. The notion of enlisting these ladies for her educational venture—as Evelyn had done with her women’s society—had been poorly considered. She should have researched their actual interests and beliefs beforehand.
Of course, her idea for the school had only recently developed. She’d wanted to do something worthy with her time and energy, and she’d always loved to read. Therefore, it made sense to wish to expose others to such joys.
Still, she should have started her efforts the other way around—research the ladies, then invite those who could help her.
Clearly, her ideals and theirs were entirely incompatible. And now, because of Rhys’s absence, she was failing on both counts. These women would neither support her school nor spread word of the Ravenscars’ supposed marital bliss.
“Perhaps,” Lady Sherwood said, rising slightly, “the hour grows late. I believe I should?—”
Just then, the front door opened with considerable force, and heavy footsteps announced Rhys’s arrival. Charlotte’s eyebrows knitted together, and she pressed her lips together, barely containing her anger.
However, when Rhys rounded the corner, her jaw slackened, all her anger forgotten.
There he stood, impeccably dressed for once. Gone were the garish gold buttons and purple waistcoat. Instead, he wore elegant beige trousers, a matching brown waistcoat, and a jacket. A bespoke walking stick hung from his elbow, and his gold fob watch was displayed with just the right degree of casual elegance.
In his arms, he carried fresh flowers and an ornate little box.
“Ladies,” he greeted with a perfect bow. “I must throw myself on your mercy. I was delayed,” he explained smoothly. “The traffic was simply wretched. A milkmaid took a tumble in the street and toppled her entire load. Then, a gentleman on horseback tripped on the scattered pails and… well, you may imagine the chaos that ensued. I do hope you will forgive my tardiness.”
Did he mean any of this, or was it another of his colorful tales?
Before Charlotte could make up her mind or respond, he handed her the flowers. “I know roses are your favorite, my dear, but in this weather, these are the best I could get.”
She accepted the bouquet, a lovely arrangement of late autumn blooms—heather, hellebores, and chrysanthemums. She was at a loss for words, whilst Margot beamed knowingly.
Rhys turned with practiced charm toward the three ladies, who watched him with obvious fascination.
“Good heavens, what a dreadful host I am. Lady Woodhaven, Lady Sherwood, Lady Rosslyn, please accept my sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting. I have brought marzipan from Michelena. I am told the Prince Regent himself orders them weekly.”
“My word, Ravenscar!” Lady Sherwood gushed, reaching eagerly for the box. “How perfectly divine.”
“Such a pity you ladies were just preparing to depart,” Margot chimed in sweetly. “Otherwise, you might have?—”
“Oh, but they need not leave just yet,” Charlotte cut in, recovering her composure. “Perhaps another cup of tea? We could sample these lovely sweets whilst you continue advising me. I would be most grateful for your wisdom.”
“Certainly, Lady Ravenscar.” Lady Woodhaven nodded. “Though I am curious to know your thoughts on your wife’s charitable aspirations, My Lord.” She fixed Rhys with an expectant look.
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. Rhys had no knowledge of her plans for a school. They had shared precious little information about anything, really. Their daily exchanges consisted of “Good morning,” “Good day,” and “Good evening,” with an occasional comment about their plans for the day or the weather. He had no idea what her plans were.
This would be a complete disaster—just when his charming entrance had seemed to salvage the situation.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “given my sister-in-law’s admirable work with the less fortunate, I am hardly surprised that my wife would wish to follow such an excellent example. I believe charitable endeavors to be among the worthiest pursuits available to gently bred ladies. My own mother was quite devoted to such causes.”
Charlotte stared up at him in amazement.
Their gazes met, and she caught a distinctly mischievous glint in his eyes. Then, to her utter shock, he placed his ungloved hand on her bare shoulder.
The contact sent an unexpected jolt through her entire body. She fought to remain perfectly still.
“I do believe my mother would have been delighted to welcome a daughter-in-law who shared her charitable inclinations,” he added.
Charlotte had never known Rhys to be so… affecting. Despite the November chill, she was sweating as though it were the middle of July. The heat rising to her cheeks threatened to compromise her crushed pearl powder and reveal whatever strange sensation was overtaking her.
Fortunately, their guests seemed entirely oblivious.
“How touching,” Margot murmured approvingly.
“Indeed,” Lady Rosslyn agreed, settling back with visible relief.
