Page 37 of Not his Marchioness
He had claimed he was retiring to bed, only to slip away to some gaming hall instead. And then, as if playing the lead in some ridiculous farce, he had acted entirely innocent when confronted with her displeasure. And now this latest transgression.
He had given his word.
Some of London’s most distinguished ladies were sitting around the drawing room table, sipping delicately from fine porcelain teacups and sampling the daintiest cakes Cook had baked.
Everything had proceeded beautifully thus far. Charlotte had impressed them all with her composure, toured them through every room, speaking as though she knew each corner intimately, despite still getting lost on the way to the dining room most evenings. She had charmed them completely. She had instructed one of the more accomplished maids to play the pianoforte, and she had ensured the conversation never flagged.
The only thing that was missing was her husband. And the ladies were beginning to take notice.
Lady Woodhaven kept casting pointed glances at the grandfather clock, suggesting to Charlotte that the gathering might soon dissolve into polite farewells. Lady Sherwood appeared equally restless, and Lady Rosslyn was no less observant.
Only thanks to her dear cousin, Lady Margot Clark, daughter of the Earl of Harcourt—who had joined their little party—did the ladies remain seated.
“Charlotte,” Margot said.
Charlotte glanced up, and it was evident this was not her cousin’s first attempt to draw her attention. Three pairs of eyes studied her with the intensity reserved for rare curiosities.
“Forgive me, I was quite lost in thought,” she offered, forcing cheer into her voice. “Planning our first dinner party,” she added, though no such event had been arranged.
Unless one counted the solitary meals she took in her chambers, attended only by herself and a persistent sparrow who knocked on the windowpane, as a dinner party. In that case, she hosted nightly entertainments.
“Quite understandable,” Lady Sherwood remarked. “When I was a newlywed, there was such a whirlwind of planning—teas and balls and soirées. Everyone wished to see Sherwood House. Naturally, one could hardly blame them.”
“Indeed,” Lady Woodhaven interjected. “Most impressive establishment.”
“What dear Lady Sherwood means,” Lady Rosslyn explained, “is that you must host a proper dinner party. Given your interest in education and enlightening the masses, you ought to invite Lady Hazeltine, Lady Clark, Lady Marlborough?—”
“Along with Lady Rowen and Lady Layton, naturally,” Lady Sherwood added. “They are quite the reformers. Due to our positions, we cannot involve ourselves directly in such pursuits, but they certainly may. Just make sure that Lady Clark does notbring Byron along,” she warned with a shudder. “You would not wish for scandal.”
Lady Rosslyn pressed a hand to her pearls. “Absolutely not. Keep that man well away from any of your endeavors. The venture would be ruined before it began—and your reputation along with it. Particularly when you have only just recovered from…”
Charlotte noted that Lady Woodhaven said nothing about Byron, though a smirk crossed her lips. Odd for the formidable lady to react in such a way.
“Quite so,” Charlotte said with a brittle smile. “I understand perfectly. A dinner party it shall be, then. I trust you will attend?”
The three exchanged meaningful looks before Lady Woodhaven responded, “Well, you see, our expertise lies in… other areas. We generally prefer not to associate with the more… progressive ladies. But since your interests align with theirs, I am certain it will be a wonderful dinner.”
“Ah.”
Charlotte recognized the dismissal in their expressions, though she belonged among the less respectable wives of lesser peers.
She was quite out of her depth here. Yet their attitude also suggested something else. Rhys’s failure to make even a briefappearance clearly indicated that this marriage might not be as solid as they wished Society to believe.
“Well,” Margot interjected, “that is sound counsel, indeed. My cousin has always championed the betterment of society as a whole, not merely its upper echelons. Isn’t that so, Charlotte?”
Charlotte wanted to lean across the table and hug her cousin. Always her stalwart ally.
Clever and outspoken, much like Evelyn, Margot had been Charlotte’s childhood idol. When her mother, the daughter of an Italian count, had whisked her to the Continent years ago, Charlotte had been quite bereft. Now, Margot had returned, and clearly remained as devoted as ever.
“Precisely,” Charlotte declared with renewed confidence. “I believe it essential that every woman and child in England—regardless of their station—should know their letters. It is fundamental to improving one’s circumstances. Indeed, I cannot imagine existence without my books and stories. They expand the mind so wonderfully.”
“But do the lower echelons truly require such… enlightenment?” Lady Sherwood asked sharply. “One would not wish to give them fantastical notions.”
“Well, it could hardly hurt for them to read a cookbook,” Lady Rosslyn said with a laugh.
Margot caught Charlotte’s eye, one eyebrow raised.
Charlotte could read her cousin’s face; Margot was wondering why she had invited these women. Charlotte should have known they would prove useless to her cause. Though in truth, her plan to establish a school for the underprivileged had only occurred to her after arranging this tea.
