Chapter 4
“Ouch!” Charlotte sucked the tip of her finger where the needle had pricked it, looking over her shoulder to be sure her mother wasn’t around to witness her clumsiness. Needlepoint wasn’t her favorite task on the best of the days, but this morning, she was particularly distracted.
Her mother had caught her daydreaming at church earlier in the day and gave her a worried frown that made Charlotte blush, her thoughts immediately going back to the previous evening. She’d hoped her mother didn’t think that she was daydreaming over the duke.
Not that thinking about the duke was unusual for her, but he wasn’t the current object of her mind’s wanderings.
Instead, she kept thinking back to her conversation with Genevieve at the recital as well as to last week’s ball and the terrible future that poor Victoria faced.
It seemed all of her friends were in danger of suffering that same fate, or near enough.
There had to be something that they could do about it.
“Charlotte?” Lady Fitzgerald appeared in the doorway, looking pleased about something. “You have a caller, my dear.”
“On a Sunday?”
“I’ll tell Mary to set the table for tea,” her mother replied, sweeping away down the corridor. Within minutes, Mary, the maid, arrived with the tea things and arranged them on the small wooden table near the chaise where Charlotte was sitting.
The housemaid, Sally, followed her, plumping up the cushions, checking the large piano in the corner for dust, and adjusting the ties on the curtains, which were a tasteful gold that matched the cream walls. Lady Fitzgerald, of course, was known for her impeccable taste.
“Stop fluttering, Sally.” Charlotte laughed, wondering who the visitor could be that prompted such an inspection.
A sudden, wild hope flared in her. Could it be the duke?
But no. She quashed the thought as soon as it came.
William was at the club, and there was no reason that the Duke of Arundel would call on her at a Sunday lunchtime.
Yes, he had been attentive at the ball, but he had made it quite clear that was only because he was trying to escape prospective matches.
He had no interest in her other than in the brotherly sense.
More’s the pity.
The footman stepped into the room. “Sir Roger Leonard, ma’am.”
Charlotte got to her feet, feeling dizzy as the blood drained from her face. Why on earth was Sir Roger here?
The man entered the room, followed by Lady Fitzgerald looking rather too pleased with herself, and Charlotte widened her eyes at her mother in panic. Surely, Sir Roger wasn’t being considered as a prospective suitor for her hand?
Sir Roger, dressed in a garish orange waistcoat that clashed with the tasteful decor of the drawing room, bowed in front of her. Charlotte tried not to flinch as his rubbery lips met the back of her hand.
“It is a pleasure, my dear,” he said, passing her a huge bouquet of flowers.
Too shocked to respond, Charlotte merely gaped at him. Her mother bustled over, shooting Charlotte a stern look.
“They are just delightful, aren’t they Charlotte, dear? Sally, do go put these in water. Please sit down, Sir Roger. Will you take some tea?”
“Er, yes, they are very nice. Thank you.” Charlotte sat down and then discreetly moved nearer to the other end of the chaise longue as Sir Roger sat next to her.
He was wearing a heavily fragrant cologne that only blended with the odor of his sweat rather than masked it.
The scent made her nose wrinkle, and she struggled to arrange her face into a polite expression as Mary poured the tea.
Her mother seated herself near the piano, chaperoning them but also making it clear that Charlotte was to entertain Sir Roger, not simply sit in the corner and allow her mother to do so.
“You’re looking as delightful as ever, Lady Charlotte,” Sir Roger told her, his eyes roaming her body in a way that she thought most improper.
She looked at her mother for help, but at the angle she was seated, Lady Fitzgerald couldn’t see Leonard’s face.
Instead, she was not too subtly glaring at Charlotte, silently instructing her to make small talk.
She wished, briefly, that her father was still alive.
He surely wouldn’t expect Charlotte to welcome the suit of a man like Sir Roger Leonard.
She swallowed and smiled politely, catching Sir Roger’s eye and holding it, as if to let him know that she had caught him leering at her. But he merely winked at her.
My God, he believes I’m flirting with him! Charlotte thought, horrified. She reached for her tea, her fingers trembling around the handle of the cup.
“It’s very kind of you to visit,” she said, sipping her tea.
“Well, I was rather hoping you might take a turn about the promenade with me. It’s a lovely day to be outside.
I took my horse out this morning, and it’s quite splendid weather.
” He grinned at her, showing teeth that were disturbingly yellow for a man of his station who couldn’t be much older than William.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, except….” Charlotte cast her mind about for a suitable excuse, ignoring her mother’s glare. “I’m afraid I turned my ankle coming out of the Steeles’ yesterday,” she improvised quickly. “I need to rest it.”
Her mother’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Charlotte sipped her tea again, avoiding her eyes.
Sir Roger looked crestfallen. “Well, that is a shame. I do hope it heals quickly. Some other time?”
“Of course, that would be… nice.”
Sir Roger beamed, clearly not getting the hint. Instead, he moved a little closer to her, and she caught a stronger whiff of his pungent scent. Between Sir Roger’s attentions and her mother’s steady perusal of her, Charlotte felt trapped, and anxiety rose up in her.
“I, erm, seem to be coming down with a headache,” she said, imploring her mother with her eyes, but this time Lady Fitzgerald ignored her, her stiff shoulders making it clear that she was thoroughly unimpressed with Charlotte’s conduct.
There was no getting out of it, she realized. She would have to make conversation with the man. His thigh brushed up against hers in what she was sure was no mistake.
“So,” she said, angling her body away from his as much as she could, “you say you were out on your horse this morning? My brother loves to ride too.”
“Yes. I was hunting on my father’s estate—just outside of London, you know. He has some prime deer, brought down from his estate at the New Forest. We’re a hunting family, and I’m a crack shot.”
Charlotte’s stomach turned. She was fond of animals, and deer were at once so graceful and majestic…. The thought of them being hunted down by this awful man was abhorrent.
“I’m not a fan of hunting, I’m afraid,” she said in her primmest voice, hoping that would put him off.
Instead, he let out a great guffaw of a laugh that made even her mother jump.
“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to be, my dear.” He chuckled, slurping at his tea. “Young ladies are much too delicate for that sort of thing, I suppose. No, you must leave such pastimes to us men.”
Sir Roger’s grin was wide, revealing his unfortunate teeth once again.
Charlotte allowed herself the smallest exhalation of frustration behind her teacup, hoping her annoyance was not too plain on her face.
Though how the man could miss the careful control of her expression was beyond her understanding.
He seemed incapable of intuiting the mood. Or her.
Her mother cleared her throat softly from the other side of the room.
Charlotte felt a surge of resentment that Lady Fitzgerald was subjecting her to this discomfort.
Charlotte knew that her mother was desperate to see her betrothed, but surely not to this odious little man?
She couldn’t imagine anyone more unsuitable.
“Indeed, Sir Roger,” she said evenly, placing her teacup down on the saucer with delicate care.
“I’m sure some men quite excel at those pursuits.
” She maintained a tone of vague disinterest, hoping he would lose enthusiasm for the conversation if he realized she was not going to simper and flutter at him.
Instead, Sir Roger leaned forward, reducing the already limited space between them even further. She caught another whiff of his sweat-laced aroma and had to stiffen her spine to keep from recoiling.
“Hunting is only one of my talents,” he said. “I also know a thing or two about horseflesh. Perhaps when your ankle is recovered, I might show you my stables. My father’s estate is only a short carriage ride away.”
Charlotte opened her mouth, desperate to refuse, when she caught sight of her mother’s narrowed gaze.
The warning was clear: Do not refuse him again.
Her mother’s motives were transparent. If Charlotte could not charm the Duke of Arundel—or any other worthy candidate—perhaps she could be steered toward a man who, while not a duke, was at least from a noble family.
Lady Fitzgerald’s priorities were never more obvious: Charlotte was to marry, and soon, and if that meant suffering through performing some distasteful courtesies, so be it.
But Charlotte had standards—surely her mother did too? For all her emphasis on station and propriety, Lady Fitzgerald was no fool. Perhaps she simply wished to see if Charlotte would stand up for herself, or gauge what she truly desired. Charlotte could hope.
“That would be… interesting,” Charlotte managed, choosing each word slowly and carefully, “but I really cannot say when I’ll be recovered.” She gave him her most apologetic smile, praying he would accept the hint this time. “One never knows with these little twists and sprains.”
He patted his knee as though they had shared a great joke. “Ah, yes. Women are more fragile in that regard. Still, I won’t give up hope.”
The patronizing tone made Charlotte’s stomach twist. She glanced at her mother again, but Lady Fitzgerald’s face was impassive.