Chapter 6
Charlotte drew a steadying breath as she surveyed the drawing room for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, hoping that the maid recalled her instruction that their meeting was not to be interrupted.
The large windows let in slivers of bright spring sunlight, and the table was set with teacups, a silver pot of steaming brew, and a platter of enough fresh biscuits and cakes to feed double the amount of guests. She didn’t want anyone leaving early due to hunger.
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Almost time.
All morning she’d been anxious that her mother might discover the reason for such an impromptu meeting of young ladies, but luckily Charlotte had chosen a morning when her mother had been safely occupied with her correspondence before making her own social calls elsewhere.
She was probably arranging another awful suitor.
Finally, everything was set. The tea was steaming in its china pot, and the only thing left for her to do was to wait for the others. Every tick of the clock on the mantel tied a tighter knot in Charlotte’s stomach.
She was about to pace the length of the room yet again when the footman announced Felicity’s arrival.
Charlotte hurried over to greet her friend as Mary took her bonnet and shawl and Felicity thanked the maid awkwardly.
Charlotte hoped Felicity would be comfortable with such a gathering; she didn’t think she had ever gathered all of her friends together like this.
If Charlotte was quiet in society, then Felicity was often nearly invisible—always on the fringes, her sweet nature overshadowed by the more gregarious ladies of the ton.
Charlotte adored her. Despite Felicity’s natural timidity, her loyalty made her a dear friend.
Charlotte was sure that Felicity would support her plan.
“Charlotte,” Felicity said as she took her seat. “Your note sounded so urgent. Is something wrong?”
“I promise I’ll explain once everyone arrives,” Charlotte responded, keeping her voice calm. She gestured toward the table. “Please, do sit. Mary will pour you some tea while we wait.”
Felicity nodded, looking puzzled. Charlotte glanced at the clock again, drumming her fingers on her skirts. Her nerves fizzed in her stomach.
Thankfully, she didn’t have long to wait.
Moments later, the butler introduced Miranda Sutton.
She entered with her usual composure, her spectacles perched on her nose, her dark hair neatly pinned.
Charlotte was always struck by Miranda’s serene confidence, which came not from any social savvy but from her keen intellect.
“Hello, Felicity, Charlotte. This is about Victoria’s betrothal, I take it? I suspect you have some sort of plan,” Miranda remarked, arching an eyebrow. “You’re far too deliberate a person to summon us all without good cause.”
Charlotte smiled, knowing this was high praise from her friend.
Miranda then took out a notebook from her purse. “I had a few thoughts of my own,” she started, clearing her throat.
Before Charlotte could respond, Helena Steele arrived.
In contrast to Miranda’s quiet grace, Helena walked with a bounce in her step; one that Lady Fitzgerald would have called vulgar.
Helena took off her own coat and handed it to Mary, who looked quite scandalized, and then gave Charlotte a quick embrace.
“What on earth is happening? Your note was so mysterious!” Helena’s red curls bobbed around her pretty face as she spoke.
“When everyone is here, I’ll explain,” Charlotte said, now anxiously twisting her fingers together.
“Well, whatever this is,” Helena said as she took her seat, “it must be serious, to gather us together like this on such short notice.”
Genevieve Flynn arrived next, looking a bit rushed, her cheeks pink from the mild exertion of hurrying up the stairs. She swept into the room, almost tripping on the edge of the rug. Felicity jumped up to steady her, and they both laughed at the close call.
“Charlotte,” Genevieve said as Mary took her shawl. “I nearly spilled my tea when I read your note. It’s not like you to be so insistent about a daytime rendezvous.” She took in the scene—the carefully laid table, the closed door—and her eyes narrowed. “You have me all aflutter with curiosity.”
“Soon, Genevieve, I promise. We’re just waiting on Adeline.” She glanced at the clock.
“The suspense,” Helena said dramatically, “is killing me.”
Miranda looked at her coolly over her glasses.
As though summoned by name, Adeline Claremont arrived last, her bright eyes shining with curiosity.
Charlotte had met Adeline during her very first season, and though neither had secured a match that year—or any other—a bond had formed over the mutual disappointment and the sometimes absurd spectacles of the ton.
After that first season, Adeline had seemed to retire into inevitable spinsterhood, but now, following her father’s disastrous investments, her family were desperate for her to marry to secure their future.
This was the very thing they all had in common: They were all lacking in the flashy looks, good breeding, impressive fortunes, or connections that made for betrothals of their choice.
Instead they were all facing genteel poverty… or worse.
Charlotte thought about Roger Leonard and shuddered once more.
Adeline settled, and Charlotte took a deep breath, looking around at the five expectant faces of her friends, all of them now seated, cups of tea in hand.
“Thank you, Mary,” Charlotte said, turning to the maid who was taking a suspiciously long time arranging the cakes. “That will be all. Please see that we are not disturbed.”
“Yes, my lady.” Mary looked disappointed but bobbed a quick curtsy and left the room.
Charlotte waited until the door clicked shut behind her before stepping over to the door and opening it just a crack.
The corridor was empty. Satisfied, she closed it once more and turned to face her now very impatient friends.
An uneasy stillness settled, and Charlotte braced herself. This was her idea; it fell to her to explain, but she suddenly felt terribly shy. She glanced from face to face—her friends wore expressions that ranged from polite concern to outright apprehension.
“All right,” she began, pressing her hands together. “Thank you for coming. I know my note was… urgent, and I appreciate you all answering so quickly.”
“Of course,” Miranda said matter-of-factly, pushing her spectacles higher on her nose. “Now, do tell us what’s going on, Charlotte.”
“I realize you must think me quite melodramatic.” A faint, nervous laugh escaped her. “But the truth is, something has happened—something that made me realize we can’t simply drift through our seasons, hoping the right match will fall into our laps. Not if we want to avoid poor Victoria’s fate.”
Miranda made a sound of agreement, while Genevieve and Adeline’s eyes went wide. Helena sat forward eagerly in her seat.
“Something has happened, hasn’t it?” Felicity asked.
Charlotte nodded, her throat suddenly dry. She swallowed. “I believe Sir Roger Leonard intends to court me.”
The reaction was instant: She saw five sets of eyes widen in immediate response. There was a collective gasp, followed by Miranda’s soft “Oh no….” and Genevieve’s perplexed “But why?”
“Roger Leonard?” Felicity looked mortified. “He’s quite…” She searched for a polite descriptor. “Flamboyant.”
“Flamboyant is one word,” Genevieve muttered. “Odious might be another.”
Helena blinked, then frowned. “Doesn’t he gamble to excess? And he… smells odd?” She didn’t bother disguising her distaste.
“I heard he drinks,” Miranda added, “and not in moderation.”
“And I’ve heard,” Felicity said, “that he forces conversations about hunting and hounds at every opportunity.”
“It’s all true,” Charlotte confirmed, feeling queasy as she remembered Leonard’s eyes on her the day before. The thought of his hands on her…. It made her ill.
Adeline exchanged a horrified glance with Miranda, who set down her teacup so hard, it rattled in the saucer.
“Surely your mother wouldn’t allow such a match,” Adeline put in.
But Miranda shook her head. “She likely would. He’s an earl’s second son, and so the ton tolerates him. That said, I doubt you’d find a single woman who’d call him an ideal match.” She sighed, settling back in her chair. “Poor Charlotte. Are you sure he’s serious?”
“He called on me yesterday with a large bouquet,” Charlotte confirmed. “I had to feign a sore ankle to avoid promenading with him. And yes, he talked about both hounds and hunting. In detail.”
A collective murmur of commiseration passed through them.
Felicity reached out and patted Charlotte’s hand. “That must be awful for you. Is your mother truly considering him?”
“I don’t think she would outright insist upon it, no—but my options are thin.
You all know that. And Roger Leonard, being an earl’s second son, isn’t an outlandish catch in society’s eyes.
Worse, he seems determined. I fear my mother—and indeed, all of our guardians—are more concerned with our financial security than our personal preference. ”
They all exchanged glances, hearing the honesty in these words.
“I’m not a prize in the marriage market,” Charlotte continued. “With my modest dowry, I’m hardly inundated with offers. If Sir Roger proves persistent, I can’t be sure how much pressure there will be. Mother wouldn’t force me, but…”
“It’s too easy to make it difficult to say no,” Genevieve finished for her.
For a moment, there was silence.
Helena broke it by shaking her head emphatically. “He’s a dreadful man. You can’t possibly accept him.”