Chapter 11
London
Charlotte sat in the carriage, twisting her gloves nervously in her lap. Lord Bryant’s ball was supposed to be just another routine social evening. Not that she ever enjoyed them, but there would have been no reason for this one to be more anxiety inducing than any other.
Until the flowers arrived. Now here she was, staring at the florist’s note in her hand, dread building in her chest.
She turned to her mother. “Must I really reserve the first dance for Sir Roger? He sent these flowers and….” Her words trailed off as she struggled to find a polite way to say she loathed the idea.
Her mother peered at her sharply. “Charlotte, the man made a kind gesture. You shouldn’t snub him. One dance is all you need to grant. After that, you may do as you please.”
Charlotte’s stomach churned. One dance. It felt like an hour’s confinement. But there was no appealing to her mother’s sense of propriety. She nodded, hoping it wouldn’t be as dreadful as she feared.
As they arrived, footmen guided them into the glittering ballroom.
Music drifted through the crowd, and chandeliers sparkled overhead.
Charlotte kept close to her mother during the obligatory greetings, smiling at Lord Bryant and his wife, who stood near the entrance.
The polite exchange of pleasantries hummed in her ears.
She couldn’t shake the anxiety clawing at her.
Then, just as she was about to step aside for a moment’s peace and attempt to find her friends, Sir Roger appeared at her side. He seemed to have a knack for sneaking up on her.
He bowed theatrically. “My lady,” he murmured. “I trust you received my flowers?”
She forced a thin smile. “Yes, Sir Roger. They were… lovely. You have my thanks.”
He beamed, clearly taking that as grand approval. “I’m delighted. And I hope you recall that we agreed upon the first dance?”
Lady Fitzgerald gave Charlotte a pointed look before drifting away, leaving her daughter to face him.
Charlotte’s heart thumped. “Yes. Of course.”
The music started up for a country dance. Sir Roger offered his arm, and Charlotte had little choice but to take it. Joining the forming set, she tried to calm her nerves and focus on the steps.
Yet from the moment they began, Sir Roger stood too close, gripping her hand with more force than necessary.
Every time the dance required them to circle each other, he stepped in more than necessary, as though hoping to press her nearer.
She edged away as politely as she could, but her discomfort soared.
“You seem out of sorts,” he remarked, leaning closer. “Is something troubling you?”
She wished she could say, “Yes, you.” Instead she merely murmured, “I’m very warm. The ballroom is quite crowded.”
He flashed that smarmy grin of his. “Allow me to fetch you a refreshment afterward, perhaps?”
The dance ended at last, and Charlotte curtsied quickly, turning to escape, but he caught her elbow before she could slip off.
“I insist on ensuring your comfort, my lady,” he said, guiding her away from the dance floor. His grip wasn’t particularly gentle. “Come, there’s a quieter spot just over here.”
She tried to protest, but Sir Roger shepherded her into a small alcove behind a half-drawn curtain.
She cast a worried glance across the ballroom—her mother was nowhere in sight, and William must still be talking with other guests.
None of her friends had arrived, even though she was sure that at least Genevieve and Miranda would be attending.
Her pulse fluttered, and dread curled in her gut. “Sir Roger,” she said quietly, “I’d prefer to return to the main room. It’s most improper for us to be alone in this way.”
He smiled, blocking her path. “We’re only yards from the rest of the party. There’s no impropriety in exchanging a few private words.”
She swallowed, forcing a calm facade. “Then please, say whatever it is quickly. I don’t wish to linger.”
He angled himself to stand a bit too close, causing her to step back only to find herself trapped between him and a pillar. “Lady Charlotte, I’ve taken a keen interest in you. My intentions are quite serious.”
Her throat tightened. She drew back, but he pushed forward. The alcove wasn’t truly hidden from the public eye, yet it felt claustrophobic, and if anyone were to look across at them….
“Sir Roger,” she said, voice trembling. “I’d rather not discuss such matters here.”
He ignored her. “You’re beautiful.” His gaze was unsettling as it swept over her face and form. “I find myself eager to secure your hand. Don’t you think we make a fine pair?”
Her heart pounded. “That’s not for me to say.”
She tried to push past him, but he grasped her arm.
“Why so timid, my lady?” he teased, leaning in. “Perhaps a simple kiss might seal our understanding.”
She froze in horror. He was going to try to kiss her?
His brandy-tinged breath whispered over her cheek and her stomach rolled. In a burst of desperation, she shoved him backward. She wasn’t sure if she’d shoved his chest or his shoulder, but it was enough to startle him. He staggered a step, his shock evident.
Then, in the same instant, a firm voice thundered behind them, “What is the meaning of this?”
Charlotte turned, relief washing through her. Henry. It was Henry. He’d save her.
He was still a few paces away, but his face was dark with fury. The tension in his shoulders told her everything she needed to know about his mood.
Sir Roger recovered his balance, plastering on a smirk. “The lady and I were merely enjoying a private conversation, Your Grace.”
Henry’s gaze flicked to Charlotte, who stood there shaking, hands half raised as if to ward Leonard off. She couldn’t speak, her heart thudding too furiously for words to form.
“From what I can see,” Henry said stonily, “this conversation is over. I believe this is my dance, Leonard. The band is about to begin again.”
Sir Roger opened his mouth, but Henry stepped forward and seized Charlotte’s hand, guiding her away before he could utter a protest. Her legs were weak, and she clung to his arm like a lifeline.
They merged into the dancers just as the new set started. Charlotte’s pulse still hammered, the swirl of color and music seeming a long way away. Henry positioned himself across from her, one hand steady at her waist once they began the required steps.
He leaned in, speaking softly. “Are you well, Charlotte? What happened back there?”
She tried to focus on the dance moves, stumbling until he discreetly guided her. “He… forced me into that alcove,” she managed, her voice quavering. “He tried to.... He said he wanted to kiss me. I pushed him away.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “I see.” His next words were thick with anger. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”
She shook her head, still struggling for calm. “Thank you for arriving when you did.”
They stepped in time to the music, though he kept a protective hold on her as though he feared she might collapse. Charlotte breathed in shallow bursts, the unpleasant memory replaying in her mind. Henry’s expression was stormy, but he didn’t speak again.
When the dance ended, he refused to let her step away into the crowd, instead keeping her arm hooked in his.
“Come,” he murmured. “I’ll take you to William. You need to go home.”
She grimaced. If she asked to return home, her mother wouldn’t be pleased. “I’m fine. I don’t want to ruin everyone’s evening.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re shaking like a leaf. I insist on escorting you safely out of here.”
She relented, exhaustion setting in. Henry guided her through the throng until they found William near the refreshment table, chatting with some acquaintances. The moment William spotted Charlotte’s pale face, he excused himself and strode forward.
“What’s wrong?” William demanded. “Charlotte? Are you ill?”
Henry’s tone was clipped. “She isn’t ill. She’s frightened. Leonard cornered her and tried to… take liberties. She’s shaken. You’d better see her home, William.”
William’s gaze flashed. “He what?”
He looked at Charlotte, but she could only nod, tears stinging her eyes.
Outrage twisted William’s features. “I see. Thank you for intervening, Henry.”
Henry released Charlotte into William’s care.
She looked at him, wanting to say more, but all she managed was a faint “Thank you.”
He nodded once, then melted into the crowd, tension still radiating from his posture.
William held Charlotte’s elbow gently. “Come on. We’ll get Mother and leave. This ball can manage without us.”
Her mother was positively baffled to be dragged away so early. She fussed under her breath about missing a possible introduction to Lady Something-or-other, but William’s warning look halted further protest.
After William summarized the situation, the carriage ride home passed in silence, her mother and brother both flattening their lips into matching grim lines.
Back at the house, Charlotte murmured a few vague words to her mother—she couldn’t stand to rehash the details once again—before slipping away to her bedroom.
She removed her cloak herself, dismissing a startled Mary when she offered to help.
She needed to be alone, the memory of Leonard’s attempted grab at her still making her skin crawl.
Not long after, William knocked and then, in a low voice, asked, “Charlotte? May I come in?”
She considered sending him away. Instead, she turned from the mirror where she’d been staring at her pale reflection. “Yes, do come.”
He entered, shut the door quietly, and approached with a look of guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said at once, his shoulders slumping. “I should’ve listened to you before when you said he made you uncomfortable. I brushed it off, thinking Leonard was just a bore, not a threat.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s all right, William. You weren’t to know this would happen.”
“Still, I let you down. You’re my sister. I should have made sure he didn’t bother you.” He hesitated, then added, “I promise I won’t dismiss your concerns again.”
The tightness in her chest loosened. “Thank you. I really don’t want to marry him. Ever.”
“You’ll never have to,” William said, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “I’m telling Leonard tomorrow that any suit from him will be refused, and that his behavior was unacceptable.”
She let out a shaky breath, feeling relief flood through her. “He’ll be angry.”
“He can take it up with me,” William snapped, then he seemed to remember something and gave her a measured look. “Although I suspect Henry might confront him even before I get the chance.”
Her breath caught. “Why would he do that?”
William’s grim expression returned. “I’ve known Henry for a long time. That man doesn’t always show his temper, but when he’s angry, it runs deep. Tonight, he looked furious. I’ve rarely seen him like that.”
Charlotte’s pulse kicked up again; she was worried for Henry now on top of her own distress. “You think he’ll seek Sir Roger out? Confront him physically?” She dreaded imagining Henry in a duel or brawl over this.
William sighed. “He might. I can’t say for sure. But if Leonard’s still lurking at Lord Bryant’s ball, Henry isn’t likely to let this pass. You saw how he was.”
She recalled the set of Henry’s jaw, the ice in his stare. “But what if it ends in a scandal or a fight?”
“Let’s hope Leonard has enough sense to back down. If not, Henry will protect your honor; maybe more forcefully than we’d like.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll handle Leonard if Henry hasn’t already. You won’t have to face that man again.”
She swallowed hard, tears pricking her eyes once more. The reminder of Henry’s possible confrontation made her stomach clench with fresh anxiety, but William’s earnest promise soothed her a little. “Thank you.”
He nodded, then left her to her thoughts. She sank onto her bed, exhausted. What if Henry truly does confront Leonard? The notion of him risking a violent encounter on her behalf made her heart twist. She didn’t want anything to happen to him.