Chapter 12 #2
He was engrossed in conversation with a small group that included two elegant young women, both of whom looked every inch the fashionable debutante. One had dark hair and bewitching eyes. She was possessed of the sort of beauty that immediately made Charlotte feel dull by comparison.
Charlotte mustered a half smile when the other woman glanced in her direction, but it went unnoticed in the buzz of conversation. She sat up, swallowing a sigh of disappointment.
“How was your journey, my lady?” Mr. Clarke asked.
“Oh, yes, very nice, if a little tiring,” Charlotte answered, hoping Mr. Clarke wouldn’t spend the entire meal attempting to engage her in conversation.
“Yes, it was quite the way from London, was it not?”
She answered in the affirmative, too preoccupied with wondering whether Henry would glance her way to pay Mr. Clarke much heed.
A quick attempt to catch his eye by shifting in her seat failed.
He seemed absorbed in whatever the dark-haired lady next to him was saying, and he was really too far away to notice her.
Does he even know I’m here yet?
She had no doubt that the dowager duchess had been in charge of this seating plan. The duchess sat near Henry and his friends and seemed delighted by every word the dark-haired beauty said.
“Charlotte, do stop staring down the table, dear. You’re making it quite noticeable,” her mother hissed behind a gloved hand.
Charlotte blushed and straightened herself, trying not to let her distress show on her face.
Across from her, Felicity and Genevieve exchanged worried glances, clearly noticing Charlotte’s slight deflation.
She only grew quieter as the first two courses were served and eaten—a summer pea soup and a delicious haricot lamb.
“Have you met Lord Melton, Charlotte?” William said as they waited for dessert.
The man—as handsome as Adeline had intimated—sat opposite her brother, next to Genevieve’s mother. Until that point, Lord Melton had seemed more interested in the guests to his other side—who, Charlotte had observed, were clearly close acquaintances with the set around Henry.
Charlotte nodded at him, only to be prodded under the table by Adeline’s toe.
“Talk to him,” her friend mouthed.
“I hear you’ve had a long journey, Lord Melton,” Charlotte said, wincing as she heard herself repeating Mr. Clarke’s drab line of conversation.
Lord Melton smiled, but she saw the boredom in his eyes, and he soon turned his attention back to his friends.
Charlotte saw how his gaze kept wandering to the dark-haired woman next to Henry, and she began to wonder if this week had been a good idea at all.
How were any of them, wallflowers that they were, going to compete with all these sparkling social butterflies?
Only William was given any attention by Melton and his friends, but their conversation never quite merged with Henry’s end of the table, and Charlotte could only glean snippets of laughter or chatter from far off. She forced herself not to appear too crestfallen.
By the time dessert arrived, she felt thoroughly overshadowed by the more sophisticated girls giggling near Henry.
They were bright, confident, and comfortable in these surroundings.
She, in contrast, fought a constant swirl of nerves.
She had come all this way, and it seemed like Henry hadn’t so much as looked in her direction.
When the meal concluded, the ladies withdrew into the drawing room or their own rooms, leaving the men behind with their port and cigars.
Charlotte and her friends reconvened in a side parlor, a space they quickly claimed as their own, while her mother joined some of the other older ladies for a game of bridge in the drawing room.
Charlotte dropped onto a small embroidered couch.
“That whole dinner was absolutely awful,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice low so the other women milling around the corridor couldn’t hear.
“Henry was so far away, I couldn’t even speak to him once.
Every moment I even tried to catch his eye, he was looking elsewhere.
I don’t believe he even knew I was there. ”
Adeline patted her arm sympathetically. “Take heart. It’s only the first dinner. We have days ahead of us yet. I’m sure that Henry was obligated to entertain the other gentry. It would only be proper. At least Genevieve got to sit near that dashing Lord Melton.”
“For all the notice he took,” Genevieve said glumly, her discouragement echoing Charlotte’s own.
Felicity perched on an ottoman nearby. “Yes, you’re right, Adeline, but I do understand Charlotte’s disappointment. We were hoping to make an impression tonight.”
Genevieve crossed her arms, looking frustrated. “All these other ladies seem so well-connected. I overheard one of them bragging that her cousin is a viscount. They’re already hinting at how Henry might come to their estate next season. It’s almost predatory.”
Charlotte forced a shaky laugh at the thought of the women swooping on Henry like hawks. “And all I did was fumble through conversation about travel routes with Mr. Clarke.”
Her friends tried to reassure her, proposing strategies. Maybe tomorrow they could plan a walk in the gardens, or, Miranda suggested, contrive a chance for Henry to show Charlotte the library. But for now, she was thoroughly disheartened.
“Maybe we should focus on someone else?” Charlotte suggested, wishing she could sink into the floor and disappear. “There are plenty of bachelors here. Perhaps a match for you Felicity? Or we could work on Lord Melton for Genevieve?”
Miranda shook her head firmly. “We’re here for you. Our priority is clear.”
Felicity agreed. “Absolutely. We’ll do better tomorrow. Everyone only just arrived tonight. We can reevaluate, set up opportunities. Henry’s not going anywhere.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but be touched and amused by her friends’ stubborn insistence, although her spirits remained low.
Eventually, the others drifted off to their own rooms, and she decided to return to her suite and read.
Perhaps some solitude would soothe her disappointment and leave her in a better frame of mind for the next morning.
She left the parlor, thinking that she was heading in the direction of the staircase, but soon found herself lost in the unfamiliar corridors.
After rounding a corner, she almost bumped into a sandy-haired gentleman who seemed equally lost. He looked to be in his thirties and smelled of port and cigar smoke.
He bowed. “Excuse me. This house is larger than I realized.”
“I know exactly what you mean, sir. I’m still figuring out which wing is which.
” Charlotte managed a polite laugh as she made to step aside for him, but he made no attempt to keep walking.
If she was seen standing alone in the corridor with an unknown man, it could cause quite the scandal.
She was debating just walking around him, however rude it seemed, when he spoke again, peering at her.
“Ah, you’re Lady Charlotte Fitzgerald, aren’t you? I heard your name at dinner.”
She inclined her head, suddenly intrigued. Heard her name from whom? Could it be Henry? She wasn’t certain whether this man had been one of the crowd around him. “Yes…. I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
He gave another small bow. “Sir Matthew Argyle. A friend of Lord Wentworth’s. I was surprised to see you here, I must admit.”
Charlotte raised a brow, all thoughts of escaping the man forgotten. “Surprised? Why is that, sir?”
“Well….” He hesitated, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Forgive me, my lady. It is most rude of me to comment on personal matters.”
“Please do, sir,” Charlotte said quickly. “You have piqued my curiosity.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, it is only that I’d heard you were as good as betrothed to Sir Roger. The rumor around town is that you’re soon to be married.”
She gaped at him, her face suddenly hot, all propriety forgotten. “Soon to be married? Sir Roger has been telling people that? In those words? That is an outright lie!”
Sir Matthew’s eyes widened. He coughed, flushing deeply. “That’s my understanding, my lady. He’s mentioned it to some acquaintances and made it sound like it was nearly settled. But perhaps I misunderstood. Forgive me, I meant no offense.”
Anger flared in Charlotte’s stomach, mingling with the humiliation that curled there. “It is forgiven,” she reassured him. “But please put your acquaintances right. Sir Roger and I are most certainly not betrothed. Nor will we ever be.”
Sir Matthew looked relieved. “Then I see I was misinformed. I do apologize for bringing it up. I’ve had a little too much port.”
She smiled tightly. “No need to apologize, sir. It’s much better that I am aware of these rumors.”
He offered another small bow. “I’ll let you find your way. Good evening, Lady Charlotte.”
She murmured a polite farewell, her thoughts spinning.
Sir Roger’s been boasting? Telling people I’m guaranteed to be his wife?
After what had happened at the ball, the very idea repulsed her.
How dare he?
And was Henry aware of these rumors? Was William?