Chapter 13
Henry turned the page of the report he was reading in preparation for his return to the House of Lords after the house party with deliberate slowness, listening for the faintest hint of footsteps outside the library door.
He had retreated to this room as soon as breakfast ended, hoping for a quiet interval before his mother or an enthusiastic guest found him.
Alas, the sound of footfalls, quick and confident, drew nearer. Henry knew that step all too well. He looked around in mild desperation for a place to tuck himself out of sight, but it was too late. The door opened, and his mother sailed in, her skirts brushing the threshold.
“There you are,” she said, tone triumphant but her eyes steely. “I have been searching for you everywhere. You can’t hide in here all day. Your guests are expecting to see their host.”
Henry set aside the report with a resigned sigh. “I was merely attending to my parliamentary duties, Mother. I have been entertaining guests all morning.”
Indeed, Henry was beginning to get a headache from all the chatter. It felt as though everywhere he turned, there were people hanging on his arm, and he had barely seen his actual friends, including William, the nearest person he had to a confidante.
Or Charlotte, for that matter. The supposed plan for her and her friends to act as a buffer could hardly work if they couldn’t get near him.
His mother gave him a pointed look. “You have read enough for the moment. The guests have begun a game of lawn bowls before the luncheon, and you are expected to join them.”
He rose slowly. “I had hoped to be excused, Mother. I’m feeling under the weather this morning.”
“No excuses,” she interrupted, waving off his protest without a hint of sympathy. “You are the host, and people have come from London at your invitation; many with no small amount of anticipation. Let us go.”
“You mean, they came at your invitation,” he grumbled.
His mother pointedly chose to ignore him as she swept out of the room.
He had little choice but to follow her out through the corridors and onto the wide terrace overlooking the gardens.
Beyond the fountain, a neatly mowed patch of lawn was set with wooden bowls, and he saw a cluster of guests in bright summer attire, already forming teams.
His mother scanned the gathering. “Ah, perfect. They’ve started splitting into pairs. You’ve missed your chance to partner some of the best ladies, unfortunately. I do see Lady Charlotte standing near her brother.”
Ignoring his mother, Henry’s heart lifted slightly at the sight of Charlotte’s pale green gown and softly curled hair. She was laughing as she looked up at William, and her eyes sparkled in the sun.
He had been disappointed the previous evening to have had scarce chance to speak to her.
He’d been hemmed in by his mother’s most favored guests, all of whom had attempted to ingratiate themselves to him with an eagerness he had found distasteful.
He had made a good show of being entertained, however, for his mother’s sake.
As put out as he was by this whole affair, the household had gone to no small trouble and expense to put it on.
Now, as he approached with his mother, Charlotte turned and gave him a polite smile, her cheeks flushing prettily.
Really, Charlotte was underrated by her peers.
Even her own family seemed to see her as a plain Jane with few prospects.
It angered him that her sweetness and natural beauty were so overlooked by a society he was beginning to find more tedious with each passing day.
He nodded in greeting. “Good morning, Lady Charlotte. Do you by chance need a partner, or would I be stealing you away from your brother?”
She looked momentarily surprised, then her smile brightened. “I would be delighted, Your Grace, if William doesn’t mind?”
“Not at all,” William said, grinning at Henry. “I was just retiring inside for a glass of lemonade, in fact.”
Henry’s mother gave a satisfied little hum. “Excellent.” She looked pointedly at Henry. “Have a care, my dear, and mingle a bit afterward. Everyone is eager to speak with you.”
Without waiting for his reply, his mother drifted off after William, leaving him at Charlotte’s side.
He mustered a quiet laugh. “She can’t resist ensuring I am visible and sociable at all times.”
Charlotte’s eyes danced with amusement. “One might suppose that is the purpose of a house party—to socialize with your guests, no?” She smirked, making him laugh.
“You have quite the sense of humor. You really aren’t given enough credit for it,” he said, and Charlotte blushed pure crimson. He supposed she wasn’t used to receiving such compliments, and he was oddly pleased that he had been able to bring that pretty shade of pink to her cheeks.
They stepped out onto the lawn to join the others.
A footman handed Henry a pair of wooden bowls, which he offered to Charlotte so she could choose first. He glanced around, noticing a few of the visiting debutantes fluttering their eyelashes demurely his way.
Coughing, he looked away and returned his attention to Charlotte.
She tested the weight of a bowl. “I used to play this with my father’s guests at our country home before he passed. I do not claim mastery, but it’s a sport I enjoy.”
Henry smiled. “That is more experience than many young ladies can boast.” He turned slightly as two giggling ladies sidled close. They began to feign confusion over the rules, casting hopeful glances at him.
“Would you be able to advise us, Your Grace?” one asked, looking innocently over at him and quite ignoring Charlotte, who he sensed bristling next to him.
He quickly said, “I am committed to assisting Lady Charlotte first, I’m afraid. I must not abandon my partner.”
Charlotte’s look of gratitude was accompanied by a brief flicker of something else in her eyes—something more serious. Then she gave a quick laugh. “Indeed you mustn’t. I shall make good use of your expert guidance.”
They practiced a few rolls, and Henry quickly discovered that Charlotte was quite adept.
He did not need to correct her form at all.
Nevertheless, he made a show of positioning her stance, murmuring tips and gently adjusting her elbow so onlookers could see that he was quite engaged in her success—too engaged to be interrupted further by any other eager prospective partners.
He caught a faint whiff of her perfume. It was that same fresh and floral scent she’d been wearing at a ball that brought up childhood memories of running in the Fitzgerald gardens with William, little Charlotte toddling after them.
The sensation unsettled him, but not unpleasantly; rather, it reminded him of a time when life had been easier, without all these constraining rules and expectations. He was struck by how easily he and Charlotte conversed and how pleasant it felt to stand close without any forced contrivances.
If not for the shadows of my family’s past, she might be exactly the sort of wife I would wish for.
If she wasn’t also his best friend’s sister, of course.
Charlotte’s friends had positioned themselves strategically over by a cluster of hedges, where they were intercepting other ladies whenever they drifted toward Henry with questions. He smiled to himself, grateful for their help.
The circle around him and Charlotte ensured that only one or two particularly determined young women broke through—including the most stubborn of Lady Pembroke’s daughters.
Most of the women didn’t remain for long, but the third, elegantly dressed in cream silk, insisted that Henry come demonstrate the proper way to release the bowl.
She was rather more forceful than the other two ladies had been, and she was clearly annoyed that Henry wasn’t mingling as a host was expected to.
Henry glanced at Charlotte. “I am afraid my partner must come first,” he said mildly. “Once she is satisfied, perhaps I shall have time to assist you.”
The woman looked at Charlotte icily. Before she could protest further, one of Charlotte’s friends—Genevieve Flynn, he thought—happened to trip, her drink splashing across the cream silk of the interloper’s dress.
In a flurry of exclamations, the lady squealed and stormed off, presumably to find a maidservant.
Henry bit the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. Charlotte looked half startled, half amused, shaking her head in Genevieve’s direction. Miss Flynn was a picture of innocence.
Charlotte bent to retrieve her bowl, and Henry said lightly, “I believe your defenders are in top form today. Thank you for agreeing to shield me, Charlotte. You’re a good friend.”
She lifted her head, and for a moment, the sunshine caught her face. Her smile vanished, replaced by a flash of discomfort before she forced it back into place. “Yes…. Thank you. And they do mean well.”
Concern flickered in him. What troubles her? But before he could inquire, the sound of his mother’s voice reached his ears. Again
“There you are, Henry,” she said, stepping neatly between him and another encroaching lady.
“Truly, it isn’t wise to devote yourself entirely to one partner.
” His mother lowered her voice to add, “People shall think you have already decided.” She gave Henry a meaningful look.
They both knew how quickly rumor could spread.
He cast a glance at Charlotte, torn between the relief he felt in her company and dismay at his mother’s interference, though he knew she was right. He didn’t want their plan to compromise Charlotte’s reputation in any way.
“Very well,” he said at last, trying to keep the frustration from his tone. “I shall spread my attention a little more, as you advise.”
His mother, apparently satisfied, moved off.
Henry turned to Charlotte. “Forgive me. It seems I am forced to leave you to your own devices for a while. I must go and mingle.”
She nodded, but there was a faint line between her brows, and he sensed a sudden distance between them. “I understand. It is no trouble, Your Grace. I’m glad I was able to help this afternoon.”
With a polite bow, Henry stepped away, feeling confused at the odd undercurrents in their exchange. Had he offended Charlotte somehow? Had he been too familiar with her, perhaps?
He had no time to ponder, as his mother almost immediately directed Charlotte’s friend Felicity toward him, coaxing them to form a pair. He resigned himself to the new partnership, reasoning that Felicity was no doubt aware of the “arrangement.”
Felicity offered a shy greeting, apologizing at once for her inexperience with bowls.
“Think nothing of it,” Henry said kindly, taking a practice bowl. “At least you won’t turn out to be better than I am, like Charlotte here. Shall we try a few rolls?”
Poor Felicity’s coordination proved quite lacking, and after two attempts, she managed to drop the next ball directly onto Henry’s foot.
“Ow!” A sharp flash of pain made him hiss through clenched teeth, nearly dropping his own bowl.
Charlotte, standing only a short distance away, turned and instinctively reached out as though to steady him. But then she froze, and her hand hovered in midair before she drew it back again.
Why the hesitation? he wondered, pressing his lips together to stem the pain.
He told Felicity he was quite all right and not to worry, even though his foot throbbed. One of the footmen hurried forward to gather the fallen bowl.
Felicity fluttered her hands, looking so contrite that she was close to tears. “I am so very sorry, Your Grace. I could not hold on properly.”
He took a breath, forcing himself to ignore the insistent throbbing in his foot. “Truly, it is fine,” he assured her once more. “Shall we proceed… more carefully?”
As they resumed their game—with him still valiantly ignoring the pain in his foot—he couldn’t help glancing again at Charlotte.
She had returned to her friends, who were chatting and watching the game unfold.
She seemed subdued, and he wondered about that single moment when she had instinctively reached for him, only to draw back as though afraid.
What was she afraid of? The gossip that might ensue should she be seen to comfort him?
Or her immediate instinct to do so?