Chapter 25 #2
Then, quite shamelessly, inspiration struck.
‘To confess the truth,’ Charlotte said delicately, ‘I find myself rather more drawn to Lord Wolverton.’
Miss Underhill brightened at once as she joined them. ‘Wonderful. Leave everything to us, my dear.’
Before Charlotte could properly question what precisely that meant, Miss Underhill helped Mrs Hill back to her feet. The two spinsters tottered away arm in arm towards Mrs Wilberforce, whispering furiously together.
Less than five minutes later, Lord Wolverton approached her. Charlotte nearly laughed aloud in astonishment. The spinsters had succeeded in moments where she had failed all day.
She offered him what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
He returned it. ‘Might I have the honour of escorting you to supper this evening?’
Charlotte stiffened.
Escort a governess?
Surely he had lost his senses.
‘I am flattered, my lord, but I do not believe my employers would approve.’
‘Oh, nonsense. Country house parties are far less rigid than London society. Stanley and Mrs Wilberforce are exceedingly relaxed.’ He smiled. ‘Besides, I find myself abandoned. Miss Underwood has suddenly become indisposed and suggested I invite you in her place.’
Ah, so that is how they did it.
‘I still fear it may be improper,’ she said politely.
He grinned. ‘Nonsense. I shall settle it at once. Stanley!’
Lord Stanley and Mrs Wilberforce were already approaching.
‘Any objection if I escort Miss Lucas to supper this evening? Miss Underwood is unable to join us and suggested I invite Miss Lucas instead.’
A brief silence followed. Then came a clipped reply.
‘If she has no objection, then neither do I.’
Lord Stanley did not look at her, though she noted his displeasure at once.
Mrs Wilberforce, meanwhile, beamed. ‘Excellent. At least I need not reorder the seating arrangements again.’
Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
The spinsters were terrifyingly efficient.
‘What say you, Miss Lucas?’ Wolverton asked.
Charlotte agreed. After all, she had wanted the opportunity to converse with him—and now she had one.
That evening, Charlotte dressed with rather more care than usual, a fact remarked upon by more than one gentleman as she entered the drawing room.
Wolverton, however, much to her unease, devoured her with his gaze before offering his arm to escort her into dinner.
‘You look positively radiant,’ he whispered near her ear as he pulled out her chair. His breath against her nape made the hairs rise along her neck. But there was little he could do in a room full of people. She offered him a restrained smile and sat down.
Charlotte’s mind promptly went blank. She had intended to draw him out—to question him—but his unsettling presence drove every conversational topic from her head. Still, she noticed one useful thing: he looked far more agitated than usual.
‘It must be pleasant to have remained friends with Lord Stanley for so long—Oxford, was it?’ she asked as she sipped her soup.
‘I went to Cambridge, not Oxford. But no, we met at Eton. It has been pleasant... rekindling our friendship. I had forgotten how enjoyable his company could be.’ He drifted momentarily into reminiscence.
Cambridge? Hamilton said Oxford.
‘I suppose you have kept other university friends as well—Mr Hamilton, for instance?’
‘Hamilton? I believe Frederick—Lord Bainbridge’s son—introduced us. I cannot recall where... perhaps at one of these house parties.’ He hesitated slightly.
Charlotte found it suspicious that neither Wolverton nor Hamilton could properly decide where they had met. Why conceal something so ordinary—unless the truth was rather less respectable?
‘I was curious—how do you know the other guests here?’ she pressed.
‘We live close by—neighbouring estates. One is forever running into one’s neighbours.’
This much Charlotte knew already, and it told her very little.
‘I suppose some are related as well,’ she replied, recalling her earlier conversation with Mr Hamilton.
‘Yes, naturally. Oswald married Boulton’s sister. And some have business dealings together. Payne and Boulton invest together rather frequently.’
Charlotte glanced towards the portly Mr Payne, who was busily swallowing wine.
‘I am surprised by Oswald’s and Boulton’s connection,’ she said. ‘They hardly acknowledge one another.’
‘Some family dispute, I imagine. They tolerate one another for Lady Oswald’s sake.’
‘How very civilised,’ Charlotte murmured.
She turned back towards him with studied innocence. ‘And what investments occupy Mr Payne and Lord Boulton? I confess, I find the world of finance rather fascinating.’
Wolverton raised a sceptical brow.
She had overplayed it.
He deftly redirected the conversation elsewhere, and Charlotte found no further opportunity to question him.
What followed filled her with considerably greater horror.
Near the end of the third course, Wolverton placed a hand upon her knee.
Charlotte felt herself go rigid.
He gave her a slow, suggestive smile and leaned close enough for his breath to brush her ear.
‘It seems Stanley has grown tired of you and is now pursuing Miss Pearson. You have only to hint, and I shall gladly take you under my protection.’
Charlotte edged away. ‘I assure you, my lord, he would be most displeased with your behaviour tonight.’
He eventually removed his hand, but the encounter left her deeply alarmed.
From across the table, Lady Susan’s expression had transformed from displeasure into something positively thunderous. When their eyes met, Charlotte winced inwardly.
Oh dear.
After dinner, the guests swept into the drawing room, where Mrs Wilberforce arranged a musical evening, calling upon the young debutantes one by one to display their accomplishments.
The young Payne boy bent to whisper sweet nothings into Miss Oswald’s ear, while Lady Bainbridge held court amongst a cluster of debutantes and attentive gentlemen.
Wolverton, it seemed, had tired of Charlotte’s questions—and of her reluctance—and drifted away to join Boulton and several others. Charlotte instinctively retreated to a side table tucked discreetly against the wall and seated herself between Miss Hill and Miss Underwood.
Drat.
She had squandered her opportunity. Perhaps, given time, another would present itself.
Meanwhile, as the evening wore on, only one thing soured her mood further. Lord Stanley appeared entirely smitten with Miss Pearson, laughing and smiling with almost boyish charm.
He seems more intent upon finding a wife than exposing the Odd Fellows.
Charlotte huffed inwardly.
Determined to ignore Lord Stanley’s flirtations, she turned her attention instead towards Mr Payne—Lord Boulton’s business associate—who sat beside the Captain discoursing upon warehouses, shipping ventures, and fast-boats.
After what she deemed a suitable interval, Charlotte rose and made her way towards the tea table under the pretence of requiring a second cup—though she was certain it would keep her awake half the night. In truth, she hoped to draw Lord Wolverton into another conversation.
He stood only a few steps away, half concealed within a nearby alcove.
Expecting nothing more than the usual tedious drawing-room chatter, Charlotte was startled to hear Wolverton speaking in a low, agitated voice.
‘I cannot keep doing this,’ he muttered tensely. ‘You are asking too much.’
‘Shh—remember where you are,’ hissed another voice. ‘We shall meet tomorrow in the library after dinner. Ten o’clock. Then we may speak properly.’
Charlotte craned her neck, but from her angle she could see nothing beyond shifting shadows cast against the pillar.
‘Are you looking for something, Miss Lucas?’
She nearly leapt out of her skin. Her teacup rattled against its saucer as she turned to find Lord Stanley standing far too close beside her. She caught the faint scent of his cologne at once.
Abominable man. Why did he insist upon sneaking up on her like this?
She forced her voice steady. ‘My lord. I was merely... admiring the pillars.’
A knowing smile tugged at his lips. ‘Naturally. No doubt planning your next lecture upon classical architecture for Tom.’
He leaned against the pillar with maddening ease. His arms folded loosely across his chest, and one dark curl had escaped across his forehead.
To Charlotte’s irritation, she felt a bizarre urge to smooth it back into place.
‘How did you enjoy the picnic?’ he asked.
‘It was very pleasant,’ she replied coolly.
‘And your dinner companion?’ His tone sharpened slightly. ‘I trust Wolverton behaved himself. There was a moment during supper when you looked rather pale.’
‘Not at all, my lord. He was perfectly gentlemanly,’ she lied, though his blue eyes continued scrutinising her expression.
‘You look as though you are plotting something.’
Charlotte resisted the urge to sigh dramatically. She did not think he had noticed anything, given how thoroughly his attentions had been monopolised by Miss Pearson.
‘Of course not, my lord.’
Without warning, he plucked the teacup directly from her hands—the very cup she had only just poured for herself—and gave her a sardonic smile.
‘Next time, I would rather see you in the corner with old Mrs Hill and her trumpet than conversing with Wolverton.’
With that, he strolled away as though he had not just confiscated her tea, returning directly to Miss Pearson and her infuriatingly perfect smiles.
Charlotte gave an undignified scoff.
As though she wished to mingle with the odious man. Miss Hill, trumpet and all, was infinitely preferable company. But at least one of them ought to be investigating instead of devoting the entire evening to flirtation, she thought viciously.
At least her troubles had yielded her some results. Wolverton’s clandestine meeting in the library tomorrow night—and spoken in such anxious tones.
Who had he been speaking to?
When she looked again, both Wolverton and the mysterious figure behind the pillar had vanished.
Cursing beneath her breath, Charlotte scanned the room until she finally spotted Lord Wolverton near the pianoforte, now conversing with Mr Hamilton and Miss Payne as though nothing had occurred.
Determined not to lose sight of him again, she crossed the room—
‘Ah, Miss Lucas!’
Charlotte stopped short.
Mrs Wilberforce beckoned enthusiastically from a cluster of ladies gathered near the fire. ‘Come, sit with us.’
Before Charlotte could escape, Mrs Wilberforce launched into unexpected praise.
‘Miss Lucas is a miracle governess,’ Mrs Wilberforce declared. ‘Tom has improved beautifully since her arrival.’
Several guests turned towards Charlotte with renewed interest.
‘How ever did you manage?’ Lady Susan asked with a contemptuous smile. ‘Last time I visited, the boy put salt in my tea!’
Charlotte bit her tongue and merely smiled. Well done, Tom.
‘I do my best,’ she replied modestly.
Fortunately, their attention soon drifted towards governesses in general and how difficult it had become to find proper help these days. Charlotte, now largely forgotten, lingered quietly at the edge of the group, a plan already beginning to take shape in her mind.
Wolverton was meeting someone in the library tomorrow night.
And she fully intended to eavesdrop.
Then, from across the room, she felt someone watching her.
Her eyes locked with Lord Stanley’s.
A curious flutter of awareness passed through her before she could suppress it. She schooled her features into a picture of innocence. There was certainly no point informing him of her plans; he would only interfere.