Chapter 33
The next day, the house party was occupied with preparations for the ball.
Most of the guests slept late; only a few of the younger misses ventured out for a stroll in the pleasure gardens by way of the morning room terrace before retreating to their rooms once more to be dressed by their maids.
Footmen hurried tirelessly through the corridors carrying steaming water for baths, whilst maids fluttered from room to room fetching ribbons, gloves, jewellery, and luncheon trays for their mistresses.
Much to Charlotte’s frustration, Mrs Wilberforce had entirely commandeered her time. Indeed, Charlotte was practically forced into a bath scented with lavender oils and was not permitted to emerge for nearly an hour.
But despite herself, she found the whole experience rather heavenly.
One of Mrs Wilberforce’s maids lathered her hair with soap whilst vigorously massaging her scalp, until Charlotte felt every ounce of tension dissolve into the warm water.
When she at last stepped from the bath, she noted that she had never looked better—she was practically glowing.
Mrs Wilberforce truly does know how to transform the dowdy, she thought deprecatingly.
The beautiful ball gown had arrived earlier, and Charlotte had already admired the modiste’s work, astonished by the flowing cream skirts and the intricate silver beading across the bodice.
The maid used a heated iron from the fire to form artful ringlets and piled her hair high in a regal fashion. The work took an age, and Charlotte grew restless, fidgeting in her seat. At last, the maid stepped back with an expression of deep satisfaction.
‘You look perfect, m’lady,’ she declared.
Amused by such enthusiasm, Charlotte dismissed her with a generous gratuity. Yet when she finally stood before the looking glass herself, even she was momentarily startled.
The pale, drab governess she had been only days before, seemed entirely gone.
In her place stood a young woman with a radiant complexion, glittering eyes, and an air of quiet elegance she scarcely recognised as her own.
Sarah and Tom arrived just as she prepared to join the other guests.
‘Oh my, miss,’ Sarah said, teary-eyed, ‘if only you had dressed this way when your father lived, you would have been married years ago.’
The remark echoed Charlotte’s own private thoughts from days before.
Charlotte turned to leave as Tom approached and stroked her silk skirts with childish fascination.
‘You look very pretty, Miss Lucas,’ he said earnestly.
She laughed softly. ‘Master Tom, if you continue dispensing compliments in such a manner when you are older, you shall break hearts all over England. But I thank you kindly.’ She gave a small twirl for his benefit.
Tom darted off to admire the giant chandeliers blazing in the ballroom before the dancing commenced.
Charlotte watched him go with a faint sigh. She had grown unexpectedly attached to the child and could not help worrying over how distressed he might be once the truth about the engagement came to light.
‘In any case,’ she said aloud, more to reassure herself than Sarah, ‘I shall be relieved once this is all over. Lord Stanley intends to begin the formal investigations tomorrow, and then we shall finally be free of all this subterfuge.’
A knock sounded at the door. Sarah opened it, and Charlotte turned, expecting Mrs Wilberforce.
Instead, Lord Stanley filled the doorway.
Dressed entirely in black for the evening, he looked strikingly handsome. Charlotte very nearly lost hold of her sensible thoughts altogether, staring a fraction too long before pointedly looking away.
‘May I come in?’ he asked, holding a small velvet box.
Sarah stepped aside at once.
He crossed towards the dressing table and opened the box, revealing a glittering diamond necklace.
Charlotte drew in a breath. ‘Oh—’
Without a word, he stepped behind her. His fingers brushed a curl from her shoulder before fastening the necklace gently around her throat.
Her breath caught as his knuckles grazed the nape of her neck more than once, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
She cursed the mirror for betraying the colour steadily rising in her cheeks.
When he finished, he met her gaze in the reflection.
‘Stunning,’ he said simply.
And then he left.
Charlotte stared after him, utterly disconcerted.
She was not entirely certain whether he had meant the necklace. Or her.
And the question lingered—why would he behave so when there was no audience present save Sarah?
However, Sarah wasted no time in expressing her opinion. She cocked one sceptical brow, turning from the now-empty doorway back to Charlotte.
‘Miss, he must be in love with you.’
Charlotte gave a short, incredulous snort. ‘What? That is absurd. Who pray tell could fall in love with me’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘It is all an act. He is merely remaining in character.’
Sarah scowled. ‘You need to get your mother’s voice out of your head. From where I stand you’d make an excellent baroness.’
Charlotte rolled her eyes as she snatched up her fan and made her way to join the guests.
Of course Sarah was being ridiculous. Charlotte muttered beneath her breath as she reached the top of the grand staircase.
Nearly every gentleman looked up the moment she appeared.
The ladies did so as well, though in a considerably less benign manner.
Feeling painfully conspicuous beneath so many eyes, Charlotte descended the staircase to find Lord Stanley waiting below amongst the family receiving line.
The moment he saw her, he abandoned his place entirely and crossed towards her. There was a softness in his expression, an unmistakable warmth in his eyes as he looked at her, and a sweet smile upon his face.
She suppressed a sigh.
Without speaking, he offered her his arm.
She placed her hand upon it at once, and he drew it into the crook of his arm before leading her towards the entrance hall to greet the arriving guests.
They did not speak further, but remained in companionable silence until the last of the guests had arrived. Charlotte tried not to be conscious of the man beside her. Yet despite herself, she found herself leaning ever so slightly against his arm, drawing comfort from his steady presence.
He introduced her as his fiancée, and Charlotte accepted the congratulations graciously—even if it would only last the night.
Without a word, he took her dance card from her wrist and inscribed his name beside the first dance—a cotillion, expected of him as host—and the supper waltz. Then, with a bow, he withdrew to speak to a group of gentlemen in the card room.
It seemed he had no intention of dancing with anyone else but her. Charlotte frowned at his retreating back, perplexed by his behaviour.
The neighbouring families had all been invited, and Mrs Wilberforce dutifully introduced Charlotte to them all.
Before long, her dance card was entirely full.
She could scarcely comprehend it. Once, she had struggled to secure even a single partner; now, by some strange twist of fate, young gentlemen were nearly quarrelling over her.
When the strains of music began for the first dance, Lord Stanley appeared by her side once more and led her to the dance floor.
Every eye in the ballroom seemed fixed upon them, making Charlotte acutely self-aware again. She fidgeted with her necklace and the button on her glove.
‘Imagine, if you will, that there is no one else here except me, Miss Lucas,’ he said, noticing her discomfort.
‘I am not certain that improves matters, my lord.’
He flashed a small smile. ‘I had no notion I possessed such a formidable effect upon you. Or perhaps there are other feelings at play?’
Charlotte bristled at the implication and met him between turns of the dance. ‘You flatter yourself, my lord. You have no effect on my feelings whatsoever,’ she lied.
‘Oh? The blush in your cheeks suggest otherwise.’
There was a challenge in his gaze as, during the next turn, he held her hand a little more firmly than was customary, drawing her fractionally closer when the couples met again.
‘And call me Henry my dear, you may as well get used to it.’
What did he mean by that?
She drew in an involuntary gasp, her eyes widening. Was he serious—or was it all a performance for the other dancers now watching them with knowing smiles?
Well, that accomplished one thing at least, she thought crossly. She was no longer conscious of the other guests.
Only of him.
As his piercing blue eyes fixed upon her, a strange exhilaration swept through Charlotte as they moved together, bewildering in its intensity. By the end of the first set, she felt thoroughly confused and flustered.
Lord Stanley escorted her back to the spinsters who beckoned eagerly for her attention.
Taking her free hand and kissing it lightly, he murmured, ‘Until our waltz.’
Then he sauntered away.
Miss Hill and Miss Underwood watched the entire exchange with mouths agape, their fans fluttering furiously.
‘Well, that was quite something,’ Miss Hill said breathlessly.
‘If only gentlemen had spoken to us so when we first came out,’ Miss Underwood sighed. ‘You are a fortunate creature, Miss Lucas.’
‘Quite right—wealth, rank, and affection. What more could any lady desire in this mortal realm, eh?’ Miss Hill declared, tapping her friend lightly with her fan.
Those remarks were enough to pull Charlotte sharply back to reality. If it were true, then perhaps she might indeed have been fortunate.
But it was not true.
It was a mirage.
Was it not?
And yet Charlotte’s brow furrowed as she watched Lord Stanley across the ballroom beside Miss Pearson. To her annoyance, she felt a faint and wholly unreasonable pang of disappointment.
When the Captain—who had secured her for the next set—approached, she accepted his arm and joined him upon the floor.
‘Forgive me, Miss Lucas, but upon seeing you this evening I could not resist claiming a dance.’