25. In Which a Lady Makes Her Choice – The Wrotham Ball, London
IN WHICH A LADY MAKES HER CHOICE
CHARLOTTE
THE WROTHAM BALL, LONDON
The ballroom was packed with every important family in London.
Which meant that when I made my choice—when I completed Step Four of my plan—everyone would witness it.
Everyone would know.
That was the point, I reminded myself. Public. Definitive. No more ambiguity.
But standing here in my pale lilac gown, watching Society swirl around me in a glittering mass of silk and judgment, I felt my courage faltering.
"You don't have to do this tonight," Mama said beside me. "You could wait. Until you're more certain."
"I am certain." I was. I'd been certain since the British Museum. Since Edward gave me that letter and kissed me like I was the answer to every question he'd ever asked. "I just—I need a moment."
"Take your time. The ball's barely started,” she paused. "Though Lord Dunmore just arrived. And he's looking this way."
I turned. Dunmore stood near the entrance with his father, scanning the crowd. When he spotted me, his expression shifted—something sad and resigned and almost relieved.
He'd taken my rejection at Lady Hartley's musicale with more grace than I'd expected. Had even sent a polite note the next day, wishing me happiness.
I owed him honesty. Not cruelty. And what I was about to do—choosing Edward publicly—would hurt him. But it would also be clear. Final. No more wondering if I might change my mind.
"Charlotte." Mama appeared at my other elbow. "Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
"Your father is in the card room with Edward. They're—" She paused. "Having a conversation."
My heart jumped. "He's asking?"
"He's asking. And your father is going to say yes. But Charlotte—" Mama took my hand. "What you do next matters. Edward will have permission to court you. But Society will still whisper. Still judge. You need to make it clear that this is your choice. That you're choosing him deliberately."
"I know. That's what tonight is about." I took a breath. "Step Four. Choose him publicly."
"I saw your notebook." Mama smiled slightly. "Eleanor has no sense of boundaries."
"None whatsoever."
"But she loves you. And so do I." Mama squeezed my hand. "Be brave, darling. And trust that you're making the right choice."
"I am making the right choice."
"I know. Now go. Wait near the terrace doors. Edward will find you when he's finished with your father."
I made my way through the crowd toward the terrace. People nodded, smiled, whispered behind fans. I caught fragments of conversation:
"—Retford and Lady Charlotte?—"
"—her own step-uncle, can you imagine?—"
"—Dunmore must be devastated?—"
Let them whisper. After tonight, they'd know. They'd all know.
I reached the terrace doors and waited.
"Lady Charlotte."
I turned. Dunmore stood a few feet away, his expression carefully neutral.
"Lord Dunmore."
"I wanted to speak with you. Before—" He glanced toward the card room. "Before tonight becomes something I can't interrupt."
"All right."
He moved closer, keeping a respectful distance. "I want you to know—I'm not angry. About what you said at Lady Hartley's musicale. About Retford."
"You should be angry. I led you on all Season."
"Did you?" He smiled slightly. "Or did I see what I wanted to see and ignore all the signs that you weren't interested?"
I blinked. "You knew?"
"Not at first. But looking back, you never sought me out. Never encouraged me beyond basic politeness. Never looked at me the way you look at Retford." He paused. "I convinced myself it was shyness. That you just needed time. But it wasn't shyness, was it?"
"No. It was—" I stopped. "I'm sorry, Lord Dunmore. Truly. You deserve someone who loves you the way I love Edward."
"I know. And I'll find her. Eventually." He bowed slightly. "Be happy, Lady Charlotte. And tell Retford he's a lucky man."
“Thank you, I will."
Dunmore left. I watched him go, feeling lighter somehow. He'd given me his blessing. His understanding. That was more than I'd hoped for.
"That was well done."
I spun around. Edward stood in the doorway to the terrace, his expression unreadable.
"How long were you listening?"
"Long enough." He stepped onto the terrace properly, and I followed him out into the cool night air. "Dunmore's right. I am a lucky man."
"Did Papa?—"
"He said yes." Edward's voice was rough with emotion. "He gave permission. For the courtship. With conditions, of course. Proper chaperonage, no more solo trips to the Museum. No being alone together. All very appropriate and tedious."
"But he said yes."
"He said yes." Edward took my hands. "Charlotte, are you certain? About this? About me? Because once we announce this—once we make it public—there's no going back."
"I don't want to go back." I looked up at him. "Edward, I've spent weeks questioning whether this is real. Examining my motives. Trying to separate rescue from love. And I'm done questioning. I know what I want. I want you."
"Even though I'm your step-uncle? Even though Society will talk?"
"Especially because of that. Because you're worth the scandal. Worth the whispers. Worth every consequence." I squeezed his hands. "I'm going to choose you tonight. Publicly. In front of everyone. And I need you to be ready for what that means."
"What does it mean?"
"It means no more hiding. No more pretending this is just friendship or family obligation. It means I'm going to walk back into that ballroom, find you, and ask you to dance the first waltz. And everyone will know."
Edward's eyes darkened. "Charlotte?—"
"It means I'm going to stand beside you for the rest of the night. Make it clear to everyone that I've made my choice. That you're mine and I'm yours."
"You're sure."
"I've never been more sure of anything." I pulled him closer. "Dance with me. Show Society we're together. Let them whisper and judge and speculate. I don't care anymore."
"Your father will care."
"Papa gave permission. That means he's accepted this. He knows what's coming." I paused. "Unless you're not ready? Unless you need more time to?—"
He kissed me.
Right there on the terrace, with the ballroom full of people just beyond the doors, he pulled me against him and kissed me as he had at the British Museum. Desperate and certain and completely improper.
I kissed him back, my hands tangling in his hair, not caring who might see.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"Does that answer your question?" Edward asked. "About whether I'm ready?"
"Yes." I smoothed my dress and tried to repair my hair. "Come on. Before someone finds us out here and we have to get married tonight instead of being properly courted."
"Would that be so terrible?"
"Yes. Because I want to do this right. I want the courtship, the Season, and the proper engagement. I want everyone to know I chose you deliberately. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to."
Edward offered his arm. "Then let's go make your choice public."
We walked back into the ballroom together.
The music had started. Couples were forming for the first waltz.
I could feel people watching us. Could see fans fluttering, heads turning, whispers spreading like wildfire.
Lady Charlotte and Lord Retford. Together. On his arm. Looking thoroughly kissed.
Let them look.
"Lord Retford," I said loudly enough for the people nearest us to hear. "Would you do me the honour of this dance?"
His eyes gleamed. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Charlotte."
He led me onto the dance floor. Placed his hand on my waist. Took my hand in his.
The waltz began.
We moved together like we'd been dancing for years instead of weeks. Edward had improved dramatically since that first disastrous waltz at the Ashford Hall ball—or perhaps I was just better at following him now that I knew his patterns.
"Everyone's staring," he murmured.
"Good. Let them stare."
"Your mother looks pleased."
"She gave us her blessing yesterday. She wants this."
"And your father?"
"Is watching from the card room with an expression that suggests he's reconsidering his decision." I smiled up at Edward. "But he won't take it back. He gave his word."
"Charlotte—"
"I love you," I said, loud enough that the couples nearest us could hear. "I love you, and I’m choosing you, and I don't care who knows it."
Several heads turned. Fans fluttered faster.
Edward stared at me. "You just?—"
"Announced it to half the ballroom? Yes. That was the point." I moved closer to him, closing the already-small distance between us. "No more ambiguity. No more wondering. I'm choosing you. Publicly. Right now."
"Charlotte Ashford, you are—" He stopped. Smiled. "Extraordinarily terrifying!”
"I'm stubborn. There's a difference."
"Both. You're both." He spun me in a turn that brought us dangerously close to improper. "And I love you for it."
"Good. Because I plan to be stubborn about this for the rest of my life."
The waltz continued. Around us, I could see reactions rippling through the ballroom. Some shocked. Some scandalised. Some—surprisingly—approving.
Lady Blackwood was smiling. Mrs Whitmore looked intrigued. Even Lady Pemberton seemed more interested than disapproving.
And Mama and Papa stood together near the edge of the dance floor, watching us with expressions that suggested they were proud and terrified in equal measure.
"Your family is watching," Edward said.
"All of them?"
Your father looks like he's preparing to fight anyone who says something unkind."
"That's because he's decided we're allowed to be happy. And Papa takes his decisions very seriously."
"Clearly."
The waltz ended. Edward led me off the floor, but instead of returning me to Mama, he kept my hand.
"What are you doing?"
"Claiming you. The way you just claimed me." He looked around the ballroom. "Let them see. Let them know. You're mine, Charlotte. And I'm not letting you go."
People were definitely staring now. Whispering. Judging.
I didn't care.
I'd completed Step Four. I'd chosen Edward. Publicly. Definitively.
And it felt perfect.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur.
Edward stayed by my side for every dance. We waltzed twice more—scandalous, but I didn't care. We took refreshments together. We stood on the terrace with proper chaperonage and talked about nothing important.
We were together. Publicly. Obviously. And everyone knew it.
"Lady Charlotte."
I turned. Abigail stood there, her expression unreadable.
I hadn’t spoken to her properly since the Season began. Who had tried to sabotage me with Dunmore at Lady Pemberton's ball.
"Abigail."
"I wanted to—" She stopped. "I owe you an apology. For what I did with Dunmore. For trying to push you toward him when you clearly wanted someone else."
I blinked. "You're apologising?"
"I am. Because watching you tonight—" She glanced at Edward, who was talking with Papa a few feet away. "You look happy. Really happy. And I was—" She paused. "I was jealous. Of that. Of you having what you want."
"Abigail—"
"I'm not asking for forgiveness. I just wanted you to know—I was wrong. And I hope you and Lord Retford are very happy together." She left before I could respond.
I stared after her, stunned.
Abigail had apologised. Abigail, who never apologised for anything.
Maybe there was hope for her yet.
As the evening wound down, Edward pulled me aside.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly. "I want to take you riding. In Hyde Park. Very public. Very proper. With your mother as chaperone if necessary."
"Why Hyde Park?"
"Because it's where everyone will see us. Where we can be together without hiding. Where we can start this courtship properly." He paused. "I want to do this right, Charlotte. I want to court you the way you deserve to be courted."
"I don't need grand gestures."
"I know. But I want to give them to you anyway." He smiled. "Besides, we have to follow your father's conditions. Proper chaperonage. No being alone. All very appropriate."
"We were alone on the terrace and the British Museum."
"And kissed very inappropriately. Yes. Which is why we need chaperones now. Before I forget myself entirely and ruin both our reputations beyond repair."
I laughed. "Tomorrow then. Hyde Park. With Mama as chaperone."
"It's a date."
When I climbed into the carriage at the end of the night, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
Step Four: Complete.
I'd chosen Edward. Publicly. In front of everyone.
And everyone knew it now. There was no going back. No more wondering if this was just a scandal, a convenience, or a rescue.
I'd made my choice. And Edward had made his.
We were building something real. Something that would last.
I pulled out my notebook as the carriage rolled through London's streets.
Turned to the page where I'd been tracking my plan.
Wrote:
Step One: Complete. Managed Dunmore alone.
Step Two: Complete. Rescued Edward from social awkwardness.
Step Three: Complete. Told him who he is. What I love about him.
Step Four: Complete. Chose him publicly at the Wrotham Ball. Danced the first waltz. Made it clear to everyone that this is my decision.
All four steps complete.
Plan successful.
Love proven real.
And beneath that:
Tomorrow: Hyde Park with Edward. Proper courtship begins.
The rest of my life: Being with him. Choosing him. Every day.
I closed the notebook and looked out the window at London passing by.
No more questioning. No more doubt.
Just Edward and me. Building something real.
Together.