Chapter 17
Lord Lysander was the first of the houseguests to roll up the drive, to his brother’s visible relief.
Warrick thrust a fishing pole at Lysander and dragged him down to the river.
Lady Skeffington’s crew arrived a few hours later, in a coach Charlotte had hired to bring them down from London.
The door burst open and the first to leap out was a shaggy English sheepdog.
“Rupert!” called Miss Georgiana, following close behind him. At eleven years old, she was the youngest of Lady Skeffington’s girls. “Rupert, get back here at once!”
But the sheepdog was as poorly behaved as he was overgrown, and he loped off across the lawn with his tongue bouncing happily as Georgiana tore after him.
“You’re sure you don’t mind having Rupert for the summer?
” asked Miss Elizabeth Marby as she emerged from the carriage and pressed a kiss first on the dowager’s cheek and then on Charlotte’s.
She was Lady Skeffington’s oldest daughter, the same age as Charlotte.
“You’re sure you don’t mind having us all? ”
“I’m thrilled you’ve come, Lizzie.” Charlotte squeezed her hand. “I couldn’t possibly muddle through the summer without you. Besides, think of our poor, lonely pianofortes—certainly no one wants me to play them.”
Elizabeth’s dark eyes flashed with relief, and she turned to help her mother from the carriage.
The Marby family lived on the closest neighboring estate, or at least what was left of it, because Lord Skeffington kept selling off chunks of land to finance his fancies.
He’d recently decided to let their house out for the summer and jaunt off to Scotland, leaving little time or money for his wife and children to find somewhere else to live for the summer.
If Charlotte didn’t have the excuse of the house party, she and the dowager would have schemed up another reason to invite the Marbys to stay.
“Steady! Hold me steady! That dog, the long carriage ride—I feel terribly faint.” Lady Skeffington’s spindly form wobbled down the steps with the support of Elizabeth on the ground and her daughter Alexandra behind her.
Grayer and more fragile than her years would suggest, Lady Skeffington leaned on her daughters for support in all things.
Miss Alexandra hopped off the top step and lifted the dowager into a hug. “Lady Alice, I’ve missed you! Wouldn’t you like to be my gran and not Charlotte’s? She’s drowning in good fortune already.”
Lady Alice was pink with pleasure but a little breathless when Alexandra put her down. “How ravishing you look, child!”
Charlotte laughed. “When does Alexandra not look well?”
Alexandra crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. She was three years younger than Elizabeth and a beauty, with thick blonde hair and such a lovely heart-shaped face that most couldn’t look past it to see she had the soul of a pirate.
Lady Alice frowned. “Where are the others?”
“We lost James at the river when he spotted the men fishing, but Helena’s—Helena?” Elizabeth peered into the gloom of the carriage. “For heaven’s sake, come say your hellos. We’ve arrived, or haven’t you noticed?”
Helena, a year younger than Elizabeth and one of the dark-eyed Marbys, emerged into the sunlight and blinked owlishly, clutching a fat leather tome to her side.
Charlotte had asked Helena once what she was reading and the explanation was so long and full of equations that she’d made a mental note never to ask again.
The dowager’s eyes, however, brightened. “Is that Pierre-Simon Laplace, Helena? What volume are you on? You must sit next to me at tea and help me through it.”
Charlotte grinned. Anna would always be her closest friend, but she adored the Marbys, too.
Elizabeth fell in beside Charlotte as the group made its way up the stairs. “A summer of suitors! Who’s coming down?”
“Fewer and fewer men each day,” the dowager said crossly. “Charlotte keeps crossing names off my list.”
“There are still plenty coming, and you mustn’t think of them as only my suitors,” said Charlotte. “If you see one you like, just say.”
Elizabeth eyed her curiously. “Have you no preferences?”
Charlotte shrugged. “Lord Darlington seems promising? He arrives later this afternoon.”
“Darlington?” Lady Skeffington gasped. “The Darlington?”
“Yes.” The dowager glanced around at the young women. “And if he’s in the mood to hand out jewelry, don’t be too proud to accept it.”
“Lady Alice!” cried Lady Skeffington. “Of course they mustn’t take jewelry from a man. I’ve always told my girls—”
“You’ve told them nonsense. My emerald drops were a gift from a Hanoverian prince.
My ruby festoon necklace came as a compliment from Lord Bedford, after I married.
Girls, pay attention—jewelry is independence tucked into a box.
” Her eyes slid over to Charlotte. “It’s quite useful, as I was reminded only recently. ”
Charlotte squeezed the dowager’s arm in a silent thank-you.
“Lord Bedford sent you a ruby necklace?” asked Alexandra, from the dowager’s left. “That’s my kind of scandal. How did your husband take it, Lady Alice?”
A small smile played around the dowager’s lips. “He was wonderfully jealous. It was all most satisfactory, if you understand what I mean.”
Charlotte made a face. “Much too clearly, Gran.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Georgiana, who’d given up on her dog and snuck up behind them.
“And we have no intention of telling you,” Elizabeth retorted.
“Girls, back to the subject!” said the dowager. “You are to say yes to anything sparkly that comes your way. Do I make myself clear?”
Alexandra waggled her eyebrows. “Let’s hope Lord Darlington hands the stuff out like candy.”
Darlington was the last of the guests to arrive, and he came in darkness, in the pouring rain, as the great hands of the clock wound toward midnight.
Clare’s main door burst open and all Charlotte could see was a sharp silhouette, tall and wiry, against black, roiling clouds lit up by jagged flashes of lightning.
“Lady Charlotte.” He swept off his ruined hat and stepped forward into the candlelight, his jacket wet and straining against his chest as rivers of rainwater flowed down from his raven-black hair.
The cold made his skin look pale and fine, as if his features were carved from marble, his cheekbones chiseled with special care.
Yes! Excitement shivered down Charlotte’s spine. He could do nicely.
The others streamed out from the Great Hall at the sound of the late arrival, and Lady Skeffington, always susceptible, gave an audible gasp. Charlotte had to bite back a laugh, but she couldn’t blame her. There was something quite overwhelming about Darlington, wet and brooding.
Charlotte snuck Warrick a look. You see what a proper suitor looks like?
He lifted an eyebrow at her. I suppose, if you like them wet as a dog.
Darlington ignored the others and strode up to Charlotte, pressing cold lips to the back of her hand. “I’m late. Do you forgive me?”
“You’re hours late,” said Charlotte. “We held dinner for you until we were all starving. Even if I forgive you, Cook never will.”
He pursed his lips ruefully, raking his hands through his hair and delving into his pocket to pull out a velvet bag, crushed and wet but bulging. “There’s a gem cutter near Faversham and I couldn’t resist. Shall I show you what kept me?”
“Yes, please!” chirped Alexandra from the crowd behind them.
Charlotte laughed. “All right. What did you win with such a dreadful delay?”
“These.” Darlington opened the bag and poured stones out into his palm.
Some were raw and some were cut, their facets glittering blue, and pale pink, and a green as deep as the sea.
The diamonds looked clear as water, but the emeralds seemed to roil inside, as if each one contained a tiny, churning world.
Someone behind Charlotte gave a trill of delight, and Georgiana said, “Are those for us?” in a hopeful whisper, but it was Warrick’s low rumble that caught her attention.
“Like a monkey with a parlor trick,” he muttered to his brother.
Lawrence, the butler at Clare, presented himself at Darlington’s side. He kept his face impassive, but his eyes dipped to the rainwater puddling on the carpet. “My lord, would you care to visit your rooms?”
“Yes, of course.” Darlington put the stones carefully away, and only then did he seem to notice the assembled guests. He sketched a perfunctory bow to the dowager and Lady Skeffington. “My apologies. I see the party is on the point of retiring. Allow me to bid you good night.”
As Charlotte turned away, he caught her hand and held it.
“Not you. Wait up for me,” he whispered, before disappearing up the stairs in a swirl of black.