Chapter 21
By the next morning, Charlotte’s anger had cooled, or at least it no longer spewed from her like lava.
Darlington constantly interrupted her in favor of the pleasures of his own voice and it was clear he viewed women as one heaving mass of pink.
Worse, he seemed to hold the impression that Charlotte would squeeze herself smaller to make room for him.
However, if she wanted to correspond and exchange sketches with him in the future, it wouldn’t do to eviscerate the poor fellow.
She contemplated her wardrobe, wondering what to wear to let a man down gently.
Should she wear something stark and severe?
One never knew with men—Darlington could very well enjoy the stern governess type, or have ideas about spanking.
She flatly rejected the idea of an unflattering gown, first because her wardrobe contained no such tragedy, and second, because she refused to dim herself for Darlington.
In the end, she reached for a gown in a sunny yellow, just bright enough to offend his eyes.
It did occur to her, as she tucked her legs underneath her on the settee and sipped her second cup of tea with the other ladies of the party, that perhaps she shouldn’t be so happy to chase off her first suitor.
The sky might be brilliantly blue and the clouds as fat and contented as cotton puffs, but summer wouldn’t last forever.
The queen’s edict still hung over Charlotte’s head, as did Lady Margot’s debt, and the many snarls at the silk mill, including the unsolved problem of the Jacquard—
Oh, do shut up, Charlotte told herself. There was no point in spoiling a good cup of tea with worries, not when a breeze wafted in from the Long Hall’s many French doors, sunlight bounced off the polished plaster walls, and she was holding one of Gran’s special blue cups, so impossibly fragile that it felt like cradling a robin’s egg in her hands.
She really did feel chirpier, happier, so much more herself today.
“None of the men wanted to come?” asked Alexandra from one of the other settees.
“Your brother looked scandalized when I suggested tea inside instead of a ride to the shore,” Charlotte answered. “He said it was a crime for Englishmen to waste good weather, and took the others off.”
And thank goodness, because the last thing she needed was Warrick in the room, oozing I told you so from an armchair.
“It’s quarter past two.” The dowager sniffed. “Where’s your viscount, or are we meant to languish here waiting all day?”
Elizabeth, bless her, reached for a raspberry. “Are we languishing, Lady Alice? I confess I’m feeling wonderfully content.”
“I’m not. I’m gasping to see what’s under that velvet.” Alexandra eyed the easel in the center of the room, covered with a length of black.
“I’d like to see Lord Darlington about a different matter.” The dowager snapped her teacup down on the table next to her. “My gardener told me he was confronted by a jar of dead glowworms this morning and I’m afraid I am not in charity.”
“I did remind him to let them go, Gran.” Only twice, before she left him sketching and took herself off to bed.
The sound of boots on marble rang out from the hallway, but it wasn’t an insect-murdering viscount who strode into the room.
Charlotte flushed. “What are you doing here, Warrick? You’re meant to be at the shore with the other men.”
Warrick settled into an armchair and crossed one tree trunk leg over the other.
“And miss Darlington’s presentation? How could I deny myself such a treat?
” He studied her and his mouth quirked in a small, infuriating smile.
“What a cheerful color you’re wearing, Lady Charlotte.
You’re not dressing for the grave today? ”
“How odd of you to mention it. I am thinking of someone’s funeral.”
Lady Skeffington’s eyes went round as pennies. “You’re right! I see it!” she whispered to the dowager.
“A grandmother always knows,” the dowager whispered back.
Unfortunately, both the dowager and Lady Skeffington were going deaf, so their whispers were loud as gunshots.
Darlington chose that minute to slouch into the room carrying a tall stack of red leather jewelry boxes, which made the women sit up straight.
“So many of you here.” He dipped his head in what Charlotte thought was an attempt at modesty, as if he hadn’t asked them to gather. “How shall we proceed—shall we start with the real jewels, then I’ll reveal my latest ideas?”
Lady Skeffington nodded vigorously. “A most agreeable plan.”
“Hear, hear, show us the loot!” called Alexandra.
Darlington smiled faintly as he opened the first box to reveal a pearl collier.
He lifted it and let it dangle from his fingers, all five strands of pearls gleaming darkly because they weren’t the usual cream.
Darlington’s collier was made of black pearls, each one so lustrous that it seemed as if all the colors of the world swirled in its depths.
But it was the clasp that made Charlotte gasp—the collier was designed to rest above the clavicle and cover the throat, and the wide diamond-and-jet clasp had five marquise-cut diamonds laid on their sides and stacked one on top of the other, like the spine of a fairy queen.
Charlotte allowed herself a moment of regret. While she didn’t care much for Darlington, she had fallen deeply in love with his jewelry.
Alexandra clapped with pleasure and even Helena’s eyes went wide, though she recovered enough to say, “Lady Alice, did you know that diamonds grow in a cubic crystal—”
“Let’s see the tiara!” cried Alexandra. “It is a tiara, isn’t it? I can tell from the shape of the case.”
Darlington nodded. “Would you like to try it on, Miss Alexandra?”
Alexandra could only squeak.
The room went silent as Darlington cracked open the case and lifted the tiara onto Alexandra’s blonde hair.
It wasn’t a large piece, not one of those beastly old tiaras that screamed I’m frightfully expensive and can also be used as a weapon.
Darlington’s tiara was made up of seven diamond arches, each hung with a dazzling aquamarine teardrop that swayed gently at the slightest movement.
Even Warrick, sprawled back in his chair, looked vaguely impressed.
“It’s stunning,” breathed Charlotte.
Alexandra craned her neck to catch her reflection in a window. “The problem with wearing a tiara is that one can’t really see it.”
“Then you must all have a turn wearing it, so you can look at it as much as you wish,” said Darlington.
Quick as a monkey, Georgiana made a grab for it.
“No!” Alexandra jerked her head away. “My turn isn’t over yet.”
Darlington turned to Charlotte and took her hand, placing a fat velvet bag in the center of her palm.
“For you, my lady. A token of my regard.”
“Oh!”
Once again, the room went silent. Charlotte glanced over at Gran, who mouthed TAKE IT! with wild eyes and absolutely no subtlety.
Charlotte looked down at the pouch and her heart began to pound, as it always did for jewelry. Rivières and sautoirs, silver filigree rings and bandeau tiaras, little gold earbobs and Gran’s wonderfully vulgar old paste stomacher—she adored them all. Especially any sort of gemstone tassel.
How could she resist a gift from Darlington, who made such glorious things?
Yet unfortunately, her stomach had other ideas. Despite Gran’s heated lectures and Lady Margot’s debt, Charlotte’s stomach found it difficult to accept jewelry from a man she intended to reject the moment they were alone together.
Still, it would be churlish not to look.
She pulled the bag’s strings and what fell out into her hand was—
Charlotte bit back a startled laugh. Darlington had given her a large gold oval pendant, hung on a gold chain and set with a profile in diamond and jet.
His profile.
“What a staggering piece, and so kind of you,” she said automatically, because it was kind of Darlington. Though when had he made it, exactly? Oh God, did he carry around multiple profiles of himself, done up in gems and ready to press into adoring hands?
“Do pass it around,” drawled Warrick. “I’m sure we all want a closer look.”
“No, this one is for Lady Charlotte alone.” Darlington took the pendant from her and leaned down to fasten it carefully around her neck. “You can wear it. Always.”
“What a lovely thought,” squeaked Charlotte.
Darlington pressed a kiss to Charlotte’s hand and turned back to the others. “Now, shall we move on to my sketches?”
He whisked the velvet off the easel to present a stunning watercolor of the snake necklace. Then came the glowworm aigrette, rendered in full color against an inky black background salted with stars.
“This last piece is a new direction, and I intend to present it at court at the start of the next Season.” He turned his attention to Charlotte. “This piece is inspired by you, my muse.”
But Charlotte was busy staring at the last watercolor, trying to understand. “You plan to make my feather brooch?”
“Your feather brooch? I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning.”
Charlotte blinked at the watercolor, then blinked back at him.
Darlington’s last painting was of her feather brooch—a pink feather with a darker pink shaft, from the roseate spoonbill bird, done up in what looked like beryl and pink sapphire.
It was her feather, down to the curve at the tip and the darker pink streaks, drawn exactly the way it appeared on the damask she intended to sell when Monsieur LaForey finally got the Jacquard loom working.
Charlotte blinked once more. “I’d love to design a piece with you. I’d have to discuss this feather with Josephine, though, because we’ve used it for—”
Darlington gave an ugly, coughing laugh. “Lady Charlotte, am I to believe you think you own the idea of a feather? You may have some small talent with a charcoal, but you’re not the only one inspired by birds.”
Charlotte rose to her feet. “Lord Darlington, is this a jest? Have you been hiding a sense of humor all this time?”
“Pardon?”
“No, it’s a ridiculous question. There’s nothing to laugh at in you saying I inspired that piece when we both know you stole it from me.”
Alexandra gasped, Elizabeth sat back in her chair, and the dowager sat forward.
“Warrick, do something,” she said, in one of her deafening whispers.
“For what purpose? Lady Charlotte doesn’t appear to need my help. Besides, I’m vastly entertained.”
Two slaps of red appeared on Darlington’s pale cheeks. “This is outrageous! Lady Charlotte showed me a simple study. I’m the one who—”
“Took it, and called it your own,” Charlotte said. “It’s the exact sketch. Do you even know what bird this feather’s from?”
Darlington opened his mouth, frowned, and shut it again. “I don’t intend to answer that.”
“You’re not able to answer. But I am, and so’s Gran, because the feather was sent to her all the way from the Americas. I believe I’ve had enough. Lord Darlington, I find you dishonest, paltry, and worst of all, entirely predictable. It’s time for you to leave. Alexandra, the tiara?”
Alexandra took the tiara off and thrust it at Darlington’s chest.
“Outrageous!” he said as Charlotte snatched up the pink feather watercolor. “I’ve never been treated so shabbily in my life!”
“More’s the pity. Most men do better with a little adversity, I find.” The dowager rose to stand by her granddaughter.
Darlington gathered his jewelry boxes and lifted his chin at the pendant around Charlotte’s neck. “Well? Are you going to return it to me?”
Charlotte lifted her arms to fumble at the clasp. “I will gladly—”
“She’ll gladly keep it, as a reminder of your week here with us at Clare.” The dowager beamed. “Now, my lord, shall I ring for your carriage?”