Chapter 34
Gran’s landau was designed to be spacious, but Charlotte had never lost anything in it before.
Certainly not her reason, her wits, or her willpower, which had all melted away on the short stretch of road between Maidstone and Clare.
When the carriage finally crunched onto the pea gravel drive, Charlotte shot out of it, chased up the stairs and into the house by the warmth of Wolfgang’s gaze on her back.
“I’ve packages in the carriage,” she called to a footman in the foyer. “Please send them up to my bedchamber and ask Miss Marby, Miss Alexandra, and Miss Helena to join me?”
It wasn’t long before her friends peeked around her door and she tossed them each a fat parcel wrapped in paper.
“What do you think?” asked Charlotte, sitting cross-legged on her counterpane. “There’s enough yardage for a ball gown for each of you.”
Alexandra tore into her package and a length of silk printed with the hellebore pattern spilled out onto the Axminster. She gathered it up and buried her face in it. “Is it from your mill? Lord, it’s stunning.”
Elizabeth, perched at the end of the bed, unwrapped hers more carefully. “Peonies!” Her face softened and she traced the edge of a flower. “But don’t peonies suit Alexandra better?”
Charlotte tilted her head. “Why?”
“Well…” Elizabeth reddened. “Peonies are such beautiful flowers and of course Alexandra’s so beautiful, and I suppose I think—”
“Lizzie, stop. You must let me dress you—never mind! I won’t foist old arguments on you, but please know I chose the peonies especially for you.
They’re a bold flower and it takes a certain presence to carry them off.
” Charlotte turned to Alexandra. “I picked the hellebore for you because I’m mad for that pale purple-green, yet it also reminds me a little…
well, of a corpse. I thought you’d prefer something less pretty. ”
“A death flower.” Alexandra nodded happily. “Perfect.”
“Helena, you’ve got Josephine’s clouds because the white has a touch of peach in it, and it’s perfect for your complexion.
Georgie doesn’t need a ball gown so I brought her velvet for a new pelisse.
I’ll embroider Rupert on it if she likes, but if she prefers something more grown-up, I’ll try out my new glowworm pattern. You see? I’ve been quite brilliant.”
Elizabeth ran her fingers once more over her peony silk, but she shook her head. “All this and we’re staying with you for the whole of the summer? We can’t possibly accept.”
“I was afraid you’d say that, but set your mind at rest.” Charlotte dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The silk isn’t a gift—it’s a bribe.”
Alexandra clutched her silk and shot her sister a dark look. “I don’t care what it is. It’s gorgeous and I want it.”
“A bribe for what?” asked Helena, ever practical.
“A bribe for your help, actually.” There was another enormous package beside Charlotte, and she opened it and spread the punch cards and papers over her coverlet. “Have you heard of Monsieur Joseph Jacquard? He created a loom that—”
Helena’s eyes lit up. “The Jacquard machine! It’s a loom, but you can also think of it as sort of a language, a yes-no machine.
It tells the loom what to do for each thread of the warp…
or is it the weft? The weaving I don’t quite understand.
” She scrabbled into the papers. “Is this the schematic? I’ve been dying to get my hands on one. ”
Charlotte blinked. “Good! I’d love for you to have a look and… quickly? I’ve several patterns I’d like to weave in damask, but all I know is that you have to plot them out first on graph paper. How that translates into punch cards is beyond me. Might you be able to—”
“Of course.” Helena leaped up and began to lay the schematics out on the floor.
“It’s quite a bit of work, Helena. If you figure it out, you’d need to teach me and go to the mill and teach Mrs. Cordelon, who runs the place. Do you think you could do it? I can offer a good salary.”
That caught Elizabeth’s attention.
“Could I do it?” Helena scoffed. “It’s simply following directions, and they’re written right here.”
Charlotte slumped back onto her pillows. “Thank heavens.”
That evening, by unspoken agreement, the guests drifted past the splendor of the Grand Salon in favor of the cozier setting of Lady Alice’s sitting room.
Elizabeth was soon engrossed in her correspondence and Helena in one of her books.
Lady Skeffington found the plumpest settee and nodded off, and Marby and Lysander sprawled out on the Aubusson to challenge Georgiana in a loud and cutthroat game of spillikins, with Alexandra shouting encouragement.
Only Charlotte sat out of sorts, when she ought to have been celebrating. Her mind kept flashing back to the carriage and Wolfgang kissing her until her insides went liquid, and then somehow bothering her even more profoundly by talking to her.
She snuck a glance at the man in question, who had a glass of port in his hand and had managed to wedge himself into the largest armchair, a pale chintz affair that engulfed most guests but that he made look like dollhouse furniture.
Charlotte might have been tempted to laugh or needle him in some way, except that her cheeks were already a telltale pink.
Her grandmother’s keen blue eyes met hers and Charlotte blushed anyway. “Are you well, child? Your color’s high tonight.”
“I’m perfectly well!”
The squeak in her voice caught Wolfgang’s attention and he looked over, which made her face flame even brighter. His mouth had been on her nipple, swirling and sucking, dragging it between his lips until she thought she might—
“Are you sure, darling?” said the dowager. “You’ve been acting off ever since you returned from Maidstone. Did anything happen that you’d like to tell me?”
“No! Of course not. The whole trip was exceedingly dull.”
Wolfgang took a slow sip of port. “Did you find it so? I myself quite enjoyed the day. Particularly the carriage ride.”
“How interesting!” The dowager’s voice was a little too bland. “I find the scenery on that stretch of road quite unremarkable.”
“Utterly unremarkable,” Charlotte agreed. “The carriage ride, in particular, put me straight to sleep.”
The dowager studied her a bit too closely for Charlotte’s liking, but she only said, “Well, child, if you napped this afternoon, you ought to have plenty of pepper in you now. What do you say to one more glass of champagne and a friendly game of whist?”
Charlotte brightened. “I say yes! I can think of nothing better.”
She’d play chess if she had to, if it meant a distraction from Wolfgang.
“Shall I count you in, Lady Skeffington?” called the dowager.
Lady Skeffington roused herself and gave a snort. “No, thank you. There’s nothing friendly about the way you play whist.”
“What a coward! Elizabeth, are you braver than your mother?”
“No, but I am a glutton for punishment. I’d be delighted to play, Lady Alice.”
“Good. Then all we need is a fourth.”
Alexandra sat up and said, “I should like to play,” but the dowager pretended not to hear.
“Ah, Your Grace! You’ve proved yourself on the battlefield—would you dare to risk it all at the card table?”
No! No! yelled Charlotte inside.
Wolfgang leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs. “Just what am I risking?”
“In truth, very little,” said the dowager. “We play for pride.”
“And to brag insufferably the next morning,” muttered Lady Skeffington.
Wolfgang shot a look at Charlotte. “Then I’ve nothing to lose. My pride is in tatters already.”
His eyes had been lingering on her all night, and not with his usual brooding disapproval, as if he were a teacher and she a particularly unpromising pupil.
“Gran, on second thought I believe I’ll sit this one out. Alexandra, you can take my—”
“No, I’m sure Alexandra’s all wrapped up in her spillikins.” The dowager stood and adjusted her shawl. “It will have to be you, my darling.”
Lysander rather absently raised his head. “Actually, we’re just about to finish and I’d love a—” He caught the dowager’s flinty-eyed stare. “I’d love another round of spillikins. Georgiana, you steady-handed terror, I’ll get you yet.”
Charlotte’s mouth flattened. There was a conspiracy afoot, and she should know, as conspiracies were one of her talents. Still, if she faked a headache and retired to bed, she’d have nothing but the four walls of her bedchamber to occupy her.
“Oh, very well.” Charlotte slunk over to join the others at the card table. “Whist it is.”
The dowager fanned a deck of cards out over the green baize. “Draw for partner.”
Everyone flipped their cards and Charlotte nearly wilted with relief. “Elizabeth, it looks as if you and I are a team.”
Wolfgang took his seat opposite the dowager and began to shuffle, his hands large but deft and talented, as if they were made for un-tying ribbons and soothing little buttons out of their holes. “What do you think, Lady Alice? Shall we trounce them?”
“Indeed!”
Elizabeth let out a startled laugh. “Charlotte, are we going to let that go unanswered?”
“Let them talk. My card play does my bragging for me.” Charlotte shuffled the second deck as Elizabeth cut and the dowager began to deal. “Elizabeth, I should tell you that Gran turns pink whenever she has the ace of trumps.”
“How obliging of her,” said Elizabeth.
“And you?” said Wolfgang to Charlotte. “What are your tells?”
She smiled. “Tells? Your Grace, how optimistic. You’ll never learn to read me.”
The dowager flipped a card to determine the trump suit and they began to play.
Charlotte had a promising hand, bristling with kings and jacks, and a glorious run of hearts, which was the trump suit for the round. She held no aces, but across the table Elizabeth’s eyes were bright as stars, which seemed promising.
She shot a sideways glance at Wolfgang. Candlelight flickered over his profile—the stubborn brow, the blunt nose. He sat relaxed, his posture easy, but she could feel his quickening interest as he studied his hand, like a lion who had spotted dinner in the distance.