The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(37)
Yells rent the air, but they could not stop. Another bucket filled, used to dampen blankets to beat down the flames.
William’s arms were screaming by the time the eighth bucket filled.
“Sir! Allow me!”
Jensen almost shoved him from position, and he stumbled back, eyeing the scene desperately, as he fumbled prayers beneath his breath. God, protect—God, help …
The loss of the carriages he could bear.
The loss of something irreplaceable, like a life, he could not.
He jogged to the stables where smoke-grimed servants continued their desperate labors. He picked up a singed blanket and joined the frantic efforts.
Finally, finally, it seemed they were winning, as the flames shrank and sputtered, until at long last the remaining few embers were doused with water.
A tired cheer filled the night air, as his bedraggled staff collapsed around the terrace, gasping, ash-smudged, grateful for the cooling drinks being passed around.
Fighting exhaustion himself, William moved to the stairs leading to the side entrance. He pulled himself up on the plinth and clapped his hands.
“Oy! His Grace is speaking!”
William smiled wearily at the head groom. “Thank you, Evans.” He turned to the waiting assembly. “And thank you all. Without your sterling efforts tonight, we would have lost a great deal more than just a few coaches. I …” His throat clamped, emotion clogged his chest. “I don’t know why I’m so blessed to have such wonderful people working for me. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
“Three cheers for His Grace!”
Heat filled his eyes as they cheered. He rubbed a hand over his face, fighting emotion. He didn’t deserve cheers. He didn’t deserve loyalty. But oh, he was so grateful …
An hour later, washed, in bed, willing himself to rest while the sun rose, he realized something else. If the cries of little Rose had not woken him, tonight’s misdeed could have been so much worse.
And he fell asleep, praying blessings on the little child who had remained incongruously, blissfully asleep, through the remainder of the night.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Carlton House, London
July 21
THE QUEEN’S FAMED gilt-and-mirrored ballroom was filled with guests whose accents tickled Charlotte’s ears, teasing her to discover if the words were Prussian or Russian or German. The Allied sovereigns might have returned to their respective countries, but the number of handsome young officers still in town had added thrumming excitement to the procession of parties and dinners she’d attended since the parade a month ago.
She caught Henry’s eye as she swirled in time to the music, and felt a fresh gush of gratitude. Without her brother’s support, Mama would never have consented to Charlotte’s attendance at such an evening, nor would she have discovered just how entertaining Lord Fanshawe’s company could be.
That gentleman stood across from her in the dance line now, returning her look with a smile that bloomed anticipation within. Perhaps he might never fully capture her heart as Lord Markham had done, but he was very good company and knew a girl appreciated a compliment as well as a good jest. His handsome looks and manners could not contrast any greater than with the duke’s staid ways. She could only pray Mama would let such foolishness go.
The flutes and strings led the music transition into the next part of the dance. Charlotte joined hands with Lord Fanshawe, who murmured in an undertone, “I do wish you’d let me speak with your father.”
Her footsteps stumbled. Quickly recovering, she tightened her grip. “My lord, I think you are being a little precipitate.”
“Who can think of caution when holding such beauty in his arms?”
Her heart glowed. Perhaps Papa would be amenable to having a viscount as a son-in-law. And Lord Fanshawe was Henry’s friend, so that would be well. And she’d be mistress of a fine house in Cumberland. Yes, perhaps she should make a push for Father to find approval …
A turn to the outside, and she met her mother’s frown. Charlotte averted her face, her spirits sinking. If only Mama would relinquish this ridiculous notion of Charlotte becoming a duchess. Until then, she would need to continue to tread a path of the strictest propriety.
The dance formation drew them together again, the viscount’s gaze warm as he led her in the maneuvers. “Lady Charlotte,” he said softly, “I am like a man dying in the desert. One sign, just one sign that you are not completely indifferent to me will give me hope.”
“I would have thought the fact that I agreed to dance with you enough sign, my lord.”
“Ah, but that sign loses potency when shared with so many others.”
She smiled, joining the other ladies of their set in a small circle, before the music drew them together again, his continued compliments causing a flutter in her breast.
When the dance concluded, he escorted her back to Mama, but did not release her hand. “Lady Exeter, thank you for the honor of dancing with Lady Charlotte.”
Mama murmured something inconsequential, bestowing him with a gracious nod before eyeing her. “Charlotte, I see Lord Broughton approaches. He is yours for the cotillion, I believe?”
“Yes.” Charlotte plastered a smile on her face, working to feign enthusiasm for dancing with a man who truly was old enough to be her father. Was nearly old enough to be her father’s father!