The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(38)
She kept the smile glued on as the dance progressed. Mama wanted her to dance with the Earl of Broughton simply because he was an earl—and perhaps because he was so old whoever married him would not be forced to be married for long. A twinge of conscience washed away as his corset creaked alarmingly. The man’s figure rivaled the Regent’s for corpulence, and he wasn’t the only one using such aids. What would happen if his corsets failed? Would his coat buttons fly off? Possibly land in someone’s glass of champagne? What if they landed in the Regent’s glass of champagne? As her imagination conjured scenes of chaos, she fought laughter, glad to think on something other than his reeking breath and yellow teeth and asinine conversation that seemed to consist of nothing but skin-crawling observations about what a tidy armful she was. Why, even the duke was better than this!
As if summoned by her thoughts, she looked up and found him standing on the perimeter of the room, sober-faced yet elegantly dressed as always. He was talking to an equally serious Lavinia, who had chosen to sit out most of the evening.
Sympathy tugged. Poor man. His run of bad luck had not yet abated. The burning down of his carriage house had sent Mama into a spasm and provided the gossipmongers plenty to feed upon in the past days. For him to show his face here tonight was another surprise—and sure to provide yet more speculation as to his reasons.
She dropped her gaze. Heaven forbid she look too long and give the gossips further ammunition. His company at the parade had set tongues wagging, tongues sure to wag even faster were they to dance together tonight. Thank goodness all her dances had been spoken for so promptly, leaving no space for latecomers. Disobliging a gentleman for a dance already promised was a breach of propriety at which even Mama would balk.
“My dear, you are very quiet,” Lord Broughton said when the music drew them together again.
“Yes.” While her role was to be amusing, she would not give this man the slightest whiff of encouragement. In addition to his faults, which she did not desire to face every day, she had no desire to become stepmother to his three children—who all had children of their own!
“I trust the company is not too dull for one so young?”
She renewed her polite smile, but did not answer. If he thought her rude, so be it. This farce had gone on long enough.
As soon as the music ended, she extracted her hands from his, offered a curtsy, and hurried to where Mama sat talking with Lavinia. The duke was now half a room away, talking to a plain young lady and presumably the young lady’s mother.
“How was your dance with the earl?”
She shuddered. “Mama, please do not make me dance with that man again, I beg of you.”
“Very well.” Her mother waved a carved ivory fan, eyes narrowing as she glanced past Charlotte. “Who is that creature to whom Hartington speaks? I trust there is nothing in that quarter for which we should be alarmed?”
Lavinia’s chin rose. “That creature is one of my dearest friends, Aunt Constance. Catherine Winthrop, a baron’s daughter. She’s here from Gloucestershire to attend her grandfather’s birthday.”
Mama sniffed. “But why is he talking with a baron’s daughter?”
“I do not know,” Lavinia’s eyes held a militant glint. “Perhaps you should ask him.”
“Oh my dear, I would never presume to ask such a thing! It is of no matter to me whether he talks with one or twenty-one horse-faced girls.”
“Mama!”
Her mother tossed her head. “My apologies, Lavinia, that she be one of your friends. Oh, look, there’s that scandalous Lady Carlew! Did you hear about her?”
As Mama began to gossip with a nearby chaperone about a redheaded beauty, Charlotte turned to a stiff-faced Lavinia. “I think your friend looks very nice.”
“Catherine is very nice.”
“I … I am surprised to see the duke here.”
“He said he’s here to purchase a new carriage. Actually, several new vehicles, as they were all burned.” Lavinia sighed. “We should continue to hold him in our prayers.”
Guilt streaked through her. She hadn’t prayed for him or anyone in recent days, the glamour of balls and parties offering too many diversions.
“I’m worried about him,” Lavinia continued. “Do you not think he holds something of a lean look about him?”
Charlotte studied him. Now she paid attention she could see the shadows under his eyes, the way his coat hung slightly, like it was made for a bigger man. “He looks weighed down.”
“I agree.” Lavinia sighed. “I must speak to Nicholas. I sense he could do with a friend.”
Charlotte could only nod as her next dance partner arrived, full of apologies for his tardiness. “But Prinny himself wanted a word, and I could not leave, even knowing I was possibly squandering my opportunity to dance with the prettiest young lady here.”
Another two dances, then it was time for supper. Lord Fanshawe had secured her a place next to him and was busy plying her with sweet cakes and champagne, truffles and pastries sure to flake when she ate them—and risk social disgrace. While she appreciated his efforts, it would be nice to have his attention such that he remembered what she preferred—
“Lady Charlotte, is something not to your liking?” Lord Fanshawe’s eyes looked into hers, concern touched with uncertainty. “I notice you have not touched your champagne.”