“Your Grace,” he said, bowing in a most ridiculous manner and making Colin sigh in exasperation. “An honour as ever.”
“Do be serious, you fool,” Colin replied with feeling. “You are making people stare.”
“As well they might with so esteemed a personage. I was concerned you might not attend at all. The hour is so late, I felt you might have managed to escape your mother’s clutches for once.”
He kept his voice low, but Colin gave him a warning glare. It would not do for people to think he was ruled by the whims of the duchess.
“Believe me,” he answered dryly, “it was not for lack of trying.”
***
Charlotte entered the ballroom with nerves so acute she thought she might swoon.
Her father’s arm comforted her, but she knew better than to expect him to be her guardian all night. As soon as he could, he would escape to the card room, and she would not see him again for hours.
The ballroom all around her was an overwhelming riot of color and people. Charlotte was not only contending with the fact that this was her debut in society—but also that she had never attended a ball before.
She felt on display and horribly isolated as they walked through the crowd, attempting to draw on her inner reserves of strength.
I suppose there is one benefit to experiencing the trauma of losing my mother so young—I have already faced many trials in life, and I know I am stronger than I feel.
“Ah,” came a voice from nearby, “now that is Lady Charlotte Wentworth, daughter of The Marchioness of Wensingdale… her mother passed away…no, she never had a debut…a pale little thing, isn’t she…”
And so, it went on as Charlotte attempted to keep her composure. She was clearly the subject of as much gossip as she had expected, but it did not make it any easier to bear. Her fingers tightened on her reticule, where her journal was hidden from view. It had once brought her strength when she needed it most, and she had kept it close for the same reason tonight.
She pasted on a smile as her father introduced her to several eligible men, who eyed her in a way that made her skin crawl. She was only nineteen, but some of them looked at her as though she were thirty, confused by her very existence.
To her horror, her father seemed to think he had done his duty and muttered something about refreshments before he walked away. She was left in a mixed group of men and women, none of whom she knew. She kept smiling, praying they would not see through the fragile façade. The judgment on their faces was a stark reminder of the life she had left behind. She could no longer hide in the country, not if she expected to live a normal life for a lady of her station.
The thoughts whirling around her head were calmed slightly at the sight of a familiar figure approaching her. She smiled at her cousin, Lord Malcolm Preston, who sidled swiftly through the crowd, his sights set on her and his smile firmly in place.
“My dear Lady Wentworth,” he said with more force than usual. “I am so pleased to see you.”
His expression was all sincerity, and Charlotte was even more relieved when he subtly drew her away from the mingling crowd to a patch of floor that seemed less crowded.
Malcolm assessed his cousin critically for a few moments. She looked very beautiful indeed and was putting a brave face on it, but she was far too pale for his liking.
As a servant passed them by, he picked up two glasses of wine from the tray and handed her one encouragingly.
“How are you faring?” he kept his voice low. “I was not sure if you would come tonight. I am thrilled to see you looking so well.”
Charlotte huffed a laugh as she took a healthy swallow of her drink. “Thank you. I did not know you would be here, and it is good to see a friendly face.”
“How has it been so far? Have you received any proposals?”
Charlotte snorted into her glass and Malcolm grinned as she recovered herself, a tinkling laugh escaping her as she shook her head.
“You are such a fool, Lord Preston. I do not know why I put up with you.”
In truth, Charlotte was thrilled to have a few moments alone with Malcolm. He was one of the few people who had written to her throughout her mother’s illness. As an only child, she had no siblings, but Malcolm was the closest thing to a brother she had. He was handsome, with thick blond hair and dark brown eyes that looked almost black in the candlelight.
“Are you here with your mother?” Charlotte asked, hoping her aunt was not in attendance. She was a waspish unpleasant sort of woman who her father loathed.
“Alas, no, she is in Bath for her health.”
Charlotte frowned, any mention of ill health flooding her mind with images of her mother. “Her health? Has she been ill?”
Malcolm’s eyes were gently amused as he looked at her. “Well, let us say shethinksshe has been ill. And that is all I will say on the matter. But the waters are doing her good. I have told her she should stay for as long as needed, and I shall keep our beautifully quiet and calm townhouse safe until she returns.”
