Ten minutes later, William and South claimed their favorite corner of the public room while Nate ran upstairs to rinse himself off and put a dry shirt on.
Mugs in front of all of them, South asked again, “What were you working on?”
“You know I’m not going to share until I am certain the pieces are finished and usable.” The Orford partnership and resulting catalogue were Nate’s passion and he was protective of their designs.
William’s few sexual encounters had been quick, half-dressed, and rare. He’d only dallied with serving girls who threw themselves at him at school and was still at a loss as to what all the fuss was about. The girls were eager and seemed easy to please. While he enjoyed himself, he wasn’t all that interested in prolonging it with contraptions. Anyway, he had more important things to worry about. “South, did you see the lady in the plum gown last night?”
“Plum?”
“Purple.” Nate clarified, rolling his eyes.
“Why do you both call it plum when purple will do just fine for any self-respecting man?”
William gritted his teeth. “Did you or did you not see her?”
“Nah. I had my eye on a cheeky little miss in yellow. Oh, excuse me…” South searched for a word. “Lemon. Wait, why do you want to know?”
Nate turned to look at William for an answer as well.
“She caught my eye, but when I looked for her to introduce myself, I could not find her. She was…intriguing.” He was not going to tell his profligate friend she’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, as well as the most composed.
“Well, if she was wearing ‘plum’ then I can see why. Sounds like a perfect opportunity for a dalliance with a matron for the summer before heading back to university.” South wiggled his brows.
Nate interjected, “Why do you assume that?”
“The marriage-minded misses are all in pastels. It’s like marking them for slaughter.”
“Lovely,” Nate said with a snicker.
“What do you suggest?” William was about to knock their heads together if they did not stay on the point.
“Send a note to the host?” South offered.
“And ask what, exactly?” William huffed.
“Attend more balls.” Nate’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“Ugh.” Although, he’d be attending them anyway. At least the hope of seeing her and actually getting to talk to her would make them more palatable. Perhaps Plum Lady would be at the Earl of Cheltenham’s ball. Percy had said it was one of the most widely-attended.
Chapter Two
Charlotte poured herself tea from the pot on the breakfast table. She preferred a minimum of servants for breakfast, for her sake and theirs, and she was perfectly capable of pouring her own drink. Thus, there was no buffet on the sideboard, just a plate of toast before her with a jar of strawberry preserves at hand.
The rustle of skirts at the door made her look up.
Her friend Isabella Rossi threw her hood back and placed her basket of flowers on the far end of the dining room table before removing the cape and handing it to the butler who’d followed her in.
“Belle!” Charlotte rose to exchange cheek kisses.
Her friend’s glossy sable locks were pinned back in a simple chignon, and her dress was plain, high-necked, and brown, stark against the rose walls above the wainscotting.
Isabella was a courtesan. As a flower seller was one of several ways her friend visited, insistent on disguises and the servants’ entrance to protect Charlotte’s reputation.
Charlotte’s late husband, Charles, had introduced her to Isabella once upon a time, and they’d become fast friends despite their varied upbringings and stations in life. It helped that they were close in age, with Belle only two years her senior. As a countess, Charlotte had followed along with Isabella’s disguises to protect Charles’ reputation with his cronies, but as a widow she’d become impatient. So once in a while, she liked to surprise Belle with a visit at her apartment. In broad daylight.
After kissing her on the cheek, Charlotte requested coddled eggs from the footman, as they were Belle’s favorite, and a larger pot of tea. Sending the servant to the kitchen also meant they could eat and talk without an audience.
“How was the ball?” Isabella leaned in, holding her tea with both hands, elbows propped on the table.
