Charlotte waved a hand. “They are all the same. Well, Cheltie’s is likely to be different, but still…” Evan Gardner, the Earl of Cheltenham and Cheltie to almost all who knew him, was one of Charlotte’s closest friends.
“Still a wallflower?” Belle’s lips pursed.
“I am simply out of practice.” She shrugged, attempting to make light of the awkwardness she’d experienced.
Reinserting herself into society as a widow was more effort than she’d like, but she’d been alone for more than a year, mourning and adjusting to being alone.
Charles’s younger brother Edward had married last year, which had been as sudden as Charles’s succumbing to a fever. But Edward had fallen in love with a country miss who loved horses as much as he did. It worked well for all, as Charlotte had no interest in the dower house at the Peterborough estate, and the couple preferred the country over their London townhouse. Therefore, he’d signed the city residence over to her. If he hadn’t been married, Charlotte would have continued to help their steward manage the various properties and households, but Edward’s new wife, Sophia, had been happy to step in. That was both a blessing and a curse, as it left her with too much spare time.
Charles had tutored her on his Cambridge curriculum, and they’d enjoyed the active social and intellectual aspects of the city, attending lectures, soirées, and musicales as well as balls. When she’d lost him, she had withdrawn from all of that. She’d gone to visit her brother in the south once, but they weren’t close, and her parents were dead. With the additional free time, she focused on her second interest beyond learning—investing.
Months later, when she complained to Belle of loneliness, her friend insisted that meant it was time to assimilate back into the London social scene. Charlotte had balked, but Belle had insisted she try a few outings, so this Season, she’d ventured back into Ton circles.
She’d expected the anonymity of balls might be easier than the smaller lectures with Charles’s closest friends, but she’d forgotten that almost everyone was paired at balls—or else looking to be paired—and those looking for partners were as much as a decade younger than her eight-and-twenty years. The isolation of her aloneness hit her hard.
“You are simply off your game, and that is why I pushed you to attend these. ’Twill be the same with sex. The first time back in the saddle may feel strange—hopefully a good strange, though. Then you’ll practice and it shall improve.”
“Belle! One step at a time, please. Let me ease into re-establishing relationships with friends.” Still struggling to exchange social banter after eight years of marriage and a year and half of widowhood, she could not imagine the deeper conversations needed to become more intimately acquainted with someone. Nor could she picture the dialogue needed for the bedroom play she preferred.
“Oh, bother. You’d be much more relaxed about renewing acquaintances if you’d had a few orgasms. After all, you are still young.” At Charlotte’s chastising look, she demurred. “Right, then. What is your plan?”
“I’ll see how Cheltie’s ball goes. I need to go early to speak with Althea about the Bath partnership.” Belle had met Cheltie’s new wife, Althea, when she’d come to Charlotte as an investor in expanding her apothecary before he’d managed to win her hand in marriage.
“How is the competition going?”
Much of the reason Charlotte sought knowledge on as many topics as possible was to inform her choices of investments. She and Charles had garnered a staggering level of wealth after she’d found she had a knack for identifying successful investments and businesspeople. Cheltie was in a like position and they had both turned their efforts to helping women who otherwise would not have access to investors, making it a friendly rivalry.
Belle had benefited from Charlotte’s investment groups where she pooled women’s funds to funnel into investments she handpicked, and had a sizeable fortune of her own.
Now Belle replied, “Ah, yes, the lovely Cheltenham. I still wish I had had a chance to sample those goods before he stupidly fell in love and stopped working his way through the Ton and the demi-monde.”
Charlotte shuddered. Empirically, he was attractive, but he was a brother to her. “That reminds me, Leah Godwin is due to visit next week with a new round of her flock’s savings.”
“Excellent. I’ll join you.” Belle had introduced Leah to Charlotte. Leah was a retired courtesan around forty years old, who maintained relationships with younger women in similar roles and taught them survival skills, including saving and investing—through Charlotte now.
The work was Charlotte’s passion and was part of why she’d re-entered society. If it was just her future, she needn’t worry or invest further. She needed a purpose again, not to mention showing up Cheltie, and to do that, she needed to keep up with the new innovations and investment opportunities.
“I almost wish this was one of Cheltie’s you could attend, too.” Charlotte said. She tilted her head, considering the opportunities at Cheltie’s wilder fêtes. He had always dabbled in the more risqué underbelly of the Ton, his looks and wealth—and sheer maleness, she suspected—allowing him to get away with it. The attendees were likely to have as much wealth and knowledge as the more sedate Ton balls. Certainly when she was ready, she’d have better luck finding a suitable bed partner there who would not be looking for marriage and heirs.
“Even so, Cheltie’s parties are not to be missed. I’ll bet it can help you address both socializing and pleasure.”
Charlotte again directed a quelling glare at her friend, which only resulted in laughter.
Chapter Three
Despite this being her second outing in a week, Charlotte was not prepared for how loud the ballroom was. The chatter of dozens of people, announcements of new arrivals, and clatter of dishes as servants replenished refreshments were underlaid by the chords of violins warming up.
She’d had tea with Cheltie and Althea before the guests arrived, but once the orchestra had come to set up, both hosts had to direct staff. The contrast between quiet conversation in their library and this made her head hurt. Only for her close friend would she venture into this chaos. Where was Cheltie, anyway?
She again bemoaned the social structure of a ball. Gaggles of débutantes quacked and ruffled their fan feathers at the edge of the floor, just as she had at that age. The girls peered at the eligible men, hoping to be asked to dance. Men huddled together on the other side of the room, some lustful, some hopeful, reflecting the scrutiny. Matrons gossiped and lounged in the background.
She sighed. Charles had found her and culled her from the herd; she’d hoped that would be her happily-ever-after. Widowed before thirty, Charlotte was too young and too childless to be a matron, and too old—and too wise—to be a débutante.
Feeling conspicuous as she always did at these events, she fiddled with the stylized heart pendant hanging on a delicate chain just below the hollow of her throat. Men did not have this issue. They spoke in groups of varying ages, clustered by political alliances, alma maters, or familial connections.
She watched the litter of would-be rakes, tossing their fashionably short curls back as they tried to outdo each other with tales of outlandishness. The one who had caught her eye at the first ball had been in such a group, standing long and lean, his narrow hips pulling her hands like a magnet. When he’d thrown back his head in laughter, his working neck muscles had called to her tongue. Shocked at her thoughts, she’d frozen, staring, until he turned and caught her.
Snapping out of her fantasy, Charles had come to mind and she’d fled, guilty tears clogging her throat. In the darkness of her carriage, the inappropriateness of her interest was apparent, and her guilt became tinged with self-directed anger. He was at least five years her junior, and he looked even younger than that.
