His head snapped back. Honey and gold hair coiled on her head, ramrod spine, a deep teal dress, with teal organza cap sleeves that played peek-a-boo with her upper arms and the edge of her shoulders.
My Mistress—with my mother.
Unsure what to make of that, he cocked his head watching them.
They spoke animatedly, their hands making small but forceful gestures.
How did they meet? What are they discussing?
Watching them, the similarities leaped out at him again. Both women could speak on a myriad of topics, and often had a strong opinion about them. Both managed their own money, and both knew how to navigate the Ton and their relationships with a private strength and public unity that he respected and admired.
He thought of his friends at university warning him, “Always look at her mother. That is what you’ll be tied to in twenty years.” Not him. In his case, he needed to look at his own mother. He had modeled what he valued in a wife on his mother’s strengths, based on his high regard for her.
The certainty of his future settled into his heart and mind. He had wanted to marry Charlotte eventually, in the abstract. Watching his two favorite women together, his heart beat with love for each. For his mother, it had the confused edge of wondering why a strong woman dealt with a weak man, something he’d never quite dared ask her. For Charlotte, while he hated that she’d been hurt by a stranger’s judgment, there were no questions. He was completely, irrevocably in love with her. If he thought she’d allow it, he’d whisk her out to the garden and go to a knee that very moment. But with his Mistress, he had to handle things differently. And he found he loved that too.
I must find a way to gain permission to propose.
He strode over to the women with new determination.
Chapter Twenty
Sophia had invited Charlotte to the ladies’ salon she’d mentioned, and introduced her to Ruth Stanton, Countess of Harrington and William’s mother. Charlotte was nervous to the point of wringing her hands before she caught herself, but thankfully no one seemed to notice. And since Ruth was unaware of Charlotte’s liaison with her son, the awkwardness was one-sided and dissipated as they became better acquainted at the salon’s meetings.
As Ruth’s warmth and intelligence were unveiled through her comments on the topics raised by the group, the similarities between them became clear to Charlotte. William’s dismissal of their ages and his ready acceptance of her as a decision-maker made sense. Charlotte had planned to attend this ball anyway, but when William’s note arrived, she found herself questioning her choice of gown, hairstyle, and even gloves.
She forced herself to stay with the gown she had planned, then dawdled deliberately so she would not be among the first to arrive in her eagerness to see him.
Upon her arrival, she spied Ruth and forged a path to greet her new friend. She was eager to discuss an article in the paper that day about child labor in factories, a topic that had arisen over Sophia’s tea.
Mid-discussion, the back of her neck warmed. The air shifted, and the fine hairs on her arms lifted even as she breathed in spiced rum and…William. She hoped rakelet’s mother would not notice her nipples standing at attention all at once.
His arm brushed hers as he came to stand facing them both from the side. She shivered once before tamping it down and straightening another fraction.
“William. Excellent. Countess, allow me to introduce you to my son, Lord Stanton. William, this is the Dowager Countess of Peterborough. We met a month ago at the Earl of Peterborough’s home. She is an excellent conversational partner, I am pleased to say.”
Charlotte flushed, embarrassed at the effusiveness of the praise. She raised her chin and regarded her puppy.
He waited expectantly.
Oops. Etiquette required she recognize him first. She nodded and offered her hand to him. “Lord Stanton.”
He bowed over it and rose with a wide grin. “Now, now, Lady Peterborough, do not pretend we do not know each other. Why, we met last year at a similar ball, and I’ve seen you at a number of scientific lectures. I should be crushed if you did not remember me.” His easy smile lingered as he squeezed her hand before releasing it.
“Of course, I do. And I am flattered that you recall a widow such as myself.”
Ruth chimed in. “William just completed his studies at Oxford, and was kind enough to forego a Grand Tour to step in and assist his father and I at home.” She glossed over the details. “William, we were discussing the article in the Times about the possibility of factory reform laws getting through Parliament finally. Do you have any thoughts on that?”
“Yes, Mama, but I decline to discuss them when there is a beautiful woman, no matter how intelligent, with whom I might dance. Char—er, Lady Peterborough? May I have this dance?” He bowed.
“Ah well, find me later, dear, if the gentlemen allow you a rest between dances. Enjoy, you two.” Ruth ceded her to William’s care before Charlotte could find an excuse.
The tongues would wag over this, even a single dance. She’d only danced with long-time friends until now. Her body did not care, however. Every inch of skin strained to close the gap between them, to search out his skin, the pads of muscle underneath, the rod of steel she knew awaited. It was all she could do to remember that a ball was the worst place for such thoughts.
They needed to talk before any clothes were removed, anyway. While she found she could not resist the lure of spending time with him again, she needed to ensure he understood her rules and timeline. They still had an end date, as he needed to marry someone who could give him children.
The puppy grinned at her the whole time, and not-so-subtly steered them toward the doors to the terrace. He kept hold of her hand as the dance ended, threaded it into the crook of his elbow, and clamped his other hand down on it, all but dragging her.
“William!” She hissed at him, glancing around for observers. No one seemed to be paying attention to them.
