Miranda looked relieved as she spotted them. She joined them by the stand, placing her elegant back to the rest of the room. “I simply can’t bear to be cornered by the Earl of Westcott again. He is such a dreadful bore. All he talks about is horses, and I daresay he looks like one too.”
Charlotte quickly turned a snort of laughter into a genteel cough.
“Miranda, honestly.” Felicity blushed, although she suppressed a smile at her outspoken friend. “At least someone wants to dance with you who is under the age of fifty. I’m positive my late aunt would have had me married off to someone ancient as long as he came with an ample estate.”
“All the eligible young men who aren’t bores, rakes, or poor were married off last season.” Miranda sighed. “Well”—she cast a sideways look at Charlotte—“apart from your brother and the Duke of Arundel, of course.”
Charlotte tried not to blush fiercely at the mention of the duke. Miranda missed nothing, and Charlotte doubted that she was unaware of her infatuation with Henry. “No need to be polite. We both know William is a terrible bore. As for the duke…”
“He is coming this way,” Felicity murmured, gazing over Charlotte’s shoulder.
Charlotte spun around on her slipper to discover that the duke was indeed crossing the floor toward them. As she did so, his eyes met hers, and he smiled at her in a way that made her tingle from head to toe. She felt frozen to the spot, acutely aware of her friends watching her and the duke’s warm smileof greeting as he walked right toward them, clearly intent on coming to engage her in conversation.
Charlotte’s heart pounded. Would he ask her to dance? It wouldn’t be the first time, although of course he only ever asked her out of politeness because she was William’s little sister.
She didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed when the duke’s progress toward her was interrupted by the Countess of Wembley introducing him to a pretty golden-haired girl with an almost scandalously low-cut dress.
Charlotte swallowed and turned back to her friends with a smile plastered across her face. Felicity sighed in sympathy, while Miranda looked at her with a keen eye.
“I’m sure he’ll ask you to dance once he escapes from the countess’s clutches,” Felicity said.
“Perhaps if you gave him a little more encouragement,” Miranda said matter-of-factly, “then he might show you more attention. I heard Lady Knotmore say that the men were taking bets on the duke finally hunting for a wife this season.”
“I…” Charlotte began to protest, then gave up. No matter how much she may try to fool herself, she could not fool her friends. There was simply no other man in the room when the duke was present—not for her, although she was absolutely certain he saw her only as the rather plain sister of his best friend.
“The duke has no romantic interest in me,” she finally stated, resisting the temptation to look back over her shoulder. She wondered if he would think the golden-haired young woman was terribly pretty.
“You have never given him the chance.” Miranda raised a cool eyebrow at her. “Perhaps if you were to make your interest in him clearer.”
Charlotte felt hot at the thought. “I couldn’t. William—”
Miranda cut her off. “If nothing changes, then nothing changes.”
Felicity nodded, and Charlotte glared at her. Usually Felicity could be relied upon to support her.
“Miranda’s right,” Felicity said firmly, reminding Charlotte that for all her friend’s shyness, she could be remarkably forthright when the occasion called for it. “Perhaps if the duke had a little indication that you see him as more than your brother’s best friend, he would be more inclined to look at you as a marriage prospect. Your families are close, after all. It would be a suitable match.”
“You sound like your aunt Emma,” Charlotte said. “God rest her soul.”
Miranda was about to speak when they heard footsteps approaching. Miranda lifted her eyebrows, and Felicity widened her eyes. A fluttering began in Charlotte’s stomach as she guessed who was behind her. She turned, wearing what she hoped was an alluring half smile, and came face-to-face with the Duke of Arundel’s buttons.
“Oh, excuse me,” she stepped back in horror and bumped into the lemonade table with her hip. “I’m so sorry.”
She winced, then heat flooded her as he reached out to steady her with a hand on her forearm.
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Charlotte,” he said in that low, rich voice she knew so well. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Miss Doherty, Miss Sutton.” He gave them each a quick bow in turn, which thankfully allowed Charlotte a few seconds to compose herself.
“Not at all, Lord Arundel. I’m a little dizzy; it’s been so warm today,” she gabbled.
Why must she always be such a silly goose around him?
Of course he would never see her as anything but a little sister when she reduced herself to such foolishness. It hadn’t even been particularly hot that day; certainly not for the middle of June.
She saw Miranda briefly close her eyes and Felicity almost imperceptibly bite her lip and knew that her friends were embarrassed for her.
The duke, however, looked almost disappointed. “I hope you’re not unwell? That does rather ruin my plans because I was hoping you would give me the first dance. I do believe the band is about to strike up a waltz.”
“Oh! But of course, yes, I should like that very much, thank you.” Aware that she was rambling, Charlotte pressed her lips together and took his outstretched hand as the music started up.
