Helena smiled, weaving her fib with surprising ease. “Yes, I thought we might combine our talents to raise funds for… oh, let’s say to send blankets to orphans. I had the notion that each of us, having some skill or other, could perform something small. Charlotte’s role,” she continued, flashing Charlotte a meaningful look, “is to organize the refreshments and the guest list. That’s why we’re gathered here, to discuss some of the details in private.”
Charlotte had to fight not to gape. She recognized the quick cunning in Helena’s improvised excuse. Her mother, after all, was known for charitable committees and gatherings, so a philanthropic cause was less likely to arouse suspicion.
Lady Fitzgerald’s expression remained politely inquisitive. “How commendable. May I ask which orphans’ home you intend to support?”
Helena’s eyes widened. “I…. Well, we’ve not finalized it yet, my lady. We were considering a few. I believe Miranda suggested a home in the west of Town.”
Miranda, catching Helena’s cue, nodded earnestly. “The… the St. Agnes Foundling House, I believe. I read about it in the papers. They do admirable work.”
Charlotte resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief as her mother’s suspicion seemed to waver in the face of such philanthropic zeal.
“Indeed. That is an excellent institution,” Lady Fitzgerald said, inclining her head. “Very well. As long as you’re not tiring yourselves out with too much excitement.”
Genevieve bobbed a curtsy in turn. “We’re just on our way out, Lady Fitzgerald. Thank you for allowing us to visit.”
A small pause hung in the air, and Charlotte braced for more questions. But Lady Fitzgerald stepped aside, letting the group file past into the corridor. She turned to Charlotte with a frown, though her voice remained pleasant. “You must let me know if you require any help organizing this performance. You know I do like to support our local charities.”
“Of course, Mother,” Charlotte managed, matching Helena’s confident tone as best she could. “We will be sure to consult you if we need advice.”
At least for now, Lady Fitzgerald seemed placated.
All that remained was to see if their plan would hold firm once the swirl of the ballroom engulfed them on Friday night.
It must. Charlotte’s future had to hold more than Mr. Roger Leonard.
CHAPTER 7
“I am sopleased you have finally come to your senses, Henry.”
The dowager duchess’s voice had that familiar note of satisfaction as she accepted her son’s hand, stepping carefully down from the carriage. The lamplights illuminated the grand facade of Lady Wentworth’s town residence, where a steady stream of guests were making their way inside.
Henry forced a polite smile. “Yes, Mother, I’m sure you are.”
She gave him a pointed look. “I only wish for you to meet someone suitable. It’s a good thing that you are finally willing to see reason.”
Henry suppressed a sigh.Willingwasn’t the word he would have chosen. “Shall we go in?”
Once inside the polished foyer, Lady Wentworth herself welcomed them, a vision in shimmering blue silk. Henry bowed, exchanged the expected pleasantries, and his mother curtsied in turn. As soon as they were ushered beyond a set of gilded doors, Henry’s mother wasted no time in drawing him close to speak more quietly.
“There are a few eligible young women I would like to introduce to you tonight,” she murmured, her eyes gleaming as they swept the room.
“Wonderful,” he replied dryly, surveying the ballroom for familiar faces. A swirl of color greeted them: ladies in vibrant gowns, men in fine tailcoats, the strains of a quartet echoing from a raised dais. The scent of candles and perfume filled the air.
Henry saw William Fitzgerald standing near the far windows with Charlotte at his side. They were in conversation with another man, who had a braying laugh that drifted above the noise.
Sir Roger Leonard.
Henry narrowed his eyes. Before he could walk over to greet them—and find out what Sir Roger was about—his mother tugged his sleeve.
“Henry, pay attention,” she whispered. “We must greet Mrs. Pembroke and her two daughters. They’re just over there, beneath the chandelier. There, you see them?”
He nodded, giving Charlotte’s distant figure one last glance. He frowned at the way Leonard leaned closer to her, practically dribbling into her bosom, but his mother was already propelling him onward. They reached a stately matron and two young women wearing interchangeable pastel gowns.
“Ah, Your Grace.” Mrs. Pembroke lit up, a rehearsed smile forming on her round face. She dipped a curtsy, and her daughters followed suit. “What a delight to see you.”
“I’d like to present my son,” the dowager duchess said, placing a hand on Henry’s arm. “The Duke of Arundel.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s excitement was palpable as she introduced her daughters—Miss Catherine, the older, and Miss Lucy, the younger. Both curtsied, cheeks turning rosy as they met Henry’s gaze. He greeted them politely, offering a slight bow of his head. Clearly, this had been arranged by the two mothers. He swallowed his annoyance, remembering William’s advice.
