“Of course not,” Henry ground out, his fists clenching at his sides. “Why would I do that? It’s absurd. I hate these summer affairs.”
William spread his hands. “Then perhaps you should find your mother before she invites the entire ton.”
Henry nodded sharply. “Indeed.”
He looked around the ballroom, but his mother was nowhere to be seen. With a curt apology to William, he set off in search of her, threading through clusters of chatting guests and scanning each corner of the room.
Near the far side of the ballroom, just beyond the musicians, he finally spotted her in hushed conversation with two matrons. Their eyes shone with zeal, and his mother wore an expression of smug satisfaction that he recognized all too well.
He approached, schooling his features into a mask of politeness, although he was inwardly seething. Catching sight of him, the dowager duchess dismissed the two matrons with a gracious incline of her head. They curtsied, side-eyeing him before drifting away.
“Henry,” she said with mock surprise. “You seem vexed. Whatever is the matter?”
He lowered his voice. “Mother, I’ve just been informed of my supposed plan to host a house party. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Why, yes,” she replied smoothly, “I took the liberty of suggesting to a few friends that you might be amenable to entertaining some select families at our country estate next month.”
His pulse pounded. “You did what? Mother, you can’t suggest these things without my consent.”
“I’ve done more than suggest, my dear. I’ve already extended preliminary invitations. And as you can imagine”—she gestured toward the room—“the idea is most welcome. You’ve become quite the elusive prize.”
“But you never asked me.”
“Would you have agreed if I had?” she countered, arching an eyebrow. “I am your mother, Henry. And I’m doing what is best for the future of this family. Of course you’ll graciously host, won’t you?”
He realized that backing out now would create quite a stir. His mother had trapped him rather effectively, leaving him with no polite exit.
He clenched his jaw, knowing she was right. “I hope you realize what a predicament you’ve put me in.”
She lifted one shoulder. “A predicament that ends with you fulfilling your duty. Now, why don’t you go claim another dance? I hear Miss Lucy Pembroke is free again, and you seemed to enjoy her company.”
He found no words to express the storm of outrage boiling in him. In the end, he simply turned on his heel and stalked away, heading for the refreshment table. He needed a brandy.
There would be no stopping this now. A house party it was.
CHAPTER 8
Charlotte steppedout of the hired carriage, glanced up at the nondescript townhouse, and rapped twice on the door with the brass knocker. When it swung open, she offered the butler a polite smile.
“Good morning. Miss Doherty is expecting me.”
He bowed. “Yes, my lady. Do come in.”
She followed him down a short corridor. Her nerves jangled the entire time, but she tried to keep her expression calm. Felicity had insisted this meeting happen at her home, and Charlotte understood why. No inquisitive mothers, no curious brothers. Just peace.
They arrived at a small sitting room where Felicity herself appeared in the doorway, hands clasped together. She dismissed the butler with a quiet word, then ushered Charlotte inside.
“I’m so relieved you’re here,” Felicity said, voice hushed. “I’ve been half afraid my invitation might have gone astray or that you’d be followed.”
Charlotte chuckled. “No one follows me, Felicity. I’m hardly interesting enough for that.”
“Nonsense,” Felicity murmured, pressing her lips together. “Shall we go through to the drawing room? I’ve already prepared tea, though everyone else is wandering about the house.”
Charlotte’s gaze darted around. “Thank you for letting us meet here. If we’d tried this at my mother’s house, I guarantee she’d hover in the next room with her ear pressed to the wall.”
Felicity offered a tiny shrug. “It’s no trouble. It’s just me and the servants. My guardian never writes back, so I’ve been… living here on my own, I suppose, waiting for instructions that never come.”
A crease formed between Charlotte’s brows. “That must be lonely.”
