Lady Eleanor didn’t look up from the mirror. “You’ll wear the ivory muslin with the embroidered hem,” she said, as though Charlotte had no say in the matter. “It’s just subdued enough not to draw undue attention to yourself but elegant enough to avoid gossip.”
“Actually,” Charlotte began, feeling the flutter of nerves in her stomach. “I’ve been thinking… I don’t want to play at the recital.”
Lady Eleanor’s hands paused mid-motion, but she still didn’t meet Charlotte’s eyes. “Oh?”
Charlotte rushed on before her mother could find her voice. “I’m simply not prepared. I’d embarrass the family if I were to stumble through a piece. You wouldn’t want that, surely?”
Eleanor finally turned to face Charlotte, her gaze sharp. “Are you telling me you’ve neglected your lessons again?”
Charlotte swallowed and dropped her gaze to her hands. “I’m merely saying that I would much rather support Miss Helena Steele from the audience than risk spoiling her evening by making a spectacle of myself.”
Her mother gave a long-suffering sigh, turning back to her reflection. “Very well. You’re not the sort to flourish under scrutiny, I suppose. I won’t have you swooning on stage simply to spare yourself embarrassment.”
Charlotte blinked. That had been surprisingly easy. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Yes, yes,” Eleanor murmured. “But do try not to sulk all evening. It’s most unbecoming in a young lady.”
“Of course, Mother,” Charlotte said dutifully. She paused, debating whether to broach the subject that had been occupying her thoughts since the ball. “Will the Duke of Arundel be attending tonight?”
Eleanor’s sharp gaze flicked to Charlotte’s reflection, her lips curving in a faint knowing smile. “I doubt it. The Steele recital is hardly the sort of event to attract him.”
Disappointment settled like a stone in Charlotte’s chest, but she forced a nod. “Of course not.”
“Don’t look so crestfallen, dear. It does you no favors,” Eleanor said lightly, turning back to her preparations.
Charlotte retreated, ducking her head away to hide the blush now creeping across her face. She let her maid help her into the pale gown which her modistehad tailored to perfection, the soft fabric brushing against her skin like a whisper.
Her hair was swept up into a simple yet elegant arrangement, a few artful curls left to frame her face. It did look rather becoming, and she couldn’t help a pang of disappointment that the duke wouldn’t be there to see it.
They went down to their carriage together, and as it rattled over cobblestones toward the Steele residence, Charlotte stared out the window without seeing the streets as they passed.
Helena Steele was the kind of young woman whom Charlotte had always admired. She could perform before a crowded room without faltering, as though the audience didn’t even exist. The Steeles were a commerce family rather than nobility but had acquired enough wealth to be invited into the edges of fashionable society.
Other girls of Helena’s age and station either thrived under the gaze of that society or wilted beneath its weight. Charlotte, to her dismay, belonged firmly to the latter group in spite of having been born into theton.
By the time they arrived at the Steele residence, Charlotte’s nerves were somewhat calmed by the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels. She stepped down carefully, smoothing her skirts as her mother alighted behind her with her customary poise. They were greeted at the door by the Steele’s butler, who ushered them into a reception room where the other guests mingled.
“Lady Eleanor, Lady Charlotte,” Mrs. Steele greeted warmly, her birdlike features softened by her welcoming smile. “We’re so delighted you could join us this evening.”
“The pleasure is ours,” Lady Eleanor replied smoothly, her tone as polished as her pearl necklace.
Charlotte murmured a greeting and curtsied before being swept into the room.
The chatter inside was lively, and the scent of flowers filled the air. Charlotte made her way to the refreshment table, where she fetched a glass of lemonade and drank it gracefully. She then encountered her friend, Miss Genevieve Flynn, looking pale and fidgety.
“Genevieve,” Charlotte said affectionately. “You look lovely this evening.”
Genevieve gave a wobbly smile. “Oh, thank you, Charlotte. I feel as though I might faint.”
Charlotte arched an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”
“I’m to play the piano later,” Genevieve confided, glancing nervously toward the pianoforte at the far end of the room. “I’ve been practicing endlessly, but my hands are trembling so much, I fear I’ll make a mess of it.”
“You’ll do wonderfully,” Charlotte reassured her. “You always play so beautifully.”
Genevieve sighed. “You’re lucky that your mother doesn’t force you to perform at every gathering.”
Charlotte hesitated. “She knows better than to make me. She would rather I sit quietly than risk embarrassing myself… and her.”
