Charlotte smiled grimly and added the problem to her ever-growing pile. “Leave that to me.”
CHAPTER 8
The dowager was lying inwait when Charlotte returned to the town house.
“Don’t bother to take off your gloves, darling,” she called the moment Charlotte stepped into the foyer. “You promised to spend time on your own reputation and I’d like that timenow, please. We’re heading to Hyde Park to run the gauntlet.”
Charlotte straightened her spine. “All right, Gran.”
Running the gauntlet meant taking a slow turn in an open vehicle through the park during the fashionable hour to judge—or in this case, be judged—and it wasn’t long before Charlotte and Lady Alice were nestled into the pale velvet squabs of the family landau.
Lady Alice squeezed Charlotte’s hand as they approached the crush of carriages on Rotten Row. “Will you be all right?”
Charlotte returned the squeeze, trying not to notice how knobby Gran’s knuckles had grown. “Of course, Gran. I was born to weather scandal. And in case we need to stab someone, I brought my embroidery basket and all my sharpest needles.”
“Good. I sent missives to all our friends to meet—” The dowager sat up straight and plastered on a smile. “Chin up, darling. We’re attracting stares already.”
The Baroness Angelbrecht, two carriages over, was the first of their acquaintance to notice them. She was a stout, disapprovingwoman, although she wasn’t always sure what she disapproved of. For instance, did she disapprove of Charlotte? From the purse of her lips, it was clear she’d heard about the scandal and itched to snub their carriage. Yet Lady Alice was both popular and powerful, and the baroness couldn’t quite muster the courage to snubher. What to do? What to do? The Baroness was still racked with indecision as their landau sailed past.
Next came Mr. Charles Pickerton, riding a fine-boned roan across the way. Charlotte counted him a friend, but he dearly loved to gossip. She dropped a stitch into the linen on her embroidery hoop and held her breath as he made his choice.
“Lady Charlotte’s a bit wild, but there’s no real harm in her,” Pickerton announced in a loud voice to Lord Huffington, riding along beside him. “In any case, she’d never take up withDumbarton. How is a man with so little style still allowed in the Horse Guards?”
Charlotte flashed him a smile but sucked in her breath as Lady Dalrymple’s carriage, wide as a boat, lumbered by. Lady Dalrymple and the dowager loathed each other, and Lady Dalrymple made a big show of staring Charlotte up and down and then lifting her sharp nose and turning away. The dowager gave a wide yawn and patted her mouth, letting her gaze drift placidly on.
Dowager wars, as Charlotte knew well, were often fought with gestures alone.
Something over Charlotte’s shoulder caught Gran’s attention, and she brightened. “Look, Charlotte! Here come our allies!”
Lady Skeffington, Marby’s mother, had packed her landau with three of her daughters, with the fourth, the Honorable Miss Alexandra, riding alongside. All of them waved vigorously, their carriage a froth of pastels and lace. Dame FitzHerbert and Maharani Singh came together, both sitting bright-eyed and alert across from SirFitzHerbert, a notorious grump, who forgot to nod to the dowager’s carriage until Dame FitzHerbert gave him a sharp kick.
Lady Cardiff’s barouche passed by at a vigorous trot, and she nodded briskly at the dowager’s carriage as if nothing about the day was the least bit out of the ordinary. However, she’d cracked the enormous Cardiff Brooch out of her vault, putting on such a dazzling show of diamonds that no one could possibly miss her.
Last of all came Mr. Frith. He didn’t have nearly the clout of the others, but he wore a bright yellow rose in his buttonhole, with a bright yellow waistcoat to match, and called out, “Good afternoon, my dear Lady Alice! Good afternoon, Lady Charlotte!” with great good cheer.
The dowager beamed. “Mr. Frith is such a dear friend. Look at his curricle shine—he must have had it polished freshly. Isn’t that lovely of him?”
Charlotte fixed her grandmother with a look. “Gran, you think everything Mr. Frith does is lovely. In fact, the true scandal in our family is how many times I’ve caught the two of you alone together in the orangerie.”
“That’s enough, Charlotte,” said the dowager tartly, though her papery cheeks went pink.
An enormous landau inched into view, powder blue with gold scrollwork and a whacking great crest on the side and pulled by two showy white horses.
The dowager gripped Charlotte’s arm. “The Duchess of Lewes! And look who’s sitting next to her.”
A woman’s voice, high and pretty, rose above the crowd. “Ididn’t attend the Hervey masquerade, of course, but I wouldn’t put it past Lady Charlotte to throw herself at Major Dumbarton. One need only look at her to see what kind of woman she is.”
Heat flashed through Charlotte but she refused to show her anger.
“It’s only Mary Pennington,” murmured the dowager. “She’s of no account whatsoever.”
“Except she has the ear of a duchess.”
What was especially hard was that Mrs. Penningtonhadbeen at the masquerade, one of the few deep in disguise who’d powdered her shining blonde hair and kept her mask on after midnight. Charlotte had only recognized her by the grating quality of her giggle as she’d streaked up the stairs toward the bedchambers, holding the hand of her sister’s husband.
Therewas a scandal. There were so manyrealscandals in the ton, and people paid attention to all the wrong ones. What of the Prince Regent’s behavior? The dreadful man had the gall to put his wife on trial for adultery while he trotted his own many mistresses up and down London.
The rules were so different for women.
