Yes!Excitement shivered down Charlotte’s spine.He could do nicely.
The others streamed out from the Great Hall at the sound of the late arrival, and Lady Skeffington, always susceptible, gave an audible gasp. Charlotte had to bite back a laugh, but she couldn’t blame her. There was something quite overwhelming about Darlington, wet and brooding.
Charlotte snuck Warrick a look.You see what a proper suitor looks like?
He lifted an eyebrow at her.I suppose, if you like them wet as a dog.
Darlington ignored the others and strode up to Charlotte, pressing cold lips to the back of her hand. “I’m late. Do you forgive me?”
“You’rehourslate,” said Charlotte. “We held dinner for you until we were all starving. Even if I forgive you, Cook never will.”
He pursed his lips ruefully, raking his hands through his hair and delving into his pocket to pull out a velvet bag, crushed and wet but bulging. “There’s a gem cutter near Faversham and I couldn’t resist. Shall I show you what kept me?”
“Yes, please!” chirped Alexandra from the crowd behind them.
Charlotte laughed. “All right. What did you win with such a dreadful delay?”
“These.” Darlington opened the bag and poured stones out into his palm. Some were raw and some were cut, their facets glittering blue, and pale pink, and a green as deep as the sea. The diamonds looked clear as water, but the emeralds seemed to roil inside, as if each one contained a tiny, churning world.
Someone behind Charlotte gave a trill of delight, and Georgiana said, “Are those for us?” in a hopeful whisper, but it was Warrick’s low rumble that caught her attention.
“Like a monkey with a parlor trick,” he muttered to his brother.
Lawrence, the butler at Clare, presented himself at Darlington’s side. He kept his face impassive, but his eyes dipped to the rainwater puddling on the carpet. “My lord, would you care to visit your rooms?”
“Yes, of course.” Darlington put the stones carefully away, and only then did he seem to notice the assembled guests. He sketched a perfunctory bow to the dowager and Lady Skeffington. “My apologies. I see the party is on the point of retiring. Allow me to bid you good night.”
As Charlotte turned away, he caught her hand and held it.
“Not you. Wait up for me,” he whispered, before disappearing up the stairs in a swirl of black.
CHAPTER 18
The fire was banked lowin the Grand Salon and the candles melted halfway down, leaving the room bathed in amber light as Charlotte waited for Darlington. The servants had cleared the room, leaving only a tray of fruit and cheese behind, because courting went better with refreshments—so useful to pop a grape in one’s mouth during an awkward silence. The guests were upstairs in bed already, even the largest guest with the stoniest face, who’d had to be yanked from the room.
“Come, Warrick! Manners aren’t nearly as strict in the country,” the dowager had said as she dragged the duke out of the room. “Besides, one doesn’t make a match by chaperoning too carefully.”
“How true!” Lady Skeffington rolled her eyes between Warrick and Lord Lysander. Such a bounty of eligible men for a mother with three daughters on the marriage market.
Charlotte warmed herself by the fire, alone in the room. Something sparked in her chest—could it be anticipation?—and she took a little breath and tried to cultivate it.
Marriage.
Perhaps it was the answer after all?
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” said a voice from the hallway.
Charlotte turned to find Lord Darlington, dressed all in black again but dry this time, slouching against the door and studying herwith slumberous eyes. He held a battered old work box in both hands, and it made Charlotte’s pulse beat faster than any jewelry case.
“You brought it.”
“Indeed. Help me bring the candles over.” Darlington put the box down carefully on a card table in the corner and hauled an enormous carved wooden candelabra over so they could see better. Charlotte grabbed two candlesticks and placed them beside the box, her stomach in a flutter.
Darlington twisted the bronze fastener open and folded up the stiff leather cover to reveal a series of drawers, the smallest at the top and large, flat ones Charlotte assumed were for tools at the bottom. He slipped one of the larger drawers open and pulled out two loupes and two long pairs of tweezers, handing a set to Charlotte. “Ready?”
“Yes, yes, get on with it!”
One side of his mouth curved. It wasn’t a smile, not quite, and Charlotte got the sense that smiles were rare for him. His face seemed so still and solemn, as if he truly were carved from marble, or perhaps alabaster, and moving took real effort. “You’re sure you wouldn’t rather see a finished piece?”
