Charlotte was shocked to find that she was shaking with relief, the debt sitting so heavy on her shoulders that she nearly floated at the idea of it falling away. It was like the old game that she and Elizabeth had played as children, one pressing her arms up as the other pressed down, then letting go suddenly and laughing as their limbs wobbled up of their own accord toward the sky.
She collapsed back into the squabs. “You’re both brilliant. I’m brilliant! The whole world’s brilliant today and I could kiss us all.”
The rest of the ride did feel like a celebration. Charlotte fizzed, and her pencil raced over the pages of her sketchbook as Elizabeth and Helena tried to top each other with the worst idea for a damask,and Charlotte drew patterns of slugs, and then of least-favorite vegetables, which turned out actually rather charming, so she did a gory, blood-spattered one of dismembered limbs instead. The time passed quickly until the landau drew to a stop in front of Clare, and Helena opened the door.
“Look! There’s another carriage just behind us.” She hopped down onto the drive. “Charlotte, are you expecting anyone?”
Charlotte’s unruly heart thumped in her chest. Was it Wolfgang? Was he back early? But as the footman handed her down and the other carriage drew near, she saw that it bore an unfamiliar crest.
The footman helped Elizabeth down and was just reaching for the handle on the second carriage’s door when it burst open and a man lurched out, blinking owlishly. He whipped off his top hat when he caught sight of the three young ladies and attempted a bow that toppled him over into the gravel.
“Good God.” Charlotte peered down at the Marquess of Vyse, sprawled in a drunken stupor at her feet. “It’s another damned suitor.”
CHAPTER 37
The Marquess of Vyse wasin no position to come down for dinner that evening, nor did he appear the next, which made Charlotte suspect that he’d downed more than the two empty bottles of port the footmen had found in his carriage. It was only the following night, just after dinner, that he sauntered down the central staircase, not looking fresh, exactly, but at least no longer trailing fumes.
Vyse bowed low to the dowager and took her hand, gathering it against his chest so that they stood quite close and the dowager had to tip her head back to look at him. He was a square-faced man, neither tall nor short, with a good head of chestnut hair, a pair of heavy brows, and dark, unholy eyes that peered out underneath them and seemed to make all sorts of promises.
“Why, Lady Alice,” Vyse said, his voice low and hushed, inviting her to lean in, “how ravishing you look this evening.”
“Is it me, or is Vyse less handsome than I remember?” Lady Skeffington said to Alexandra in her loud whisper, and it was true that in the plain country air, his skin looked sallow and rather puffy.
“Lady Charlotte.” Vyse turned toward Charlotte and flipped over her hand to press a kiss onto her gloved wrist. His nearness felt so oily that she shuddered, which made his dark eyes glow. “Ah! So responsive,” he murmured for her ears only. “What a good girl you are.”
It felt too rude to make a gagging sound, so Charlotte said, “Yes, thank you for noticing. The scandal made me look inside myself, and I’ve become quite pious. Shall we find a cozy corner and discuss scripture?”
Vyse’s face dropped. “Ah. D’you know, I’d better…”
He backed away without bothering to finish his sentence, and Charlotte sagged with relief until she realized he was making a beeline for Alexandra.
“Friends!” Charlotte clapped twice to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “What do you say to a little dancing?”
Clare was filled with music when Wolfgang and Lysander returned from their trip. A lilting song spilled out over the marble floor of the hall and up toward the frescoes on the ceiling, each note a little siren calling so sweetly that even though Wolfgang was tired from a long journey and not dressed for company, he and Lysander followed it through the arch into the Grand Salon and down the corridor that led to Clare’s ballroom.
Lysander leaned back against the ballroom’s double doors and let the music wash over him. “My God. Did you know she played so well?”
But Wolfgang barely spared a glance for Miss Marby, straight-backed at the pianoforte.
As always, his eyes were trained on Charlotte.
With ten long strides he crossed toward her, paying no attention to the round-eyed stares from Miss Alexandra and Marby, dancing next to her, or from the dowager and Lady Skeffington, perched in their spindly chairs. He ignored Lord Vyse, too, even though the man had to jerk to a halt mid-quadrille to avoid crashing into him.
Wolfgang shut out the whole world and bowed low to Charlotte.
“May I have this dance?”
“My lord duke,” Vyse sputtered. “Iam currently partnering—”
But Charlotte ignored the Marquis. She hesitated, and Wolfgang’s world narrowed to her small hand as she reached out and offered it to him.
The music stopped mid-bar.
“Sorry, don’t mind me! I was overcome with a sudden urge for a waltz,” Ms. Marby called, as a new, even sweeter song swelled around her.
For a full measure, Wolfgang stood stock-still with Charlotte in his arms, fighting the urge to tuck his chin into the impossible bramble of her curls. When the downbeat came, he swept her into the first turn, and the next, and soon they were skimming over the polished floor, the ceiling twirling like their own kaleidoscope.
Charlotte gave a delighted laugh. “You’re a marvelous dancer!”
