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“No, but few ladies have the gall to confront a gentleman as such,” Jean said as she arranged a particularly stubborn curl.
“He is no gentleman,” Charity intoned.
“Still, he is an earl,” her maid said. “Do you not fear repercussions?”
Charity shook her head. “He is a member of the peerage. He will not sully himself with outright lies and we did nothing which can cast aspersions upon my character. He has no recourse.”
“Truly, you have no fear?”
“No Jean. I have no fear, for I care not what Neville Collington thinks of me. In fact, if he dislikes me it will encourage him to keep distance.”
“Your mother would not approve of this action.”
“No. Mother would not approve,” Charity agreed. “Yet the gentleman is such a rake I cannot stand to be near him and pretend as if I must allow his fawning for no reason other than that he is a man.”
Charity paused thinking of how Lord Wentwell complemented her. He seemed sincere, but a man such as he, could not be.
“He did not seem the fawning type,” Jean observed.
“Well, perhaps not.” Charity paused thinking of the commanding way he had directed her as they walked, and his hand on her own gloved one. She shook her head abruptly. “But still he is not for me.” Charity waxed long about how a lady would be run from town if she behaved half as badly as Lord Wentwell. To be sure, her reputation would be little better than a hoyden if she flirted with as many gentlemen as he might ladies. The thought brought color to her cheeks.
“He is a cad and cur. I do not have anything further to say about him.”
“You do seem to have exhausted the topic,” Jean said.
“I have not. He is quite despicable.”
“Indeed. You have done him a service, I think.” Jean added after Charity had calmed down.
“Yes. Now, let us wash our hands of him,” Charity said.
“I think you are right. It will not do to dwell on one so base as Lord Wentwell,” Jean added.
“Certainly not.” Charity agreed and vowed to set the gentleman from her mind. Such a vow was much more easily made than accomplished.
~.~
~Part2~
Disgrace
Chapter Nine
It was the evening of the opening ball in Bath. Charity still had not spoken to Julia, but some of her other friends had arrived for the ball. She was excited to meet them all again and exchange stories from when they last were together. Lady Shalace entered the dressing chamber, to make her approval or disapproval of her daughter’s appearance for the evening, but Charity was nearly finished with her toilette. Jean had curled her hair into a mass of golden ringlets atop her head, with pink roses and the string of pearls she had bought in town last week.
Charity had already donned the lovely Parisian dress her mother had purchased for the event. The flounce around the neckline was truly exquisite and unique. The silk of the flounce was actually pink, not ivory, but so pale that it blended well with the ivory of the gown, and tiny pink roses, each made with intricate care sewn onto it. It felt heavenly against her skin. Charity felt beautiful.
She also felt blessed that her mother had made no attempt to accentuate her daughter’s features on this eve. Perhaps her mother thought that the rouge may mark the silk now that the garment was on her person, or perhaps the Countess was distracted with some rumor or other that her friends had been whispering about all day. Charity did not hear much else than that some lady of moderate means had been ruined. She did not care to hear the gossip that pervaded the streets of Bath. She tried her best to ignore it. She remembered how often gossip was untrue or certainly an exaggeration. One would think her mother, of all people would know that, but Mrs. Thompson, Mother’s dear friend was a forever spouting fount of gossip, and Mrs. Sullivan was hardly better.
“Do be careful, dear,” her mother said. “It will be more difficult for me to keep a watch on you, with the crush of people arriving for the summer season.”
“Don’t worry, Mother. Every summer someone or other is ruined or has some severe misfortune to overcome. It shan’t be me enmeshed in such rumor.” Charity found that keeping one’s sights on a happier note was much more pleasant than dwelling on others’ misfortunes. Charity was neither surprised nor intrigued by her mother’s information, but in a few moments, the topic turned to Charity herself and she was forced to listen.
“Charity, You were out in the sun for far too long this week. Really, when will you listen to me? Your cheeks have too much of a hint of color to be called rosy, and Miss Davies mentioned you spent an entire morning walking with Lady Beresford. Did you even take your parasol?”
“I had a bonnet, Mother.”
Lady Shalace huffed.
