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Charity glanced briefly back at Lord Wentwell, and then smiled up at James and took his arm as the quadrille ended. She would be glad to be absent when Neville Collington brought Miss Macrum back to the group of women seated on the outskirts of the hall. She did not want to see him.
Miss Macrum had her claws dug into him for the set, but as soon as it ended, Charity noticed that he did not escort her back to her chaperone. Instead, the strangest thing occurred. Charity caught sight of the lady’s flushed face as Lord Wentwell, turned and left her standing on the dance floor unescorted. He hurried out of the room altogether.
“What a cad,” she murmured, but James did not deign to answer. He appeared to be deep in thought. Walking together, the two moved away from the others and made their way out of doors towards a large fountain.
“First Miss Danbury and now her dear friend, Miss Macrum. She must be more careful. The man has no shame. I tell you, I would not have danced with him. I would have cut him direct.”
“Who?” James asked.
“The Earl of Wentwell,” she replied. “With such rumors flying, I would not have danced with him at all, Earl or no.”
“Truly?” James said. He stopped and looked at her.
“Truly,” Charity replied. “Even you could not dispel the rumors about poor Miss Danbury.”
“I have heard the rumors, but I am not sure that Miss Danbury is entirely innocent.”
Charity considered the fact. Innocence or no, Miss Danbury’s intention could not absolve a gentleman from taking what should be left to the sanctity of marriage.
They walked in silence until they came to a foot bridge. As they started across it, Charity stopped her eyes wide, her body suddenly tense and ready for flight. James glanced at her in surprise, but then he followed her gaze to the center of the bridge where none other than Neville Collington, The Earl of Wentwell stood with his head bowed, leaning on the rail and looking away from them. He seemed lost in thought and shadowed in frustration. If Charity had not seen what had just occurred she might have felt sorry for him and asked what was the matter.
“Shall we change directions?” Charity asked, looking at the earl.
James patted Charity’s hand and spoke lowly to her. “He is my friend,” he said. “I think he may have unduly suffered from these ill-advised rumors.”
Charity looked up at James. The word of a Poppy meant much to her. If James trusted Neville Collington, though she might not agree, she must at least consider his opinion. “So he is not a rake?”
“Well, perhaps, but he is not one to be afraid of. Believe me; he has no need to force a woman.” James’ face reddened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot myself; to speak so frankly to a lady.”
Charity hid her own blush behind her fan. That the Earl had no need to force a woman had never been up for debate. Women seemed to fall to his feet, or wayside more like. No, the Earl might not have forced Miss Danbury, but that does not mean that their encounter was altogether pure. That in itself was a crime in Charity’s book.
James voice dropped even lower. “He has enough trouble as it is,” he muttered. “Why less than a fortnight ago…” James broke off, patted her hand again and said, “I will not leave your side, but I am eager to speak with him. I want to ask after his brother.”
As James had not left loose of her hand in the crook of his arm, Charity really had no choice in the matter. Oh she supposed she could have protested and James would have relented, but it seemed silly with her cousin by her side. What harm could a simple conversation cause? They were not, in fact, alone. No scandal could be had for she was upon James’ arm, and not the Earl’s.
Charity took advantage of the Earl’s distraction and observed him more closely as he looked off of the bridge and into the distance. His handsome face was dark and brooding; his brows drawn together in a frown. She wondered at how different his face looked when he was smiling, as if there were two versions of the person inside of him, the mocking rake and a more serious man.
James and Charity were nearly a stride from Lord Wentwell when he heard them and abruptly turned to face them.
“Poppy,” he said greeting James, but his eyes were on her.
“Hello, Wentwell. I believe you know my cousin, Lady Charity Abernathy.”
“We have been introduced,” Lord Wentwell confirmed acknowledging her with a nod.
Charity breathed a sigh of relief that he made no mention of their earlier encounter. Let James think they had made only bare introductions. Charity found her manners and curtseyed prettily, and the earl took her hand to kiss it and greetings were exchanged.
She felt the scrutiny of his eyes upon her like a physical touch. Even through the gloves she felt the heat of him. His was voice a deep rumbling baritone that went straight to her heart and pounded in her ears. She felt a strange churning sensation deep in her belly.
Why now was he so able to influence her? Was it because she had not taken charge from the start. Truly, Charity’s resolve was always stronger when she was fueled with purpose or anger. It was strange that only minutes ago, she had been determined to scold him. She had not felt this breathless abandon. In the moment she had none of that righteous anger, and perhaps the gentleman had the upper hand. That was it, she thought. It could not be that he made her breath or her heart race for reasons other than that she was without control of the situation. Certainly she could never care for the man, and she would not let him get the better of her.
She bowed her head and tried to make a show of social grace, but by then his attention was already back to James. She felt bereft, and a bit peevish at being so suddenly ignored. She snapped her fan open.
“James, old chap! It is so good to see you here today. I thought to find Lord Percival Beresford and ask him what the duce happened in London, but I haven’t seen the Beresford brothers. In fact, in all this crush, I have found no one I know. Can you believe it?”
“Now that is an untruth,” Charity replied without thinking. She fluttered her fan artfully, drawing Wentwell’s eye. No doubt he meant that he saw no other gentlemen, that he knew, but now that she had spoken, she had to continue with discrimination, or look the fool. “You know Miss Macrum, surely,” Charity said. She did not bring to mind their past conversation, but instead referenced the dance just past. “Just now, I saw you dancing with her.”
He turned those burning green eyes back on her and she fell silent, squirming under his gaze. His voice was rather tight, and she found the deep timbre unsettling now. “I do not believe I know Miss Macrum at all,” he said. “And even if I did, I fear she has grown rather…irksome.”
