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“No,” Charity admonished.
“Is he not the cur who has broken your heart?”
“No,” she began again, trying to calm her father’s ire. “He means nothing to me.”
“But that is he? Is it not?”
“The same,” she nodded. “There, with the linen jacket and the fair redhead upon his arm.” She could not keep the disapproval from leeching into her voice. If she could shake the man, she would.
“He is not quite so menacing as you had described,” her father observed. “I had quite expected him to boast pointed teeth and the ability to lure a lady to her grave with a wink of an eye.”
“He is just so,” Charity murmured. “Only, his dangers are hidden beneath a slippery façade. Lord Wentwell should trick you just as well as shake your hand.”
“Wentwell, you say?” Her father frowned, a puzzled look coming across his face. “I know him. He is not a bad sort of fellow,” Father said. “He has a shrewd eye, despite how far that eye might wander.”
“Why would you say that, Father? He is loathsome.”
Of course her father would say such things about someone Charity abhorred. Perhaps in his mind’s eye Lord Shalace had created some goodness in Lord Wentwell’s character. That was it, she determined. Her father had imagined more to the man than she had provided. He had, of course, had many hours to think on it when left to his own devices. Father easily made up untruths in his weak mind.
“There is nothing more,” Charity said with relish. “He enjoys the pursuit of women. Once he has achieved his ends, she is cast aside so that he might find his pleasure elsewhere. Ruined or no, he could care naught.”
“I could not blame the man for that,” Father said.
“Father!” Charity admonished.
He began to launch into a tale and Charity blushed. “Father,” she chided. “That is not proper discourse for a lady, especially not your own daughter.”
He frowned but grew quiet, allowing a piece of cucumber to roll down his cravat.
Charity unobtrusively picked the offending food from her father’s person and she changed the topic for the object of their discussion had wandered too near to risk gossip, and she did not want her father to be agitated. “Are you getting tired, Father? Shall we go home?”
“No. I want to listen to the music,” he told her. As the musicians struck up a new song, Father told her about a concert that he had attended years ago. She listened with half an ear, glad that he was happy and enjoying the music. They settled themselves comfortably and listened as the musicians struck their chords and eventually her father nodded. His eyes had begun to drop closed, and he seemed less interested in the conversation or the music.
~.~
Chapter Sixteen
Charity was pleased for the chance to extricate herself from his interview, but she was glad that his spirits might rebound. She turned her attention to the music, which she had heretofore little time to enjoy. She was occupied with seeing her father comfortable.
Now, she looked around at the crowd. Charity realized that Lord Wentwell and his party sat not far from them. Drat! What ill luck that he would be so close, she thought. She fanned herself, both to dispel the heat and to allow herself the opportunity to chance a covert glance at the Earl from beneath the cover of her fan. Five ladies and two gentlemen sat alongside him. Each of the ladies, save one, had her face turned up towards the Earl. Charity watched his lips move as he spoke, his smile flashing bright teeth and his laughter rolling over the area. The ladies laughed too. Charity huffed from behind her fan. Her eyes were narrowed and if any could see beyond the screen they would have witnessed and unladylike scowl upon her face. She should not be bothered, she reminded herself.
She turned back to notice her father had awakened from his short nap, and was searching the pockets of his waistcoat.
“What is it, Father?” she asked.
“I have lost my vial,” he said.
“What vial?”
“My vial,” he said angrily. “My vial! I need it.”
Charity was uncertain what it was her father wanted and then it dawned on her. “You mean your water? From the Pump Room?” she asked
“Yes. Yes. I should like a dip.”
“You mean a sip,” she corrected.
“I know what I mean, woman,” he said in a loud voice. She hushed him, but he grew angry with her.
