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Neville laughed aloud.
After a moment Reginald realized they had been speaking of Michael Poppy, and he laughed with his friend at the unintentional joke, which soon degenerated into further jokes about Michael Poppy’s anatomy.
I shall only hope the lady looks upon my suit withcharity,” Neville said wiping tears of mirth from his face.
“I hope that you will soon be able to tell me that all your conversations with the ladywent well,” Reginald quipped.
“I shall truly hope that she will favor me,” Wentwell said, sobering a bit, “despite my reputation.
“Wentwell, I am sure she will have you. Just go and speak to the lady. If she loves you, she will have you bedraggled or no, and at least you have your shoes.”
“That I do,” Wentwell agreed.
~.~
Later the next afternoon, Patience arrived for a visit with Charity. The ladies were to ready themselves for afternoon tea at Aunt Ebba’s home.
“It will be just like old times,” Patience promised. “You and me and Amelia…”
“And, of course, your gentlemen,” Charity added. Patience promised that Reginald would pick them up at the Shalace townhouse and escort them to the party. Charity thought it nice that her friend had thought of her and offered to include her in their party, that she might not be forced to arrive alone, or worse, with her mother. Instead, her mother was off to play cards with Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Sullivan.
“Charity! We are going to be late to tea,” Patience complained. “You know how Amelia is when we show up late. She will be in a temper all evening.”
Charity huffed. “She will just have to be in a temper then,” Charity said. “I am not yet ready.”
“Will you be ready directly?” Patience asked as she hovered over Charity’s shoulder.
“No. I’m afraid not.” She had taken too much of the day moping, but her father’s words had upset her, and she wanted to wear one of the new hand painted combs. Jean was engaged to redo Charity’s hair. For that reason, her hair was still straight and loose down her back. There was no hurrying the hot iron and with the heat of the day, her curls were stubbornly insisting to go straight. Charity called over her shoulder, in a very unladylike way. “Go ahead without me, Patience. I will have Jean accompany me. It is not far, and I like the walking in the sun.” She supposed she did it just to spite her mother, but it was also kind for Jean. Charity knew that Jean was friends with some of Aunt Ebba’s servants and always appreciated the time to visit.
“If you are sure. Please do not be too late,” Patience said, taking her leave of her friend and hurrying to the stairs. She paused and a light appeared in her eye. “I know! Why don’t I have Reginald come back for you,” Patience said clapping her hands together with the thought.
“An excellent idea,” Charity said, even though she would have rather walked.
Patience went downstairs to where Reginald was waiting to escort her and Charity to Aunt Ebba’s home, and left with him requesting that he come back for Charity.
Charity stood up from Jean’s ministrations and took in her appearance. The leaves painted on the comb went wonderfully with her new dress. It was the palest blue in color. The sleeves were capped just over the curve of her shoulder and were made of the same gauzy overlay that stretched from the high waist down to the floor. She adored the dress, it was the height of fashion, and even Lavinia would approve. She pulled on the matching silk Spenser jacket which had a high neckline embroidered with tiny purple flowers, added some wristlet gloves, grabbed the matching parasol, and moved to the stairs.
She paused at the top of the stairs when she noted that their butler was talking to someone standing in the doorway. Assuming it was Reginald, she moved quickly down the stairs, speaking as she descended, with Jean at her heels.
“It is alright, Peters. Please show him in. Lady Beresford said that she would send him back. No doubt my mother just did not want me walking. Isn’t that right..?” She gasped suddenly as the figure stepped into the foyer more fully and Peters closed the door behind him. It was The Earl of Wentwell! Charity had to consciously close her mouth, because she was sure it gaped open.
He bowed low to her and smiled as he stood up. She had not laid eyes upon him in several days, certainly not since before her refusal of Michael. His looks had improved in that time, if that were at all possible. His bearing seemed more straight, his confidence and charm a new level that she had yet to witness. It was as if he were prepared to charm a duchess and yet, here he stood in her foyer.
“Indeed. It is unbecoming for a young woman to go strolling about without a proper escort. I am happy to oblige.”
“Lord Wentwell… I… We…” Charity remembered her manners and she returned the bow with a slight curtsey of her own, the color flooding her neck and cheeks, unbidden her hand reached out to his and Lord Wentwell kissed her gloved hand in greeting.
He stepped aside and offered his arm. “I would be delighted to escort you.”
Charity hesitated another moment. He was being very proper, considering their last meeting. Had she not said to Amelia that she wished to apologize to the man? And she did wish it so, but how to get to the topic.
Something inside of her thrilled at his arrival. He was here. He had not answered her letter, but he was here now. She was all jitters at the thought that he had come to see her, searched her out, and made the call. She could not really refuse him especially after just allowing Peters to invite him in... And she should not walk alone.
She never got the chance to speak to the man after the disastrous afternoon with her father and the subsequent tongue lashing by her mother. Now she felt particularly tongue-tied, but she pressed on. The apology must be made.
She looked at Jean who stood ready to walk with her. There was a coy grin on the maid’s face. Charity did not wish to consider that perhaps Jean knew Charity’s heart better than she knew herself. “Jean, I…”she began, but she did not need to say more. Jean grinned at her. “Enjoy your outing, my lady,” she said with a slight curtsey and a twinkle in her eye.
Lady Charity’s heart was beating a fast tattoo. What should she say to him? Should she bring up the fact that he had not responded to her letter, or should she apologize again now that she was in person before him? Her mind was all a whirl. She found her fingers clutching her fan, and consciously loosened them before she broke another of the fragile objects.
