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“Youarea child,” Charlotte said around a yawn before burrowing back into her bedclothes. “I did not fall into this blessed bed until well after three this morning and it is hardly unreasonable to expect that I might recover my rest now.”
“Oh, do not,” Alice persisted. “It will not work anyhow. I shall fling open every curtain and sing and dance on your bed until you give in and tell me everything.”
“Or until I murder you, little wretch.” Charlotte tossed a pillow in the general direction of her sister, missing by a wide margin. “The ball was lovely. Helen and I both danced very nearly every minute of it. My slippers are utterly ruined and my feet seem to be in very nearly the same condition.”
“And?”
“And what? Surely you do not require a recitation of the menu or the order of the dances?”
“Jane told us at breakfast that you seemed to make averyhandsome new acquaintance,” Alice cajoled.
“Jane was awake in time for breakfast? I do declare, the woman is scarcely human. She cannot have gotten to bed any earlier than I did.”
“Charrrlotte,” her sister whined impatiently, drawing out her name.
“I made a great deal of new acquaintances last night,” Charlotte replied, finally rising and reluctantly flinging off her quilt. “Many of them were quite handsome. What of it?”
“Yes, but you only danced with one gentlemantwice,andsat and talked with him for nearly half an hour. And only one of them sent you flowers this morning,” Alice said slyly.
“Really?” Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat. “He sent flowers?” She suppressed the urge to throw on her wrapper and run downstairs to see for herself. Her aching feet and tired eyes were forgotten in an instant, as she recalled the pleasure of dancing and speaking with Sir John Ashbrooke the night before.
The more time they had spent in one another’s company, the more surprised she had been by how much common ground they shared. Both loved to ride to the hunt, and neither could decide whether they liked the country or the city best. They had enjoyed listing numerous assets to both. Conversation turned to family and Charlotte spoke of her sisters and brother. Ashbrooke told only of his widowed mother, but the tenderness in his eyes spoke volumes to Charlotte. A man who cared for his mother, Ruddy had said, would also be a man who cared for his wife. A man who was careless of his female relations would likely be the same with his wife.
Sir John had seemed too bold or too insincere at first. She had not been able to decide which, but she felt as if she were being fed a common line. Still as the night had worn on, she had begun to believe him. Perhaps it was merely the awkwardness of a newly begun acquaintance. It was often difficult to begin. If Sir John had indeed sent flowers, that seemed to be a confirmation that his claim was heartfelt. At least it was a sign that he had a more serious intent than a single night’s diversion. Perhaps he had spoken truly. Charlotte forgot all about Alice for a moment, lost in the romance of a man seeing her across a crowded room and feeling such a powerful connection in that moment.
“No, not really,” Alice said, nudging her from her daydream.
“Not really what?” Charlotte asked. She had completely lost touch with the conversation.
“He did not send flowers. At least I do not know if he did.”
“Oh,” Charlotte breathed. She felt crestfallen and foolish and then the feeling turned to anger. “Well then, why ever would you say that he had?”
“I mean, he wasn’t the only gentleman to send you flowers this morning, but one offering is by far the largest and the most beautiful. So much so that the others positively pale in comparison. Really, I do not think they ought to count, and Helen confirmed that the biggest bouquet was from the gentleman you seemed to prefer…”
“Sir John Ashbrooke?” Charlotte interrupted excitedly.
“Yes,” Alice confirmed.
Charlotte could hardly keep a smile from spreading across her sleepy features. A tingle went through her body. “To be perfectly honest, I cannot even imagine which gentlemen the other flowers might be from,” she admitted.
“There, I knew it,” crowed Alice triumphantly.
“Knew what?”
“That you met someone inparticular. Oh Charlotte, it is so terribly romantic that you managed to do so at your very first ball of the Season.”
“I suppose it is,” Charlotte murmured, still smiling dreamily. “Go on, Alice, let me get dressed and have some tea and then maybe I shall be able to tell you everything your silly little heart longs to know over luncheon since it is almost noon. Now that you have managed to rouse me, I do believe I am nearly starved to death.”
Alice gave her older sister a suspicious look for a moment, thinking that she might be planning on falling back to sleep if left to her own devices. Alice searched Charlotte’s expression until she was satisfied that her sister was well and truly awake. Nothing, Alice knew, could deter Charlotte once she decided upon a course of action.
“I shall have Milly bring you some tea, then,” Alice promised, hurrying for the door.
“You will beg her to hurry, if you have any love for me at all,” Charlotte called out towards her sister’s retreating back.
Left momentarily alone, Charlotte lay back on her pillows with an uplifted expression. To think that only the day before she had worried that she might never feel affection for someone again. Dancing with Sir John Ashbrooke seemed to have cleared away every cobweb of doubt and uncertainty that Lord Marley had left behind.
It was hard to imagine that Sir John was interested only in her fortune since he was a perfect stranger to her, especially when he had been so brooding and morose for the first half of the ball before he had worked up the courage to make an introduction, and then he was so charming in her company.
