But she was not, and she refused to think of such things on a night such as tonight. Eventually, after they had been waiting downstairs for almost half an hour, Marcella deigned to come down. Her hair had been curled to within an inch of its life and pinned back from her head in an elaborate style that seemed overdone compared to the relative simplicity of her dress.
“There you are,” Sebastian said in relief. “It is more than time we should be off. Come, Marcella.”
Marcella sent Charlotte a spiteful glance as she passed, no doubt content in the fact that her appearance was prettier, more studied, than Charlotte’s. Indeed, Charlotte had told the maid not to concern herself overly with her hair—she had meant it when she said the prevailing fashion was for dark curls, and it seemed somewhat foolish to spend too much time on her hair when the rest of her appearance failed to match.
“How exciting this is,” Marcella said when they were all closed in the carriage together. “Constance to be married, the Duke in search of a bride, and our family received an invitation to what, you may be sure, is one of the mostexclusiveevents of the Season.”
“I’m glad to see your mind has turned to serious subjects,” Sebastian said.
“Tch, Brother, as though I am to think of anything else when we are on our way to Hexham Manor for a ball.”
“Of course not,” Sebastian murmured, glancing at Charlotte and smiling. In Charlotte’s opinion, competing for a rake’s attention was both ridiculous and humiliating, but she kept her mouth shut; Marcella could make herself ridiculous for all she cared. She had a husband to find, and she would not do so by worrying about Marcella’s choices.
Hexham Manor was a large estate with a great many windows, blazing lights and a large garden that wound around the house. Charlotte had thus far had little reason to pass it, and now, in the darkness with the lines of carriages and the young ladies and gentlemen that ascended the steps to the front door like jewels, it seemed to her obscene in its extravagance.
Marcella, naturally, had entirely different feelings as she leaned against the windows and stared at the scene with a rapt expression. Finally, it was their turn to ascend the steps to the Manor, to be greeted by Lady Octavia Brighton, the Duke of Hexham’s aunt and her mother’s close friend, and they were inside.
Charlotte had expected opulence, but she had not expected the very walls to be gilded as evidence of the Duke’s supreme wealth. The floors were polished within an inch of their life; her shoes whispered across them. As for the ballroom, it was enormous. Chattering groups and couples scattered across its vast space with the quartet at one side and a table with refreshments across the other.
Charlotte had never seen such grandness. She would have hardly known how to respond, but Sebastian turned to her, took her hand, and said, “May I have this first, Charlotte?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said. She had some slight notion perhaps he ought to have asked Marcella to dance, but Marcella had already disappeared through the throngs at the sight of Constance, the Duke’s sister. No doubt hoping she could behold the Duke as well.
The music began, and Charlotte followed Sebastian to the dance floor. “You are looking well tonight,” he began. “I mean, considering our position.”
“You mean considering I am in the same gown as I was in for the soiree last week?” she asked dryly. “Thank you, Sebastian.”
“It is a source of great discontent that I cannot afford to provide for you better,” he said, and there was such sincerity in his voice that Charlotte looked away. “I wish—you have no idea how much I wish—that I had the money for new gowns.”
“Ah, but then I would not have the joy of making them up again,” she said lightly. “And would you deny me that?”
“You know I would deny you nothing.” This was getting into unsettling territory. She had never had him speak to her thus, and though she knew he had ideas of gallantry and what his family was owed, she needed to nip any tenderness in the bud.
“Then you would be foolish,” she said, keeping her voice light.
“Speaking of foolish, Marcella is deeply foolish.” He sighed. “I was glad to hear you are not thinking of throwing yourself at the Duke, Charlotte.”
“I don’t intend to throw myself at anyone,” she said, unreasonably annoyed. Sebastian was being kind, and his concern was valid—she too would have been concerned if she had been fluttering around the Duke vying for his attention as though she were a pigeon feeding on crumbs. Still, the tone in which he said it irked her—as though he hadanysay over who she was to marry.
Except he did, she reminded herself. Sebastian was her guardian after the unexpected death of her father, and he was trying. They were all trying.
“It’s been a difficult year,” she said, smoothing over the moment with a smile. “I hope to find a husband soon, but you may be certain of one thing, Sebastian—I do not intend for that husband to be the Duke of Hexham.” Almost without thinking, she glanced around for him. They’d never been formally introduced though Marcella had met him, of course, but Charlotte knew what he looked like. She would have been hard-pressed not to know what one of the most influential men of thetonlooked like, especially when he stood out from the crowd so very much with his piercing blue eyes, his height, and the broadness of his shoulders.
Charlotte wondered, suppressing a smile, whether Marcella would have been quite so interested if he were not so attractive.
The music came to an end in a flourishing chord. Charlotte curtsied and removed her hand from Sebastian’s. “Thank you for the dance,” she said as he opened his mouth to say something. “I must get a drink.” Without leaving him any chance to respond, she hurried away through the crowd until she found the table with the refreshments.
This place was worse than she had thought. Goodness, as though she had not enough on her mind, now she must counter the idea thatSebastianof all people was flirting with her. He was her cousin, and she had known him from birth. There could be noreasonfor him to flirt with her.
Perhaps she’d been imagining it. He was a gallant man, after all, as was evidenced by the kindness with which he had treated her and her mother when he’d come into the Earldom. She would forget about it, she decided, sipping on her punch. She’d allowed Marcella to wind her up, and look what had happened—she was reading far too much into the situation.
The heat of the ball was oppressive, however, and all the self-control in the world couldn’t have enticed her to remain in place when she saw Sebastian make his way toward her; he may not be interested, but that did not mean she had to countenance his compliments and well-meaning conversation at a time such as this. Leaving her glass of punch almost untouched, she slipped away along the back wall until she found a door out onto the balcony. Several guests enjoyed the relative privacy of the balcony, and Charlotte made her way past them, averting her eyes so she was not tempted to see who was stealing kisses and holding hands under the light of the moon.
As she’d predicted, Hexham Manor had exquisite gardens that, drenched in moonlight, looked almost as though ghostly fingers formed it. The cool night air was warm against her heated brow, and she tipped her face up to the sky. She could endure anything as long as she had quiet moments such as these, uncontested by the demands of Marcella, of public life, and of being obliged to mourn a father taken too early.
Here, she could just be, and as she merged with the shadows and lost herself to the obscurity of the garden, she found herself able to contemplate everything the evening had in store with equanimity if not enthusiasm. She would find a man willing to court her, one she was willing to marry, and all would be well.
Footsteps disturbed her reverie, and Charlotte’s heart leaped into her mouth. Worse than her mother discovering she had been in the garden was someone else discovering her there now. Her reputation, thus far untarnished, would be utterly ruined.
