Page 9 of A Lady’s Dangerous Secret (Scandalous Secrets #1)
Before any untoward thoughts could reenter her stream of consciousness, she stood and climbed out, grabbing a nearby towel. After she dried off, she rang for Bailey to help her dress and arrange her hair.
Charlotte was ready to start the day.
Charlotte beat her aunt to breakfast, which was no surprise.
Aunt Frances stayed abed late into the morning, and often took a repast in her room.
The skirt of Charlotte’s white, long-sleeved morning dress floated around her as she went to the sideboard and chose a few slices of ham and a fresh roll to butter.
“A chocolate,” she said to one of the servants standing nearby. He nodded and left to gather the beverage.
She situated herself at the table and prepared her roll. She waited for the butter to melt, then allowed the bread to soften in her mouth. Her chocolate was brought in, and she stared at the cup, butter knife still in hand, entranced by the swirling steam that emerged from the warm drink.
Swish, swish, swish.
“Well done!” came a sudden voice from the doorway.
Charlotte dropped her utensil in surprise, the metal clattering against the porcelain plate.
Her aunt swept into the morning room with her lace-trimmed white cap and morning dress adorned with a fichu to mask the low neckline.
Charlotte looked at her aunt suspiciously.
Aunt Frances never commended her. When Charlotte was fourteen years old, her recently widowed aunt arrived at High Crest Hall to spend her year of mourning and strategize her next marriage.
She was stunned to find that Charlotte was well-versed in gentlemanly subjects, courtesy of sitting in with Arthur and his tutor, yet incompetent in any of the feminine arts.
Since Charlotte was an extension of her aunt, and her aunt’s main purpose was to rise as high as possible in Society, she set her mind to molding Charlotte into a proper lady.
“Aunt Frances, you’ve never applauded anything I have ever done.”
Her aunt let out a huff. “Charlotte, that is ridiculous. Did you not go into the drawing room?”
“No, I was quite famished so I came to eat breakfast.” Charlotte gave her aunt a smile. “What’s in the drawing room?”
“Flowers from your admirers, of course! All thanks to my tutelage during your wayward youth.”
As much as she resented her aunt for forcing her to endure countless hours of unpleasant comportment lessons, she had to admit they were useful during this unexpected foray into the inanity that was London Society.
“I’m glad I’ve finally flourished. Until now, my life has been meaningless.
Thanks to a bouquet of flowers from a dandy I don’t know with pockets to let, I have truly succeeded. ” Charlotte grinned at her aunt.
Aunt Frances shook her head in dismay, but Charlotte thought she caught a hint of a smile. “You were a hopeless cause until I came to High Crest Hall. It is time to put on your brightest face for visiting hours. You have one purpose and one purpose alone: to snag a titled husband.”
Although for a vastly different reason, Charlotte could not argue her aunt’s point.
Aunt Frances sat at the head of the table and requested a tea, before she dove into the lineage, financial status, and reputation of each gentleman who had sent flowers.
Her aunt, the woman who rarely left her bed before noon, had gotten up early to catalog the sender of each bouquet of flowers.
Aunt Frances rambled on, all the while repetitively lifting her Wedgewood teacup from the table and bringing it almost to her lips before placing it back on the table, too excited to take a sip.
Charlotte wondered how long before her aunt became impatient for her to see the flowers.
She did not have to wait long.
“We must go to the drawing room. You’ve had enough. Come. Come.” Aunt Frances stood from the table with grace, her back perfectly straight.
Charlotte shoved the last few pieces of ham into her mouth, hoping her aunt was too agog to notice her poor manners. She rose and followed her to the drawing room. Charlotte stopped in the doorway.
It was an impressive sight.
Every furniture surface and even much of the floor was covered by various shapes and sizes of floral bouquets.
She did not think she had even danced with that many gentlemen.
She looked over at her aunt. Charlotte had never seen such a look of glee on her face.
Aunt Frances swept her hand melodramatically in a wide arc in front of her, to encompass the breadth of the room.
“Charlotte, this is all for you. You made quite a splash last night.”
“Was it me, or was it my dowry?”
“Does it matter?” her aunt said, moving from bouquet to bouquet. “You need a dowry to wed, and you need one of these bouquets to lead to a wedding.”
Charlotte was not ignorant of the fact the hefty dowry Grandpapa had bestowed upon her was unbelievably tempting to many debt-ridden lords.
She did not begrudge the gift though, since he included two specific clauses to protect her.
It was his way of looking out for her, even after he had passed.
He knew how common it was for the ton to squander their fortunes in the blink of an eye.
The first clause was that if she did not marry by the age of twenty-five, her dowry would be released to her.
The second was that if she did marry, Charlotte retained control of her money.
She hoped the ton remained in the dark regarding these stipulations because the second one would certainly deter many lords if they knew.
Luckily, Aunt Frances had spread the word of the impressive size of her dowry to entice suitors without a mention of anything further.
Charlotte would worry about details later.
She walked around the drawing room, weaving through the floral arrangements, looking at each of the cards with superficial notes that reminded her none of the suitors knew anything about her.
Your eyes are the color of a warm spring morning. Charlotte frowned. A warm spring morning could have any color in it.
You have the voice of an angel. She had a terrible singing voice and doubted her speaking voice could be equated to a heavenly sound.
Your hair is the color of sunshine. Her hair was chestnut brown, far from a solar-hued blonde.
As she went through each one, she became more and more disenchanted. Meanwhile, she heard the swish of her aunt’s skirts behind her as she double-checked each card with the notes she had already written on a sheet of foolscap.
By the time Charlotte had finally made her way around the room, which took a good deal of time, she noticed one very important suitor was missing: the Duke of Westcliffe.
Before Charlotte could ask Aunt Frances about the omission, she shooed her out of the room to prepare herself for visiting hours in order to have “the most important afternoon of her life.”
James waited a while in Hyde Park, not wanting Lady Charlotte to think he was following her.
Once enough time had passed, he led his horse along the cobblestone streets that led to Gabe’s town house.
He left the gelding in the mews, then made his way to the back of the home.
The servants were already stirring, and he could smell the scent of bread wafting from the kitchens.
Once inside, he made his way up the stairs toward his room to bathe and get ready for the day.
On the second floor, he paused and noted the grim faces of Lockhart ancestors staring down at him from the wall of paintings as if disgusted that a commoner like him tainted their sacred halls.
He noticed that Lady Carrington’s bedroom door was still closed, and the door to Gabe’s chamber was ajar.
His friend must have spent the night at the London town house he kept for his mistress, which was a common occurrence.
James climbed to the next level and found his room, which was adjacent to Lady Bridget’s, due to the lack of other suitable guest rooms.
Gabe had told James he knew he was honorable and would not dare seduce his younger sister, in a politely menacing way only an older brother could convey.
James had reassured Gabe he felt more like a second, overprotective brother to Lady Bridget.
He tried to repay Gabe’s generosity by giving Lady Carrington and Lady Bridget a sense of safety at night with his presence, while Gabe slept elsewhere with his paramour.
James entered his room, which was simply though tastefully decorated in varying shades of blue with rosewood furniture. He took several long strides across the room to snatch up a letter that had been placed on his desk.
James broke the unmarked seal and scanned the contents.
Meet me at two o’clock.
Although it was an anonymous note, James knew it was from the Bow Street Runner Gabe had arranged, Malcolm Morris.
He performed his morning ablutions, all the while running through every possible outcome of the impending meeting.
He then went down to the morning room and requested a coffee from an awaiting servant, before wandering over to the sideboard, distracted by his thoughts.
He placed kippers, eggs, and a roll on his plate, and seated himself at the table.
His breakfast was interrupted by the entrance of Lady Carrington, who floated across the morning room, and Lady Bridget, who walked behind her mother with her eyes lowered in a demure fashion.
After the women had ordered their tea, James exchanged pleasantries with them until Lady Carrington dove into talking about the prior night’s ball.
She looked at James with concern. “You left early, Captain Hughes.”
“I’m afraid I have been at sea for too long and am not used to London balls. It was a crush, and I needed some space.”
“That’s understandable. How long have you been away from the Royal Navy?” She delicately placed her teacup on its saucer and gave James her full attention.