Page 15 of Not his Marchioness (Daughters of the Ton #2)

Tick-tock went the grandfather clock. The relentless sound seemed to mock her as she stirred yet another lump of sugar into her tea.

It was already past five o’clock, and Rhys still had not appeared. He had promised—sworn on his honor—that he would be present to greet their guests. The very first callers to their home. And yet he was nowhere to be found.

It seems I have wed the very king of broken promises.

First, he had lied about his whereabouts on their wedding night. Not that she had wanted him anywhere near her chambers. But it was the principle of the matter.

He had claimed he was retiring to bed, only to slip away to some gaming hall instead. And then, as if playing the lead in some ridiculous farce, he had acted entirely innocent when confronted with her displeasure. And now this latest transgression.

He had given his word.

Some of London’s most distinguished ladies were sitting around the drawing room table, sipping delicately from fine porcelain teacups and sampling the daintiest cakes Cook had baked.

Everything had proceeded beautifully thus far.

Charlotte had impressed them all with her composure, toured them through every room, speaking as though she knew each corner intimately, despite still getting lost on the way to the dining room most evenings.

She had charmed them completely. She had instructed one of the more accomplished maids to play the pianoforte, and she had ensured the conversation never flagged.

The only thing that was missing was her husband. And the ladies were beginning to take notice.

Lady Woodhaven kept casting pointed glances at the grandfather clock, suggesting to Charlotte that the gathering might soon dissolve into polite farewells. Lady Sherwood appeared equally restless, and Lady Rosslyn was no less observant.

Only thanks to her dear cousin, Lady Margot Clark, daughter of the Earl of Harcourt—who had joined their little party—did the ladies remain seated.

“Charlotte,” Margot said.

Charlotte glanced up, and it was evident this was not her cousin’s first attempt to draw her attention. Three pairs of eyes studied her with the intensity reserved for rare curiosities.

“Forgive me, I was quite lost in thought,” she offered, forcing cheer into her voice. “Planning our first dinner party,” she added, though no such event had been arranged.

Unless one counted the solitary meals she took in her chambers, attended only by herself and a persistent sparrow who knocked on the windowpane, as a dinner party. In that case, she hosted nightly entertainments.

“Quite understandable,” Lady Sherwood remarked. “When I was a newlywed, there was such a whirlwind of planning—teas and balls and soirées. Everyone wished to see Sherwood House. Naturally, one could hardly blame them.”

“Indeed,” Lady Woodhaven interjected. “Most impressive establishment.”

“What dear Lady Sherwood means,” Lady Rosslyn explained, “is that you must host a proper dinner party. Given your interest in education and enlightening the masses, you ought to invite Lady Hazeltine, Lady Clark, Lady Marlborough—”

“Along with Lady Rowen and Lady Layton, naturally,” Lady Sherwood added.

“They are quite the reformers. Due to our positions, we cannot involve ourselves directly in such pursuits, but they certainly may. Just make sure that Lady Clark does not bring Byron along,” she warned with a shudder. “You would not wish for scandal.”

Lady Rosslyn pressed a hand to her pearls. “Absolutely not. Keep that man well away from any of your endeavors. The venture would be ruined before it began—and your reputation along with it. Particularly when you have only just recovered from…”

Charlotte noted that Lady Woodhaven said nothing about Byron, though a smirk crossed her lips. Odd for the formidable lady to react in such a way.

“Quite so,” Charlotte said with a brittle smile. “I understand perfectly. A dinner party it shall be, then. I trust you will attend?”

The three exchanged meaningful looks before Lady Woodhaven responded, “Well, you see, our expertise lies in… other areas. We generally prefer not to associate with the more… progressive ladies. But since your interests align with theirs, I am certain it will be a wonderful dinner.”

“Ah.”

Charlotte recognized the dismissal in their expressions, though she belonged among the less respectable wives of lesser peers.

She was quite out of her depth here. Yet their attitude also suggested something else. Rhys’s failure to make even a brief appearance clearly indicated that this marriage might not be as solid as they wished Society to believe.

“Well,” Margot interjected, “that is sound counsel, indeed. My cousin has always championed the betterment of society as a whole, not merely its upper echelons. Isn’t that so, Charlotte?”

Charlotte wanted to lean across the table and hug her cousin. Always her stalwart ally.

Clever and outspoken, much like Evelyn, Margot had been Charlotte’s childhood idol. When her mother, the daughter of an Italian count, had whisked her to the Continent years ago, Charlotte had been quite bereft. Now, Margot had returned, and clearly remained as devoted as ever.

“Precisely,” Charlotte declared with renewed confidence.

“I believe it essential that every woman and child in England—regardless of their station—should know their letters. It is fundamental to improving one’s circumstances.

Indeed, I cannot imagine existence without my books and stories. They expand the mind so wonderfully.”

“But do the lower echelons truly require such… enlightenment?” Lady Sherwood asked sharply. “One would not wish to give them fantastical notions.”

“Well, it could hardly hurt for them to read a cookbook,” Lady Rosslyn said with a laugh.

Margot caught Charlotte’s eye, one eyebrow raised.

Charlotte could read her cousin’s face; Margot was wondering why she had invited these women. Charlotte should have known they would prove useless to her cause. Though in truth, her plan to establish a school for the underprivileged had only occurred to her after arranging this tea.

The primary purpose had been to present herself and Rhys as a devoted couple. The notion of enlisting these ladies for her educational venture—as Evelyn had done with her women’s society—had been poorly considered. She should have researched their actual interests and beliefs beforehand.

Of course, her idea for the school had only recently developed. She’d wanted to do something worthy with her time and energy, and she’d always loved to read. Therefore, it made sense to wish to expose others to such joys.

Still, she should have started her efforts the other way around—research the ladies, then invite those who could help her.

Clearly, her ideals and theirs were entirely incompatible. And now, because of Rhys’s absence, she was failing on both counts. These women would neither support her school nor spread word of the Ravenscars’ supposed marital bliss.

“Perhaps,” Lady Sherwood said, rising slightly, “the hour grows late. I believe I should—”

Just then, the front door opened with considerable force, and heavy footsteps announced Rhys’s arrival. Charlotte’s eyebrows knitted together, and she pressed her lips together, barely containing her anger.

However, when Rhys rounded the corner, her jaw slackened, all her anger forgotten.

There he stood, impeccably dressed for once.

Gone were the garish gold buttons and purple waistcoat.

Instead, he wore elegant beige trousers, a matching brown waistcoat, and a jacket.

A bespoke walking stick hung from his elbow, and his gold fob watch was displayed with just the right degree of casual elegance.

In his arms, he carried fresh flowers and an ornate little box.

“Ladies,” he greeted with a perfect bow.

“I must throw myself on your mercy. I was delayed,” he explained smoothly.

“The traffic was simply wretched. A milkmaid took a tumble in the street and toppled her entire load. Then, a gentleman on horseback tripped on the scattered pails and… well, you may imagine the chaos that ensued. I do hope you will forgive my tardiness.”

Did he mean any of this, or was it another of his colorful tales?

Before Charlotte could make up her mind or respond, he handed her the flowers. “I know roses are your favorite, my dear, but in this weather, these are the best I could get.”

She accepted the bouquet, a lovely arrangement of late autumn blooms—heather, hellebores, and chrysanthemums. She was at a loss for words, whilst Margot beamed knowingly.

Rhys turned with practiced charm toward the three ladies, who watched him with obvious fascination.

“Good heavens, what a dreadful host I am. Lady Woodhaven, Lady Sherwood, Lady Rosslyn, please accept my sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting. I have brought marzipan from Michelena. I am told the Prince Regent himself orders them weekly.”

“My word, Ravenscar!” Lady Sherwood gushed, reaching eagerly for the box. “How perfectly divine.”

“Such a pity you ladies were just preparing to depart,” Margot chimed in sweetly. “Otherwise, you might have—”

“Oh, but they need not leave just yet,” Charlotte cut in, recovering her composure. “Perhaps another cup of tea? We could sample these lovely sweets whilst you continue advising me. I would be most grateful for your wisdom.”

“Certainly, Lady Ravenscar.” Lady Woodhaven nodded. “Though I am curious to know your thoughts on your wife’s charitable aspirations, My Lord.” She fixed Rhys with an expectant look.

Charlotte’s stomach dropped. Rhys had no knowledge of her plans for a school.

They had shared precious little information about anything, really.

Their daily exchanges consisted of “Good morning,” “Good day,” and “Good evening,” with an occasional comment about their plans for the day or the weather. He had no idea what her plans were.

This would be a complete disaster—just when his charming entrance had seemed to salvage the situation.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “given my sister-in-law’s admirable work with the less fortunate, I am hardly surprised that my wife would wish to follow such an excellent example.

I believe charitable endeavors to be among the worthiest pursuits available to gently bred ladies.

My own mother was quite devoted to such causes. ”

Charlotte stared up at him in amazement.

Their gazes met, and she caught a distinctly mischievous glint in his eyes. Then, to her utter shock, he placed his ungloved hand on her bare shoulder.

The contact sent an unexpected jolt through her entire body. She fought to remain perfectly still.

“I do believe my mother would have been delighted to welcome a daughter-in-law who shared her charitable inclinations,” he added.

Charlotte had never known Rhys to be so… affecting. Despite the November chill, she was sweating as though it were the middle of July. The heat rising to her cheeks threatened to compromise her crushed pearl powder and reveal whatever strange sensation was overtaking her.

Fortunately, their guests seemed entirely oblivious.

“How touching,” Margot murmured approvingly.

“Indeed,” Lady Rosslyn agreed, settling back with visible relief.

“Well then,” Lady Sherwood declared, “I believe I would very much like another cup of tea and perhaps one of those delectable sweets.”

“Splendid,” Charlotte managed, signaling for fresh tea whilst attempting to collect herself.

“Ladies,” Rhys said with another elegant bow, “it has been a great pleasure, but I shall not impose further on your gathering.”

He moved toward the door, only to be called back.

“Lord Ravenscar,” Lady Sherwood said, “I have not yet had the opportunity to invite your charming wife, but I am hosting a ball this Saturday. I do hope you both would attend.”

“But of course,” Charlotte replied, then caught herself.

Rhys’s lips curled into an amused smile. “As my wife has said, we would be delighted.”

With that, he departed, leaving Charlotte alone with her guests in an atmosphere thick with unspoken speculation.

An hour later, after the distinguished ladies had finally taken their leave, Charlotte found herself absently picking cake crumbs from the silk tablecloth. Only Margot remained.

“Well,” Margot said with obvious delight, “that was quite the performance from your husband. I thought you said you barely spoke to one another.”

“We do not. We exchange perhaps as many words as the Prince Regent and his wife. Which is to say, virtually none.”

“Then how did he know about your plans for a school?”

“I suspect he did not. He must have caught snippets of our conversation and improvised the rest.”

“Well then,” Margot said with a knowing smile, “perhaps he is not quite so indifferent as you assume.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” Charlotte replied, though she could not deny feeling rather overwhelmed by Rhys’s sudden appearance and smooth manner.

“Do not forget his reputation with the ladies. Tonight’s performance was just a demonstration of that easy charm that has led many into his bedchamber. ”

“Ah, perhaps. And what of you? Has it led you astray yet?” Margot asked with a chuckle.

“Stop it,” Charlotte huffed. “It never will.”

“Are you quite certain?” Margot asked. “Because observing you both just now, I detected a certain… je ne sais quoi between you.”

“I have no idea what you mean. I do not speak French.”

“There is something I cannot quite name, but it is there nonetheless. Something beyond mere complicity. Something that positively smolders.”

Charlotte’s eyes flashed with mock outrage. “The only thing that will be smoldering are your feet when I push you out of this house if you do not stop.”

“Please, Charlotte.” Margot laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “I shall say no more on the subject. I have no desire to be ejected and become the talk of London. Heaven knows what kind of gentleman I might be forced to marry to fix such damage to my reputation.”

Charlotte shook her head. Her cousin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

She plucked a lump of sugar from the bowl, examined it thoughtfully, then placed it on her tongue.

“There is one thing I ask of you,” Margot added.

“Anything, if it will end this ridiculous conversation.”

“When all that smoldering finally bursts into flame, do let me know. I am quite eager to witness the outcome.”

Charlotte lobbed a napkin at her cousin, who caught it with a laugh. She found herself laughing as well, yet in the back of her mind, she could not help wondering.

Might there be truth in Margot’s observations? And if not, why did the spot where Rhys had touched her still tingle?