Page 32 of Not his Marchioness (Daughters of the Ton #2)

Rhys wasn’t coming. He just wasn’t coming.

Charlotte sat at the breakfast table, the porridge still before her, long grown cold and congealed.

Her husband wasn’t going to come. Was he hiding from her? Had he locked himself in his bedchamber?

Surely not.

He was a fool, not a coward. Or so she had thought.

“Has His Lordship taken breakfast yet?” she asked one of the footmen who had come in to clear away her plate.

“He has not. He departed early to attend a meeting with his solicitor,” he informed her.

His solicitor? Rhys had mentioned nothing of that to her. Then again, he didn’t offer any explanations, did he?

Still, why hadn’t he said anything? Surely, after something as momentous as what had happened the previous night, he would have sought her out. He would have come to speak to her.

But no. He had gone out as though nothing had happened.

Charlotte took a deep breath, unsure how to feel, when the footman returned.

“He left this for you,” he said, and handed her a folded piece of parchment.

She opened it, her heart fluttering unpleasantly. Her husband’s handwriting had a flourish, personality. Just as he did.

She read:

I do beg your pardon for having to go out early. I must meet my solicitor. I am expecting news of my business associate’s decision regarding continuing our partnership. Today, we shall find out whether our charade has worked or not.

I shall see you tonight at the ball. I will not be able to return before the ball, I am afraid. I have other commitments after my meeting with the solicitor. I must meet Windsor again, but I shall see you there.

He had signed it simply with the letter R.

Tonight.

She sat up. What was tonight? She racked her brain, but nothing came to her.

Unsure what he meant, she rang the bell for her lady’s maid.

The young woman appeared almost at once, as though she had been waiting just outside the door. “Yes, My Lady?” she asked.

“Do I have an engagement tonight?” Charlotte asked, feeling foolish for asking her maid.

“You do. The ball at Lord and Lady Woodhaven’s.”

“Perdition!” she exclaimed.

She clapped her hand over her mouth, knowing it wasn’t polite to use such language in front of the servants.

“I forgot,” she said quickly. “Can you help me get ready? I know it’s not for hours yet, but I must find a gown and shoes, and I must look my best.”

How could she have forgotten? Lady Woodhaven had told her about the ball the last time they had spoken about the school. She was hosting it in honor of her and her husband’s wedding anniversary, and all of her friends would be there—all the ladies she had enlisted in helping with the school.

She was meant to make a big impression that evening. She had even told Rhys about it. Clearly, he had remembered.

What did it say about them that he had remembered such a momentous day for her when she had forgotten?

That kiss. That kiss had pushed all rational thought out of her mind. She knew it now. But he had remembered.

Perhaps he wasn’t going to withdraw as she had initially thought. Maybe something had truly changed between them. Maybe he was finally ready to allow her to see the real him—to be with him truly, not just for show.

She knew she was putting herself in dangerous territory with such thoughts, but she couldn’t help herself. The note in her hand seemed to tell her something beyond what the words were supposed to convey.

Something had shifted between them. And tonight—she was going to see him tonight. She would speak to him at the ball, while they were dancing together—if they could dance.

They were married now. It was usually unseemly for married couples to be seen dancing together. They had done it at Lady Swanson’s ball, but Lady Swanson was unconventional, and nobody expected anything less.

But the Woodhavens? They were very conservative, or at least Lord Woodhaven was. Lady Woodhaven, not so much.

In any case, even if they couldn’t dance, they could always sneak away to an alcove and converse. Charlotte would speak to him then. Everything she had wanted to say this morning at breakfast would be presented to him this evening.

And now, after this letter, she felt much better about the prospect of speaking to him. Perhaps it would go well.

That evening, she arrived at the Woodhavens’ grand London townhouse. She had not been there before; the previously scheduled visit had been canceled because of the storm.

If she had thought Ravenscar House was large, then Woodhaven House put it to shame. In fact, it would cast a shadow over the entire property if they stood next to one another.

Woodhaven House consisted of four different houses, the walls between them taken down to create one mansion that took up half a block. It was five stories tall, with not a single window bricked in—a true sign of wealth.

“Lady Ravenscar!” Lady Woodhaven greeted when she saw her enter.

The woman fixed her with a genuine smile. She wore a Pomona-green gown, with a large feather headpiece that bounced as she walked.

“Lady Woodhaven,” Charlotte said. “I do thank you for inviting me. Is my husband here?”

Lady Woodhaven shook her head. “Not yet. He saw my husband at Parliament this afternoon and said he might be late. I believe he has business with the Duke of Windsor. The Duke is somewhat of a conversationalist, so you must forgive your husband if he is delayed. But you look splendid.”

Charlotte felt her cheeks color a little at the compliment, even though it came from another lady. She had chosen an evening Primrose-colored gown, her hair piled in a half-up, half-down coiffure. Her shoulders were slightly exposed, because she knew that was what Rhys liked.

She wore a pearl necklace and bracelet, and had done up her face with greater care than usual—even wearing a new lip rouge.

She wanted to look good. Not just for Lady Woodhaven and her companions, but mostly for Rhys.

She wanted him to know that she wanted to look her very best when she confessed that she loved him.

When she demanded that he let her in and that he finally tell her what it was he thought he couldn’t do.

“Shall I introduce you to the other ladies?” Lady Woodhaven suggested.

“I have already taken Lady Rosslyn and Lady Sherwood to see the school. Lady Sherwood was a little out of sorts because of the previous tenants, while Lady Rosslyn was upset about the location. I told them both that they needed to stop fussing. A building is a building. Besides, we are not only going to be teaching Church of England students. We will be teaching everybody—everybody who needs to learn at your school.”

Charlotte stared at the woman, utterly shocked. “I did not know that you were so…”

Lady Woodhaven smiled and lowered her voice.

“Revolutionary? Hardly. I simply believe that if we expect people to help themselves, then we ought to help them achieve that. I do know that during our first meeting, I was rather reserved. But that is what is expected of me—by my husband, by Society. We must play our role, Lady Ravenscar. But you already know that. We may wish to present ourselves in scarlet gowns and shout from the rooftops all that ails us, but that only gets us so far.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened at the reference to her earlier performance.

“Now, let me introduce you to Lady Chamberlain. Her husband is also a marquess, and she is very interested.”

She followed Lady Woodhaven and met not only Lady Chamberlain, but also several other ladies.

By the time she parted ways with her hostess, who had to return to her duties, Charlotte was utterly spent.

She stepped to the window with a glass of wine in hand and took a sip.

The wine was sweet, tasting almost more like juice than anything else.

She finished it and quickly reached for another, feeling her head spin a little.

She understood she had drunk too quickly.

She didn’t usually attend balls alone. Before she got married, it was unimaginable for a young lady to attend alone.

Her aunt was always with her, or her sisters, and even Evelyn accompanied her sometimes after she got married.

More recently, Charlotte had been with Rhys, but now she was alone. How odd it felt.

There was something about it. A certain independence, freedom, and yet she wished someone were with her. Someone with whom she could have intimate conversations, someone who knew her well.

No. Not someone.

She wished Rhys were with her.

She sighed deeply. She had just finished her second glass when heavy footfalls sounded to her left.

“And so we meet again,” a voice drawled.

She turned and instantly took several steps back when she recognized its owner.

“Lord Emery,” she sputtered.

“Lady Ravenscar.” He spoke her title in a tone that made it quite clear he was mocking her more than anything else. “And where is your illustrious husband? Nowhere to be seen, it seems.”

“He will be here,” she said. “He has simply been delayed by business. He is an extremely busy man.”

“I’ll say.” Lord Emery smirked. “I’m well familiar with his business in St. Giles. I dare say that we share a few business associates.” His tone was mocking still.

“I will have you know that my husband is meeting with the Duke of Windsor.”

“The Duke of Windsor? That is curious, for I thought I saw him here.” He paused, raised his index finger, and pointed to the orchestra pit. “Ah, yes, over yonder.”

Her stomach dropped. If Rhys wasn’t with the Duke of Windsor, then why wasn’t he here yet? And what was Lord Emery trying to tell her by mentioning St. Giles?

“Lord Emery, I do wish that you would leave me to my peace. It was unfortunate the way our paths crossed, and I shall not forgive my father anytime soon for how he attempted to force us together. However, I have chosen my own path, and trust that you will do the same. But I will make it clear that our paths will never converge, nor will we walk down any path together.”

Lord Emery raised his hands. “I beg your pardon, Lady Ravenscar. I did not mean to cast a shadow on your evening. I was merely wondering why a beautiful young woman is standing alone, that is all. As for our paths, I shall trust they will not converge again. My path and your husband’s, on the other hand…

well, they often lead to the same houses of ill repute.

Sometimes to the same rooms within, although never at the same time. ”

He chuckled.

“You will stop speaking about my husband in such a way. He is a respected peer. He is completely reformed. He has not set foot in St. Giles in many, many months.”

Charlotte spoke the words with more conviction than she felt. And Lord Emery, the horrid brute that he was, only patted his chest.

“Is that so? I saw him not once but twice over the past two weeks. He didn’t tell you?

No, I suppose he wouldn’t. Well, I suppose some wives prefer to be ignorant of their husbands’ activities.

I do beg your pardon once more if I have ruined your night—or your perception of your husband’s pristine reputation. ”

Charlotte stood there, her head buzzing from the wine and his words as Emery sipped his drink, a smirk on his lips

It couldn’t be true. Rhys told her he hadn’t been to St. Giles or any rookery. He had said it several times. He had no reason to lie to her. After all, up until last night, they had never even so much as kissed.

No. Lord Emery had to be lying. He had to.

But then she remembered the doubts that had gnawed at her over the past days, and the small voice in the back of her head grew louder.

What if Emery was telling the truth?