Noble Destiny (2 page)

Gillian was nodding even before the words dried up on Charlotte's lips. “Exactly. You are the picture of loveliness, and yet you find yourself in a position exactly as you describe, hence my comment on the trivial nature of something so shallow as beauty. What you need is to focus on your assets, namely, your status as a widow, your good breeding, your congenial manner, and”—she took a deep breath—“your willingness to marry again.”

“Marry?” Charlotte blinked in surprise at her cousin's words. “Who said anything about my marrying? You just said my widowhood was an asset, why would I want to give it up?”

Gillian cast a quick glance at the door. Voices could be heard in the hallway beyond. “Charlotte, you have limited choices. You can either resolve the argument with your family…”

“I've tried. Matthew is just as bullheaded as Father was.”

“…or come with us to the West Indies…”

Charlotte made a moue of disapproval. “It's hot there. I would perspire all the time, and I cannot think of anything worse than being in a continual state of perspiration.”

“…or find a position as a companion to an elderly lady…”

An unladylike snort answered that suggestion.

“…or you can marry again.”

A frown wrinkled Charlotte's brow as she smoothed out the drab olive-green traveling gown her limited funds had forced her to buy en route to England. “Marry. I hadn't thought to marry. All I wanted to do was to come home. Marriage means…well, there would have to be a husband, wouldn't there? I'm not sure I want another husband.”

“Well, what
do
you want?”

Charlotte tried on a little pout. “I want what I had before Antonio swept me off my feet and dragged me to that godforsaken castle in Italy. I want to be the Season's reigning Incomparable, I want my court of suitors, I want lovely gowns and dancing and stolen kisses in the garden!”

“But you're not eighteen anymore, Charlotte,” her cousin protested. “You're a grown woman. Surely you want something more meaningful than the mere glitter of life in the
ton
?”

“There's nothing wrong with glitter,” Charlotte objected, her pout dissolving into another frown. “It's bright and pretty and it entertains.”

“It's also shallow, unsubstantial, and unimportant. Oh, Char, I want you to be happy, but I don't see how that's possible if all you want—”

“
WIFE!
”

Gillian rose as the voice in the hall took on a strident note. “Blast! I really have to go now. I'm sorry I can't help you. Crouch and the other staff will take care of you here at Britton House for as long as you like, and I'll have the household funds put at your disposal. If you get in a terrible bind and need advice, write to me.”

“It will take forever to hear from you, not to mention the fact that you'll only lecture me and say improving sorts of things that are of no practical use whatsoever.” Charlotte plucked at the ugly trim on her equally ugly gown and tried not to covet her cousin's smart green-and-white-striped gown with matching green pelisse.

“It wouldn't hurt you in the least to listen to a bit of improving advice, Charlotte. Do think about what I said—I wouldn't wish for you to be in another unhappy marriage, but it's the only solution I can see.”

Charlotte nodded sadly and accompanied her cousin to the hall, kissed Gillian's and Dante's cheek, tried not to flinch under the earl's stern, disapproving look, and rallied a smile and a wave as the last of her familial connections drove off in a sleek black-and-scarlet coach.

“She's left me here alone with no one but the servants. Damnation!” Charlotte swore as the carriage disappeared from view.

“Ye can say that again,” a voice muttered behind her, but when she spun around to pin the ears back on the speaker, she was faced with a line of servants wearing faces so innocent they could have doubled for cherubim.

“Hrmph,” she snorted, eyeing the collected servants. “Much as I would like to dissolve into tears over my desperate and completely tragic situation, I shall give in to a well-earned megrim at a later time. Right now I have a more important dish to fry. Crouch, fetch me writing paper, and have the footmen standing at the ready.”

“Eh…fish to fry, d'ye mean, m'lady?”

Charlotte raised her brows in the manner that had never failed to intimidate Graveltoes, her father's butler, but it appeared that the giant pirate the Westons employed was made of sterner stuff. No doubt it was the hook that made him feel superior. “I simply do not understand this unreasonable fixation you and Gillian and others have with something so unimportant as language, Crouch. It's unwholesome. I urge you to get over it. And don't think you can put on airs as you do with Gillian, I shan't tolerate it as she does. I'll have enough of that as I contrive to make my stunning reappearance in the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the
ton
.”

She shooed Crouch on his way and marched upstairs to take possession of Gillian's personal sitting room. It wasn't going to be easy reestablishing herself after the scandal, but that was four years ago, and certainly people must have forgotten the details by now. With a little finesse and sweet-talking to the right matrons, the doors would surely open to her again. It wouldn't be pleasant to be forced to listen to lectures by the very same women who had called her foolish and headstrong all those years ago, but she could endure a few “I warned you!” comments if necessary. Besides, there were the gentlemen to think of—she had charm and vivacity, and despite her cousin's doubts of the effectiveness of a pretty face and a neat ankle, Charlotte had always found she could have her way if she fluttered her eyelashes and dimpled just so.

“It will be as easy as taking honey from a flea,” she predicted, sitting down to write her letters.

***

“I can't believe it! I just can't believe it! How dare she refuse me a voucher! How dare she tell me I am not welcome to her blasted masquerade ball next week! How dare she tell me that no polite person will recognize me!” Charlotte ripped a cream-colored sheet of paper to shreds and threw it into the unlit grate. “Who would have thought that Lady Jersey had a memory like…like…like a lion?”

“A what?”

Charlotte made a dismissive motion with her hands as she paced by the figure sitting in the blue-and-gold brocade chair in her cousin's sitting room.

“A lion, Caro, a lion. You know, one of those big gray beasts that lives in Africa. They have prodigious memories.”

Lady Caroline Beverly looked confused. “Are you sure? The lion I saw at the menagerie was sort of a yellowish-brown color and no bigger than a very small pony.”

Charlotte spun on her heel and paced a line back toward the fireplace. “Brown, gray, it doesn't matter. They come from Africa, and they have excellent memories. Just like Lady Jersey.”

Caroline frowned. “I thought Lady Jersey's family came from Devonshire.”

Charlotte stopped pacing, put her hands on her hips, and glared down at her friend. “What on earth does Lady Jersey's family have to do with anything?”

“You mentioned it! You said she came from Africa just like the lions.”

“There are times,” Charlotte said, breathing heavily through her nose, “when I find myself regretting that I returned to England.
Memory
, Caro, I likened Lady Jersey to the lion because it has an exceptional
memory
. Just as she has.”

“Oh. Does she? What about?”

Charlotte tossed up her hands and resumed pacing, reminding herself not to snap at the only person who had responded to her plea for help. “I can't afford to be discriminating,” she muttered.

“No, you said you were quite pockets to let, but that doesn't explain why you're upset with Lady Jersey's memory.”

Charlotte took a deep, deep breath, and sat on the love seat next to the brunette. “Caroline, listen to me very carefully. You remember four years ago when I left England to marry the Conte di Abalongia's eldest son?”

Caroline nodded her head. “Yes, of course I do. It caused ever such a scandal! Mama said it would all end in sorrow and that you'd come to a bad end, and for me not to even consider running off with Raoul the drawing master, which of course I wasn't considering because dearest Algernon was about to offer for me, and why would I want to be married to a drawing master when I could be a viscountess instead? Although Raoul did have the most attractive mustache—do you remember it? The ends came to two lovely points. And of course dearest Algernon tried to grow one just to please me when I admired Sir Ralph Henderson's mustache, but he did not seem to have much luck at it, although I rubbed pomade onto his lip faithfully every night.”

A small headache pulsed to life at the front of Charlotte's head. She opened a window that looked out onto the tiny garden below and welcomed the sweet summer air, tainted though it was by the ever-present hint of coal.

“I must admit I was glad when he gave it up. The pomade smelled of garlic, and you know, really, it's impossible to go to sleep when the person next to you has a garlic-perfumed lip.”

The headache blossomed into something deeper. “Caroline, do you think we could get back to matters at hand—namely, that Lady Jersey has poisoned everyone's mind against me by recalling my romantic and dashing elopement all those many years ago?”

“Oh, but it isn't Lady Jersey,” Caroline protested, smoothing the soft gray kid of her gloves. “At least, that's what dearest Algernon said two nights past when we were at the opera and he was talking to Lord Collins. Have you seen your brother since you've come home again? He has the most divine mustache with just the shortest little beard, which I don't quite like, but I think you will find his mustache is all the rage. Many of the gentlemen are adopting them now. Except, of course, dearest Algernon. I told him I simply cannot endure more sleepless nights smelling the garlic on his lip.”

Charlotte frowned in concentration as she picked through the other woman's mental meanderings. “What did my brother say to Lord Beverly?”

“About his mustache? Well, it seems he uses a special pomade that contains the glands of a—”

“No, what did Matthew say about me?”

Caroline pursed her lips as she searched the dark, dusty hallways of her memory. “Oh, yes, that. Evidently when dearest Algernon mentioned that I was calling on you today, Lord Collins told him not to allow it, that after The Event your father had made sure you weren't accepted in Polite Society, and he had taken it as a sacred duty to see his father's wishes carried out, and that he would be contacting Lady Jersey and other preeminent matrons to let them know of his feelings. So you see, it's not Lady Jersey's fault at all that you received so many cuts yesterday when you went out. I suspect it was all your brother's doing.”

“That beast!” Charlotte stood, her hands balled into fists as she stomped over to the fireplace. The stomping didn't make her feel the least bit better, so she spun around and stomped to the other side of the room, anger seething from every pore. “I knew he wouldn't do anything to welcome me back into the family, but to deliberately sabotage my chances, why, that's…that's…that's a calligraphy!”

“A catastrophe.” Caroline nodded. “Especially if you hope your plan to find a husband goes forward. What gentleman will offer for you if he knows your brother does not recognize you?”

Charlotte snarled silently and strode by, two fingers pressed to her forehead.

“Of course, you could always look outside of the
ton
for a husband,” Caroline said tentatively.

Charlotte drew to a halt before her and gave a haughty glare down her nose. “Bite your tongue, Caro! I am an earl's daughter, the widow of the heir to a count, and I shall be a nobleman's wife, so help me! No, I shan't look outside of the
ton
, but I will defeat my brother nonetheless.”

A look of interest sparked in Caroline's dark gray eyes. “How will you manage that?”

“It's evident that Matthew will not be quiet about my arrival in London. No doubt he's been carrying out his plans to keep me from my rightful place by spreading this foul slander at his clubs, filling the ears of all of the eligible gentlemen with warnings against me.”

“I could ask dearest Algernon if he has heard anything,” Caroline offered helpfully.

“Mmm.” Charlotte twisted her borrowed handkerchief as she paced, her mind a whirl of thoughts. “There must be someone imperious to Matthew's evil plan. Who's in town, Caro? Unmarried and wealthy and titled gentlemen only, of course.”

“Impervious.”

“Who?”

“The word is
impervious
, not
imperious
.”

Charlotte paused to glare. “Not you as well? What happened while I was in Italy? Did some sort of language plague strike everyone?”

“But—”

“Did you or did you not agree to help me?”

“Yes, of course I did, but—”

“Even after my brother warned your husband about you being seen with me?”

“Yes, I told you that I reassured dearest Algernon that you were blameless—”

“Then would you kindly construe your mind to matters of importance, and not blether on about silly things such as mere words!” Charlotte shot her a penetrating glance before turning to the window to breathe in calming gulps of air.

“Constrain, not construe,” Caroline said softly.

Charlotte spun around. “What?”

Caroline blushed and lowered her eyes to the gloves twisted between her fingers. “Nothing. What did you want to know about the gentlemen?”

“Everything. Who is in town now, who has a fortune and title, and of course, whether they will look good against me.”