“As generous and selfless as it is, I must decline your offer of marriage. While I wish you the best of luck in finding another victim to your matrimonial plans, experience with the labyrinthine depths of your mind hastens me to state clearly and succinctly that my refusal is binding.”
“But, my lord—”
“You need not continue to prod Cupid into aiming his nuptial arrows at me. I have no intention of marrying now, or anytime in the foreseeable future.”
“If you will just consider the many and varied benefits of marriage to me—”
“I am flattered, but I must decline. Good day, Lady Charlotte.” Dare turned his back and started up the steps to the solicitors’ office, followed by a silent, but bright-eyed Batsfoam.
“Do you know, I think I liked you better when you were hatching nefarious plans against Gillian.”
Dare froze for a second. That episode was a sore spot in his memory, certainly not one he wished to discuss with anyone, least of all Lady Charlotte. He continued up the stairs.
“Five years ago you weren’t so stuffy and priggish! Five years ago you were interesting!”
He gritted his teeth against replying as he reached the top of the steps and opened the door. Two more steps and he would be inside, safe, away from the blend of temptation and aggravation that was personified by Lady Charlotte.
“Very interesting, in fact. I can honestly say that the day Gillian stumbled and tore off your kilt was one of the most interesting days I’ve ever spent. You’re just not the same man you were then.”
Five years ago he had just inherited his title, and had no idea of the extent of his predecessor’s debts. Five years ago he wasn’t facing bankruptcy and ruin. Five years ago he had a future. He turned to face the blonde watching him with clear eyes that were no doubt at that moment filled with scorn and condemnation for the man he had become. He allowed a grim, humorless smile to play about his lips.
“Truer words were never spoken, my lady.”
Three
If a group of harlequins, accompanied by monkeys, dancing bears, and pantomime artists, had suddenly burst onto Green Crescent with every sinew of their bodies intent on entertaining and amusing the populace, they would have sobbed in despair at the notice given them by Lady Charlotte as she drove herself home. There were no harlequins, monkeys, bears, or pantomimists, however, leaving Charlotte’s attention free to dwell on the events of the morning.
“Crotch?” she said after some thought.
“Er…Crouch, m’lady.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies. Crouch, I’m going to want a footman to take a note to Lady Beverly.”
“As ye wish, m’lady.”
“It will be a very important note, Crouch. You must choose a reliable footman.”
“All the footmen are reliable, m’lady.”
“Yes, but this one must be especially reliable, for the note he will be entrusted with could mean my complete and unbound happiness. Lady Beverly is not yet aware of it, but she is going to assist in restoring me to my rightful position.”
“That bein’?”
Charlotte raised her chin as she turned the corner for Britton House, pulling up with a dashing flourish of her whip. A footman ran to hold the horses while Crouch handed her down.
“My rightful position is that of reigning Incomparable, of course. As Lady Carlisle, I shall once again be freely admitted into the arms of the ton. Once there, I will have no difficulty at all in obtaining everything I’ve lacked for the last four years—position, respect, admiration… Yes, this will be a very important note. Perhaps you should take it yourself. It must be delivered safely, for without Caro’s help, I shan’t be able to attend Lady Jersey’s masquerade ball three days hence, and if I don’t attend Lady Jersey’s masquerade ball three days hence, I shan’t be able to trap Lord Carlisle into a compromising position, and if I don’t trap Lord Carlisle into a compromising position, he will never marry me, and if he never marries me—”
“Ye’ll be hangin’ about our necks in a bad skin, carpin’ and bein’ a right screw jaws until ye drive us daft,” Crouch answered as he followed her up the front steps to the parquet-floored hall.
“Exactly,” Charlotte replied with a polite smile as she handed her bonnet and gloves to a waiting footman. “Paper and ink to my sitting room, Crouch.”
“Aye, m’lady. Will ye be needin’ me to set Dickon at ’is lordship’s ’eels again?”
Charlotte paused in the act of fluffing up golden curls squashed by her bonnet. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to know Lord Carlisle’s movements. Forewarned is four-armed and all that business. Yes, please have Dickon continue to alert me to his lordship’s appointments. It came in quite handy this morning to know that he was on foot and in what direction he was traveling.”
“As ye will, m’lady.”
Charlotte plumped up one last curl, eyed her hair critically in the small gilt-framed looking glass, then nodded decisively as she turned to the stairs. Her plan was good. It was logical and eminently practical, and she knew deep in her bones that it would be successful, assuming Caroline lent her a hand with one or two of the smaller points. “In addition, I’ll need several sharpened quills, Crouch. I detest writing with a blunt quill. The noise of it makes my teeth itch.”
“I’ll ’ave Charles attend to that, m’lady. The quills, that is, not yer itchy teeth. Nothin’ I can do about them.”
She ignored Crouch’s comedic venture and started up the oak staircase, pausing to add, “I feel quite in the need for a restorative cup of tea as well.”
“Ye’ll ’ave it.”
“And perhaps some of those lemon cakes that Cook does so well.”
“If ye like.”
Charlotte stopped at the landing, glancing at the full-length looking glass reflecting her blue-and-cream gown with the scrumptious scalloped edging that had arrived from the skillful—and happily for her nearly empty purse, economical—dressmaker recommended by Caro. She tilted her head as she critically examined the lines of the gown, turning around to look over her shoulder. What she saw made her grimace. “I have changed my mind about the lemon cakes, Crouch. Just the tea will suffice.”
Crouch squinted up the stairs at her. “Gettin’ a bit wide in the saddle, are ye?”
“Certainly not!” Charlotte snapped, and gave him a good glare despite knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Glaring never had any effect on Crouch.
The aforementioned just grinned, and ducked his head in an approximation of subservience that didn’t for a moment impress Charlotte. With one last frown at the reflected image of her backside, she continued up the stairs to write her very important note.
***
Although the note had been dispatched and received safely, Charlotte kept the details of what she wanted from her friend until the two met in person the following day.
“This is a lovely room, Caro.” Charlotte admired the champagne and rose satin Louis XIV suite. “How very clever of you to put these old things to use. Bruck, isn’t it?”
Lady Beverly paused in the act of seating herself in an ornate low-backed chair. “I’m not…you…what?”
“Bruck. The furniture, it’s Bruck. That’s a style, you goose. French, I think. Good morning, Wellington.” Charlotte swept aside a small pug from the settee and sat with a pleased smile, unaware of her hostess mouthing the word baroque. “How lucky you are in your situation, Caro. You have a husband who is not tight with the purse strings, a house on a fashionable square, lovely dark coloring that is always in fashion, and a neat figure that is shown to much advantage.”
Caroline blushed at the unexpected compliments, unused to being referred to as lovely. She had always been aware of the shortcomings inherent in having an unexceptional face and rather awkward figure, especially when compared with Charlotte’s perfection. “I…I hardly know what to say—??
?
“Then say nothing at all, sweet Caro,” Charlotte counseled, drawing a small case from her reticule. “Silence, as we know, is molten. Yes, you are a lucky woman in that you have been graced in the physical and husband departments, but your greatest asset must be the happiness and satisfaction that comes from being a cherished member of the ton. You, dearest Caro, are indeed in the position to count your blessings.”
“I…if you put it so, I suppose I am.”
Charlotte nodded. “You can always trust me to speak the truth. And as I am doing such, I have no hesitation in stating that you are also a generous and kind woman, one who does not care to see those she’s fond of hurt or left to feel less than wanted.”
Caroline blinked in surprise at such effusive praise. “Why, Charlotte! That’s very considerate of you to say so. To be honest, Mama said you were blind to the qualities of good in others, but I have always felt she maligned you.”
“Alas, I fear you are correct, I have been sorely abused by many who misunderstand my true nature.” Charlotte allowed an expression of profound martyrdom to settle on her face as she brushed a few stray dog hairs from her gown. “But say what your mother will, I have always seen your better side, Caro. Who else but someone as kindhearted as you would allow an elderly dog with a propensity to dribble to lounge around on her best Bruck sofa?”
Caroline rustled in her embroidery basket for a handkerchief to dab back a tear brought on by such clear-sighted understanding of her inner self. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
“Not at all. You deserve every ounce of happiness possible in your life. The question is, my dear friend, do you believe I deserve the same?”
“Of course you do!” Caroline sniffed militantly and looked ready to dispute anyone’s attempt to say otherwise. “You’re speaking of Lord Carlisle, aren’t you? There’s nothing that would please me more than to see you happily married.”
“I’m glad you feel that way because I am about to make you very happy indeed!”
“Charlotte! Never say he’s already offered for you!”
“No,” Charlotte replied, a flicker of something very like obstinacy passing briefly over her smooth features. “Not as yet, but attainment of that very goal is how I will make us both happy.”
Caroline leaned forward, her eyes puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t follow you. What can I do to help?”
An impish smile teased the corners of Charlotte’s mouth. “It’s very simple. The night of Lady Jersey’s masquerade ball you’re going to help me snare Lord Carlisle in a trap of such fiendish cunning, he won’t escape it unbetrothed. To me, that is.”
“Oh,” Lady Beverly breathed, excitement lighting her eyes. She leaned her dark head closer to Charlotte’s. “How will we do that?”
Charlotte gave free rein to her smile. Why shouldn’t she? If anyone had a right to smile it was she, for she had thought up a plan of such outstanding cleverness, a plan so brilliant in its stark simplicity, it was truly wondrous to behold. Caroline, for one, was sure to be impressed. “It is quite easy, dear friend. During the ball, you and as many others as you can find will discover Lord Carlisle in a room alone with me.”
“But,” Caroline protested, “how do you know he’ll be at the ball? He doesn’t attend many events.”
“Caro, do you honestly think I’d go to all the tiresome work, not to mention the risk of unsightly forehead wrinkles, involved in thinking up a plan if Alasdair was not going to be present? Lady Jersey’s ball is the most important event of the Season, he’s sure to be there with his sister, who is to be married a few days later.”
“That may be so, but I’ve only seen Lord Carlisle and his sister once,” Caroline said slowly. “I don’t believe they attend very many balls and such.”
“Then it will be up to you to ensure they attend this one.”
She stared at Charlotte in confusion. “How am I to do that?”
Charlotte cast an impatient glance heavenwards. “Honestly, Caro, must I think of everything? Whatever happened to your initiative? I suppose you’ll…you can…perhaps you could…oh, pheasant feathers, simply pay a call on Miss McGregor and tell her she must attend the ball or no one will come to her wedding.”
Lady Beverly mused upon this advice for a few moments. “Will they?”
“Will who what?” Charlotte asked wearily.
“Will people not come to her wedding if she doesn’t attend the ball? I’m not sure that one necessarily follows the other. Her wedding guests might not be at the ball, you know. The McGregors live a very quiet life, or so dearest Algernon says, and even if they didn’t, I can’t see people shunning Miss McGregor’s wedding just because they did not attend Lady Jersey’s—”
“Caroline Augusta Gwendlyspere Talbot,” Charlotte interrupted, breathing heavily enough to drown out Wellington the pug. “Might we stick to the subject that concerns us, the subject of my happiness and your role therein? Your tasks are simple and few, and before you offer up one complaint, I’d like you to know that all of the work, the real work, will fall upon my shoulders. So cease this rabble about wedding guests, and focus your attention!”
“It’s babble.”
“I take extreme umbrage to such slander, Caro!” Charlotte exclaimed, stung by the unfair accusation.
“Well you shouldn’t,” Caroline replied somewhat crossly. For some reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint, lengthy conversation with Charlotte always left her feeling thickheaded and dense. “I was merely correcting you. The word is babble, not rabble. I should cease this babble about wedding guests and focus.”
“Well I’m glad you see that at last!” Charlotte cried, at the end of her patience. “Now, if you are finished baring your soul and admitting your sin of inattention, we can get back to the important issue of my future.”
“I must admit that I don’t quite see the fiendishly cunning element of your plan,” Caroline interrupted. “You’re a married woman—well, you were—and although I agree people would talk if they were to find you secreted away together, I cannot see how being seen alone in a room with Lord Carlisle will result in his offering for you.”
Charlotte’s exasperated frown disappeared and her dimples dimpled. “Not even if I was found naked with him?”
Lady Caroline’s jaw dropped, so complete was her surprise. Wordless with shock, she stared at her friend.
“I told you it was fiendishly cunning,” Charlotte answered the silent look of horror. “I would never make such a claim lightly! Now, we have much to discuss, so close your mouth. I must have a suitable costume made up quickly—one that will not reveal who I am, since that fusty old Lady Jersey refuses to recognize me—and we must go over the plan of just how you will smuggle me into the ball, and then there’s the crowd you must gather to witness Lord Carlisle’s attempted debauchery of my naked person, and many other items. I have my memorandum paper here. I shall make a list for you so you won’t forget your tasks.”
“But…but…Charlotte! Such a daring, heedless, bold plan—is it prudent?”
“Prudent?” Charlotte scoffed at such a notion. “Caro, in all my three and twenty years, has anyone ever called me prudent?”
Caroline, her eyes still wide with disbelief, shook her head. “But—without any sort of clothing—”
“Don’t worry about me,” Charlotte said kindly, patting Caroline’s cheek. “After all, they say that ‘faint heart never won bare lady,’ and Alasdair’s heart is anything but faint, so how could the plan fail?”
“But surely Lord Carlisle should have some say in the matter—”
“I will make him an excellent wife, have no fear of that. And he, himself, said he is not looking for a wife, which means he’s not given his heart to anyone else. Plus you know he had a tendresse for me before I married. It shall all be as it was, so cease fussing. Now, let me tell you the details of my brilliant plan…”
&n
bsp; ***
Four nights later the moon was rising full, shedding its cold, mercurial light down upon the city of London, setting a ghostly glow upon the lamplighters who clambered up and down their short ladders as they lit the new gas lamps along the Pall Mall, casting the paving stones into variegated pools of black and silver through which carriages and horses plodded heedlessly as they went about their way, washing pale the portly figure of a man dressed in early Elizabethan garb as he climbed over the solid stone and wrought-iron fence surrounding the garden belonging to Lady Jersey. The moon, had she been able to express an opinion about what she saw from on high, would have no doubt commented that the portly man in costume was by his very actions suspicious. Rather than entering the garden through the gate as most people chose, the gentleman straddled the fence, vaulting down to the soft flowerbeds below with a distinctly heard, “Damnation! I’ll get Caro for this!”
When, rather than strolling the graveled pathways as was the normal means of locomotion in a garden, the gentleman skulked about the shrubberies, racing from one clump to another, dodging behind topiaries shaped as fantastic beasts, finally emerging close to the stone steps leading up to the veranda at the rear of the house, surely any watcher would be well within his rights to express surprise.
Truly, the gentleman was acting in a peculiar manner. From where he crouched next to the steps, he suddenly stood, fluffed up his ruff, tugged his doublet down over a pronounced belly, pulled a handkerchief out of his codpiece and brushed the dirt from his dainty white hands, and finally, after a quick look around to make sure no one was looking, hiked up his Persian silk stockings. What anyone would have been driven to say when this same portly man was arrested in midstep by the sight of a dark-haired young woman bursting from the house and hurtling down the stairs is lost to us, but certainly the conversation that followed, hushed and whispered though it was, in all likelihood was not what would have been expected.