Freddie ignored her jibe, focusing instead on her smile. She was practically beaming at Lucia. He couldn’t recall seeing her smile so warmly before, and the effect was truly stunning. With the lights glinting off her copper hair and her wide, full lips and entrancing eyes, she was ravishing. Freddie realized that, if she hadn’t already been his, he would probably be paying her as much court as the other men clambering for a position inside the crowded box.
“How are you enjoying the opera, Lady Dewhurst?” Selbourne asked. And Freddie was grateful someone was listening to the conversation.
“It’s entrancing. The score is so beautiful and”—she paused, glancing behind her—“the costumes divine. Don’t you agree, Lydia?” Everyone turned to Lydia, who Freddie realized had been pouting at the lack of attention. Now that Charlotte had found a way to involve her, she smiled and began a long speech on her opinions.
After Lydia had gone on a moment, Lucia leaned over to Charlotte, and Freddie edged closer to overhear their confidences. “I hope we can find a few moments to chat at my mother’s ball tomorrow night. I would so love to hear about life in America. I fear I have inherited a love of other cultures and peoples from my mother.”
“Oh, of course. I did not realize Lady Brigham was your mother.”
“Oh, good Lord, yes. The night is sure to prove extremely tedious, but my mother is on a mission, and that ranks above all else.”
Charlotte raised a brow. “Mission?”
Lucia nodded. “To marry off my twin brother. He’s fighting the nuptial knot as hard as he can, but once my mother gets her apron strings firmly round his neck, he’ll be doomed.”
“Your mother sounds like a formidable woman.”
Lucia closed her fan in her palm. “Oh, you do not know the half of it, Charlotte. But, I have to say, she is a kind woman and does everything with the best intentions.”
Freddie frowned. Lady Brigham was an interfering harpy with a mania for Italy. She was more selfish than kind, and he doubted she’d ever done anything with any intention but her own in mind. But, as usual, Lucia seemed to have a talent for casting others in a sympathetic light. In the past on more than one occasion, he’d spied a bit of muslin he’d liked to have known better, only to have Lucia deter him by making him feel guilty.
He missed the transition into the next topic, but he caught the look Lucia gave him. He wondered what strokes she was using to paint him. What did she want Charlotte to see? And what did his little Yankee see when she looked at him? His money, his title, his dandy persona? Or could she see something of the man lurking inside?
“I suppose we must be going,” Lucia said, glancing at Selbourne. “Like you, Charlotte, I adore the opera. And while Italian is not Selbourne’s favorite language”—Freddie smiled when Alex scowled at his wife, who laughed merrily—“I think he is enjoying this one as well.” Lucia rose and gave Freddie her hand. She leaned forward, ostensibly to kiss his cheek, but whispered instead, “Don’t muddle this one up, Freddie. You worry about whatever your little mission for the Foreign Office is and leave the romance to me. I have a plan.” Freddie stiffened as apprehension, icy cold, washed down his spine.
“Lucia—” he began, but Alex came up behind her.
“Come wench, I have matters pertaining to Italian to discuss with you.” Lucia laughed and winked at Freddie as she exited the box. He frowned. One would have thought that after seven years living with the dourest man in England, Lady Selbourne would have adopted some restraint. But underneath the title and the fortune, she was still Lucia Dashing—concocting harebrained plans and kicking up larks.
The remaining invaders were beginning to disperse as well, and Freddie was finally able to reclaim his seat beside Charlotte. As he did so, his mother leaned over and whispered, “Lord and Lady Selbourne’s notice of you is quite an honor, Charlotte. They are extremely wealthy, and despite the matter of their elopement, eminently respectable.”
“They seem very happy,” Charlotte replied.
“Theirs was a love match,” his mother informed her.
“Love match!” Freddie interjected turning around. “More like an exercise in humiliation. Selbourne made an absolute cake of himself over her.”
“He seems to think it was worth it,” Charlotte observed.
“Hmpf,” Freddie replied.
The strains of the orchestra rose again, and Freddie glanced surreptitiously at Charlotte, wondering just how much effort she was worth.
Chapter Twelve
Freddie waited until Charlotte had gone to her room before seeking out her servant. Fortunately the woman hadn’t yet retired to the servants’ quarters, and he found her discussing the benefits of frequent polishing of the silver with his butler, Dawson.
“Miss Addy,” Freddie said and gave a sweeping bow. “May I have a moment of your time?”
She gave him a weary look then shrugged. “I suppose.”
He led her into the drawing room and indicated she should take a seat. She shook her head. “I know what this is about. That skinny little man is complaining about his starch again. Well, you just tell that little weasel that I have a right to the starch, too.”
Freddie stared at her for a long moment, watching the frantic way she clutched at her ragged shawl. “Madam, I have no notion what you are going on about, but I assure you that whatever it is, I will rectify the situation.”
Addy snorted. “Nothing’s free.”
Freddie inclined his head. The woman was no fool. “All right. Then I will make sure you have—?”
