“You may dance with Lady Dewhurst, sir,” Lucia ordered him. “Quick! Claim her before the crowds descend!”
Ever gracious, Sebastian bowed again and turned to Charlotte. “Will you do me the honor, madam?”
Charlotte smiled. Ever more she was beginning to appreciate Lucia. The countess made graciousness seem effortless. By soliciting Freddie’s cousin as Charlotte’s partner, she’d effectively made Charlotte’s evening much easier. Not only because Charlotte could now watch for Cade—a consequence Lucia could obviously not anticipate—but also because, unlike some of the other men of the ton, Charlotte would be “safe” dancing with Freddie’s cousin. In fact, looking at his orange coat and breeches and mauve waistcoat, she imagined she was in more danger from suffering color blindness than a sudden onslaught of passionate overtures. She almost wished he would don his old-fashioned Elizabethan clothing again.
As Middleton led Charlotte to the dance floor, she realized she would miss Lucia back in Charleston. Charlotte had begun to think of the woman as her friend.
Like Freddie, Middleton was an excellent dancer. As he turned her about, he explained that the forms of any dance should be looked on as one more opportunity to quote poetry to the ladies, and he recited a litany. But Middleton did not forgo all conversation either, and Charlotte soon found that she was enjoying herself immensely.
“I hope I am not keeping you from any particular young lady, Sir Sebastian.” Charlotte’s eyes twinkled, and she raised a coy eyebrow. At one time she had been an excellent flirt, and she was interested to see if she’d retained any of her charms.
“Good God, no!” Sebastian leveled a contemptuous glance at the room, and Charlotte followed it. “Rather, you’ve saved me from the matchmakers temporarily. Wouldn’t have even left the card room if Dewhurst hadn’t sent me.”
Charlotte’s head snapped to attention. “Freddie? But what does he have to do with anything?”
“Thunder an’ turf! I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Perhaps not, but you did,” Charlotte pressed. They separated for the next form of the dance, and when they came together again, Middleton said in a low voice, “Dewhurst asked me to play escort for you tonight.”
Escort? Charlotte shook her head angrily. “Are you spying on me now? I am certain the Foreign Office could find better things for you to do with your time.”
“Shh! Tare an’ hounds! I was not spying on you,” he hissed, glancing about nervously. “If I wanted half of the beau monde to know I worked for the Foreign Office, I’d take out an ad in the Morning Post.”
They separated for the next form, and by the time she placed her hand on Sebastian’s arm again, her thoughts had jumped ahead. “Sir Sebastian, is there a particular reason my husband asked you to sp— ah, escort me? Is”—she glanced about quickly—“Cade Pettigru here?”
Middleton looked like a trapped insect. He squirmed, wriggled, and finally murmured, “Do not even say his name. Yes, there is a possibility our friend is here tonight. Do you remember what to do if approached?”
For a moment Charlotte had no idea, then slowly she nodded. She knew Freddie and his cousin wanted her to lead them to Cade. Innocent or guilty, she did not care. She would never betray Cade. If he were present tonight, she’d have to slip away from Sir Sebastian and warn Cade. She’d tell him to run as far and as fast as possible.
The dance ended and Middleton led her off the dance floor. Charlotte was trying to think of a suitable excuse to escape Freddie’s cousin when Lord Alvanley approached.
“Sir Sebastian, Lady Dewhurst.” The dandy bowed with a flourish, but Charlotte looked past him to where Lucia stood conversing with Lady Jersey—or rather nodding—as the esteemed patroness of Almack’s, nicknamed “Silence,” prattled on endlessly.
“Good to see you again, old boy. Still looking for a Chinese snuffbox?” Middleton inquired.
“I might be. Depends who’s selling.” Alvanley turned to her. “And how are you enjoying the evening, my lady?”
“It’s splendid.” She began inching away. “Oh, dear, I think I see Lady Selbourne waving at me.”
Alvanley didn’t bother to look. “Oh, she’ll be engaged with Silence half the night. If you are not already spoken for, might I partner you in the next dance?”
“Oh, but I—” Charlotte began.
“Perhaps later,” Middleton said.
Alvanley frowned. “Rubbish.” He took Charlotte’s arm and began leading her to the dance floor.
“WHAT ARE YOU THINKING about, Freddie?” Lucia asked, coming up behind him. He did not look at her, did not alter his focus from his wife, now being led to the dance floor by Lord Alvanley.
“I made a mistake,” he muttered.
“Have you?” Lucia’s eyes widened. “I daresay, I’ve not heard you admit that before. I thought admitting fallibility made men too mortal. Gods, after all, don’t blunder.”
“I’m not a god.” Freddie craned his head slightly to follow Charlotte and Alvanley’s progress. “I’m a dashed fool.”
“Of course you are. What have you done this time?”
“The bronze satin. It’s stunning. The russet sarcenet would never have been as charming.”
