“Indeed, sister,” Martha replied, following her as they rushed along the corridor towards their chambers, which were next door to one another in the main part of the house.
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief as they both entered the safety of her room. She pulled the door of her chamber closed behind them and dropped the latch. Rusty, of course, had followed them all the way and now stood at her sister’s feet, staring up adoringly at his mistress.
“Your wretched dog, Martha! He stole one of my letters. I have had a merry time chasing him through the woods to get it back.”
Martha giggled. “He’s not wretched, are you darling Rusty? He just likes a little bit of mischief.”
“Mischief indeed! Martha, please, I beg you, will you try to keep him out of my room? If anyone had found the letter – well, you know what would happen.”
Martha nodded slowly. “I am sorry for it, sister, truly. You do look such a sight, though! Shall I call Sally to come and help you to get changed?”
Charlotte nodded, and Martha rang the bell, which would tinkle downstairs in the servants’ hall, and let the staff know that help was required in one of the family bedrooms. Charlotte could not allow herself to be seen like this by anyone other than her sister. And her maid could be trusted not to divulge the state of her frock. She began to untie her bonnet, glancing at her sister across the room as she did so. She wondered if she should tell her about her meeting with the Duke. She never kept secrets from her sister, but this encounter – well, she wanted to keep it to herself for just a little longer. She would tell Martha everything in due course, but she would hold the secret in her heart for a while first.
Martha caught her gaze and smiled. “Sister, do you have something else to tell me?”
Charlotte chucked. Her sister knew her too well, after all. “Yes, indeed, but I will tell you another time when we are sure not to be interrupted.”
Martha nodded. “And once you are changed, Charlotte, we must go to the drawing room and see our stepmother. She wishes to discuss our attire for the ball next weekend.” Martha paused, a little crease crossing her usually smooth brow. “And I am afraid you won’t like it, Charlotte. I think you won’t like it at all.”
CHAPTERTHREE
Charlotte stared glumly out of the carriage’s window as it bumped along the road. The sun was setting, and the countryside looked glorious, bathed in orange light, but she couldn’t enjoy it. She looked down at her dress and let out a ragged sigh.
Her sister, sitting next to her in the cramped carriage, reached over and squeezed her hand, a look of sympathy on her face. Her own gown was scarcely more becoming than Charlotte’s, but Martha was so pretty, with her blonde ringlets cascading about her shoulders, that her unfashionable attire would be barely noticed, Charlotte was sure of it. She sighed again, unable to suppress her emotions.
From opposite her in the carriage, her stepmother tutted loudly. “Charlotte, why do you keep heaving such deep sighs? Anyone would think you were on your way to a funeral rather than a ball!”
Charlotte resisted the urge to roll her eyes in response. Her stepmother knew full well what the issue was with her stepdaughters’ dresses, but that, of course, was the cause of the problem. She wanted them to look terrible, not only to shame them but also to make Alison, her own daughter, look all the better in comparison.
But Charlotte knew that she had to be careful what she said. Her stepmother, Margaret, the Viscountess Haddington, was short-tempered at the best of times, and it would not do for them all to arrive at the ball having obviously argued on the way there. People would gossip about them even more than they already did.
Alison, Charlotte’s stepsister, was eyeing her shrewdly from next to her mother. She knew exactly what was going on, too. Of course, she did. That snide look on her face made Charlotte want to scream. She bit her lip and squashed down her feelings.
“Stepmother, I only wondered if next time we come to choose new gowns, Martha and I might perhaps go to the town ourselves and make our own selections?” she replied carefully. Surely that was not too controversial a question? The look on Lady Haddington’s face told her that it was.
“Choose your gowns yourselves?” her stepmother scoffed. “What an idea! I would not hear of it. What would people think if I did not help you with such things? You are poor, motherless girls, are you not? I am only doing my duty as your stepmother in ensuring that you have lovely gowns such as these for all the engagements of the ton, especially since your own mother had such strange ideas about things. God rest her soul.”
Charlotte felt her stomach clench. Motherless they were, indeed, their own dear mother having passed away almost seven years ago. She would never have made her wear such a monstrous dress, with the frills in all the wrong places and the shape of the sleeves so unfashionable. And the color! So unflattering.
Charlotte had protested as vehemently as she dared when Lady Margaret had suggested the yellow fabric. The dressmaker who visited their home to agree on the patterns and material for their new gowns had looked surprised and suggested the lavender satin instead, but the viscountess would not be moved.
“And this lovely orange for you, Martha!” She had held up the fabric next to Martha’s pale skin and smiled broadly. “The lavender will do nicely for Alison. It is a better match for her complexion.”
And now, here they were, squashed up in the carriage, on their way to the Thomas’s ball, Martha and Charlotte trussed up like peacocks in their citrus-colored gowns, and Alison demure in her pale purple gown, with the sleeves cut much more in accordance with the current fashion. What on earth would people think when they entered the ballroom? Charlotte shuddered at the thought and squeezed her sister’s hand again.
“You should show more gratitude, sister,” Alison said, that sly look in her eyes again as she spoke. “My mother does you a great service, helping you in these things.”
“Indeed,” Lady Margaret concurred. “The very thought of you going dress shopping alone, the pair of you! What would people say? That I neglected you most shockingly. No, indeed, we shall not have that. You will continue to be guided by me in all matters relating to your dress.” She nodded, agreeing with herself, no doubt.
And there was no time to respond, now, as the carriage pulled up outside the opulent home of Lord and Lady Thomas. In no time at all, they would be making their entrance, all eyes of the ton upon them. Charlotte’s heart was filled with dread, despite the tiny flicker of hope that she might be able to exchange a few precious words with Lord Harry during the course of the evening.
* * *
Luke tried to ignore the surreptitious glances of the ladies of the ton as he crossed the ballroom in search of some refreshment. He had come to the ball on horseback, preferring to feel the wind in his hair rather than to be stuck inside a stifling carriage, but the ride had made him feel hot and thirsty.
He found a footman circulating with a tray of drinks and helped himself to a glass of wine, taking a grateful sip as he retreated into a corner to survey the scene.
It was the usual ballroom scenario, nothing new or different about it at all. It was too much to hope for, perhaps, that anything would have changed in this town in his absence. For he had been away in London for some time, seeing to some business relating to his late father’s estate, and he had not sought out much in the way of polite society while in the city. Instead, he had preferred to spend much of his time alone at his father’s townhouse, sitting in his father’s library.
