“I take it you found a new gown?” Charlotte asked.
They had all agreed that morning that they couldn’t avoid it any longer. Rose had grown, and her gowns were getting too short. They had to take some of what was left in their savings to make a purchase for her.
“We did,” Margaret said, smiling now. “She looks very fine in it.”
“It looks awful.” Rose wrinkled her nose. “It’s second-hand. They have to keep it to make adjustments. Harry will tease me mercilessly. He’ll say I look like I’ve been wrapped up in the curtains.”
“He will say no such thing,” Margaret murmured sharply.
Oh, I think he will.
It had not escaped Charlotte’s notice that her brother was growing increasingly mischievous as of late. She had a feeling it had something to do with the fact that their father reminded him he would have to go to university in a few years’ time, to potentially learn to work for a living. She imagined like her, Harry was feeling the stress of potentially having to rebuild the family’s fortunes someday, and being known as an earl who had to resort to labor to make a living.
Rose wandered off to the nearest confectioner’s shop, ogling the marzipan and sugar mice in the window as Charlotte looked at the gown again. Margaret moved to her side.
“I would buy it for you, if I could.”
“I know, Mother. Do not worry about me.” Charlotte looped her arm with Margaret’s. “I am simply admiring it from afar, that is all.”
“Maybe someday soon, you will be able to buy it.”
“I think that unlikely.” She snorted with laughter, then raised a hand and covered her own nose in alarm. She knew a lady should not snort.
“You may marry,” Margaret said with sudden excitement.
“You and Father have stopped attending assemblies.” Charlotte eyed her mother warily. “You know as well as I that I have caught no man’s eyes.”
“I also know that you had a gentleman caller the other day,” Margaret reminded her, waggling her eyebrows. “The Duke of Rodstone.”
“Oh, Mother, behave.” Charlotte squeezed her mother’s arm. “Do not let anyone hear you speaking of that. He was simply calling out of cordiality. Nothing more.”
“You think so?” Margaret looked gravely disappointed by the idea. “What a shame. I thought he looked at you quite a bit.”
Charlotte wished to tell her it was because she behaved with propriety, and rather thought he was scorning her for it.
“I do not think there was anything in that.”
“Well, shall we ask him?” Margaret abruptly declared and turned Charlotte around in the cobbled street.
“Ask him?” Charlotte whispered in alarm.
“Your Grace!” Margaret called across the street, waving her arm manically in the air.
Charlotte wished the cobbles could have parted beneath her shoes and the ground could have swallowed her whole.
Across the path was the Duke of Rodstone, looking into the window of a tailor’s shop. He turned at the address, seeing the two of them together, but he was not the only one to look. Half the street turned around to see who was squealing in order to get a duke’s attention.
“Mother!” Charlotte muttered in outrage. “A lady does not shout so.”
“I am a lady, Charlotte, and I do whatever I like when I wish to. There was a day that you did the same. Do you not remember it?” Margaret asked her quietly.
That was long ago.
Charlotte had changed completely the day she entered theton. At her debut, she could still remember the way she had been disparaged and stared at, for she had not known how to dance properly or which wine to take first with dinner.
She was still looking at everyone’s faces around them who were now whispering, fragments of their conversation catching her ears.
“Mortifying.”
