“It is just a gift,” he insisted.
I pray she sees it as just a gift too. Aye, after all, I have nay intention of courtin’ and marryin’ any lass.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“This is unusual, Margaret. How come you have deigned to join us with your presence this evening?” Susan asked, linking arms with Charlotte as they descended the carriage and walked into the ball.
The hothouse had been decorated with tiny candles, spread between the jungle and great palm planting. The whole effect to Charlotte’s mind, as she walked toward the open door, was of fairies dancing in the glass. She hurried toward it, only barely aware of the rather sharp conversation Susan and her mother were sharing at her side.
“Why should I not come to escort my daughter, sister?” Margaret asked, taking Charlotte’s other arm. “It is only natural –”
“You have not come for a long time. You have left such responsibilities to me.” Susan reached across and adjusted the dance card, and how it rested on Charlotte’s wrist.
“I know,” Margaret said sniffily. “But times change. I should be here to escort my daughter. She ismydaughter, Susan, after all.”
“I am glad you remember.”
“Is this conversation really suitable for this evening?” Charlotte asked, looking between the pair of them.
Susan and Margaret looked away from one another as they stepped into the hothouse. Charlotte was tired of their arguing, knowing that they did it all the time when they fell into company together.
“Why are you here tonight, Mother?” Despite her wish to end the argument, Charlotte’s curiosity won out as they handed their pelisses to the attendants at the hothouse doors. Susan reached over and adjusted the sleeve of Charlotte’s gown. Margaret saw what she did and promptly adjusted the sleeve back again. The two women glared at one another. “Well, this is going well,” Charlotte murmured, looking away to be greeted by their hosts. “Lady St Edmunds.” She curtsied to the countess standing a short distance away.
“Oh, how good of you to come, Lady Charlotte.” The countess curtsied to her and then greeted her mother and aunt too. “Come, come, tell me what you think of our hothouse. Is it not a magical place for an evening such as this?”
“Yes, indeed,” Charlotte gave the compliment quickly, even though she could see out of the corner of her eye that both her aunt and mother were struggling in the heat.
The hot fires which had been set beneath flues to keep the air in the glasshouse warm were rather insufferable, and as both Margaret and Susan were entering that time of life where their own bodies made them heated regardless, they now fluttered their fans madly in front of their faces.
“It is very magical. Quite like something out of a fairytale.” Charlotte performed her duty and gave the compliment as she looked around the glasshouse.
It had to be the largest building of its kind she had ever seen, with a vast space in the middle of the room, beneath an arched pane of glass far over their heads, set for dancing. A balcony set between tall climbing plants was decked with flowers and a quartet of violinists who played soft cotillion music. Ladies wandered to and fro, carrying glasses of champagne with them, as men struggled in their tailcoats, faces red and pulling at their collars to try to bear the heat.
“Yes, it’s quite… something,” Margaret said at Charlotte’s side, plainly struggling to give the same compliment.
Susan took Margaret’s arm and swept her into the room, before it could be made any plainer to Lady St Edmund’s that perhaps the room was not to everyone’s tastes for a ball. Charlotte smiled and thanked the countess once again before hurrying after them.
“Why exactly are you here?” Susan asked as they hovered by a table, decked with a towering structure made of champagne glasses.
“If my daughter is about to make a match, I shall not be the one to miss it.” Margaret took one of the glasses Susan offered to her.
“A match?” Charlotte spluttered, nearly dropping the glass Susan gave her in surprise. “What match is this, Mother? Have you conjured a potential husband out of thin air?”
“Ha!” Margaret’s usual cackling laughter made Charlotte wince. Susan did the same and looked about her, smiling at others who passed them by, as if unaffected by Margaret’s ignorance of her own volume. “How can you mean, what match? Isn’t there a particular gentleman who has been paying you attention? I saw the way he looked at you the other day in Covent Garden.”
“What gentleman would that…?” Yet Charlotte trailed off as she realized exactly who her mother was talking about.
The Duke of Rodstone.
“Mother!” Charlotte hissed.
“Shh,” Susan urged with a wave of her white gloved hand. “As you said, Charlotte, this is not the place for outrage or arguments.”
“There is nothing between the Duke of Rodstone and me. We are simply… acquaintances.” She struggled for the right word, knowing the one she had chosen simply wasn’t right. “He is quite… quite…”
“Rough around the edges,” Susan finished for her.
“Does that matter?” Margaret frowned, looking between the two of them. “He seemed a very kind man to me. He is an interesting man.”
