Page 5

Charlotte glanced at Daphne, who made no effort to conceal her smile, her dimples deepening. “I see. You are all involved.”

Elizabeth touched her arm, her fingers light and anxious. “We thought you might enjoy meeting someone.”

“How fortunate that I came to a gathering. There are people everywhere,” Charlotte said, with a sweep of her glass. Who had they invited… So far she recognized everyone. None of them could be who they had in mind.

Amelia laughed, but Elizabeth’s expression remained earnest, her gray eyes searching Charlotte’s face. “He is a friend of Julian’s. You need not like him. We merely thought you might.”

Charlotte softened. She had no wish to embarrass Elizabeth, who still approached giving entertainments with more care than confidence. She had already checked the candles twice and counted the chairs. Marriage had made her happier, though mercifully it hadn't turned her into a woman who sought entertainments, and Charlotte liked her for it.

“Who is he?” she asked, gentler now.

“Lord Merewood,” Daphne said. “He has recently returned to London.”

“The widower?” she asked, but kept her tone light. They didn’t know…

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Is he aware of what you intend for us?” Charlotte asked, arching a brow. She wasn't sure whether she wanted him involved in this plot.

“Charlotte,” Elizabeth protested, her cheeks pinkening.

“What?” She tilted her head. “I should like to establish whether we are equally prepared.”

“He knows only that he has been invited to spend an evening with friends,” Amelia said, her lips twitching.

“Then he has my sympathy,” she said dryly. At least she knew about her friends’ machinations. Merewood was about to be ambushed. She should pity him, but she had none left to give.

Daphne laughed, a bright, helpless peal. Elizabeth looked torn between joining her and apologizing, her hands twisting together. That persuaded Charlotte to end the teasing.

“I am pleased to be here,” she assured her, resting her hand over Elizabeth’s. “You need not provide a gentleman to entice me.”

“We know that,” Elizabeth said quietly.

Charlotte believed her. Their concern came from affection, plain in their faces and their careful, fidgeting manners. They had each found happiness and wanted her to, and the knowledge warmed her. Even as a small, cool shadow moved through it… She appreciated the sentiment. She was less certain about how to apply it in practice.

Marriage had taught her that an agreeable gentleman could make an appalling husband. Sylvan had been charming when it suited him. He was attentive when he wanted something, and consistently unfaithful once he no longer needed to hide it. She could still recall the exact tilt of his smile across a dinner table, warm and easy, while she poured wine for his guests. Then she had wondered which of their wives knew he could be seduced with the right attention.

Charlotte had spent enough evenings receiving guests, knowing several of them pitied her. Their gazes slid away from hers, and their voices were too gentle. Worse, some had expected her to find his conduct amusing, as if she could laugh through his unfaithfulness. She could not do it. She hid her hurt as best she could, but the wall was brittle.

She preferred widowhood to marriage. Her home was peaceful. Her friendships were her own. The work she shared with these women mattered to her, and she could spend her days without accommodating a husband. Especially one who regarded his vows as restrictions intended solely for his wife. She woke to quiet, and the quiet was hers.

A flirtation could be pleasant. Marriage required considerably more faith, and she had spent hers. Charlotte took a sip of wine, letting the cool, dry taste settle on her tongue. “I shall be civil to your earl.”

“An encouraging beginning,” Amelia said.

“And no contriving to leave us alone together while you watch from a distance.”

Daphne lifted her brows, all wide-eyed innocence. “We would never be so obvious.”

“You would believe yourselves subtle,” Charlotte said dryly. “I know the difference.”

Elizabeth laughed, and Charlotte was glad to see her shoulders relax as tension eased from her slender frame. Lord Rosedale approached, greeting her warmly with a bow and a smile before his attention returned to his wife. Elizabeth glanced up at him, and the small smile they exchanged lit up her friend’s face. It made Charlotte’s objections feel rather less convincing.

She could hardly begrudge her friends their enthusiasm. Across the room, Benedict beckoned to Daphne, a lazy lift of his hand. Amelia drifted toward Dominic, who stood near the hearth with his hands clasped behind him, leaving Charlotte to speak with her hosts. She asked Elizabeth about a painting recently moved above the mantel when Lord Rosedale looked toward the doorway.

“Merewood,” he said. “There you are.”

Charlotte turned. The gentleman upon the threshold stopped. She recognized him at once, and for a moment she heard nothing but the hard, unexpected beat of her own heart. The room seemed to tilt and then steady, the candlelight blurring at its edges. Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass until the crystal pressed into her skin. It was Alexander Stanton. She knew he was Merewood now and had expected him when they mentioned his name. She still had not been properly prepared for this meeting.