Page 2 of Always the Chaperone
Charlotte blinked. She had paid so little attention to Miss Darby; she had not noticed her raptures had ended. The lady curtsied and returned to her group.
The group was predominately ladies, all young, pretty, with the most ridiculous bonnets of the latest fashions. Accompanying them were two gentlemen. They were obviously brothers, and one could see it in their faces, the same eyes and the same curve of the mouth. They even held themselves similarly, rather stiffly, as though a wooden board had been shoved up their shirts and breeches.
Charlotte stifled a giggle. One of the brothers was taller than the other, and more handsome, in her opinion. More strength in the jaw, more breadth in the shoulder. More presence than some gentlemen had and others strived for.
What would it be like to be a woman standing with them? Laughing away without a care in the world, certain you are going to find a match and end the Season married?
And what would the gentlemen be thinking? The shorter of the two was speaking, telling a story, and capturing their attention. Her gaze flickered over to the taller. What was he like? Did he enjoy societal pleasantries, or was he as bored as she was?
His gaze suddenly met hers, and Charlotte gasped as a flash of something—heat, intrigue, interest, she could not tell, sparked across her body. He was looking right at her as though he had sought her out in a crowd and finally discovered her. His eyes were blue, and he smiled.
Heat warmed her cheeks, and she immediately dropped her gaze. What must he think of her, staring at a gentleman?
Richard and Tabitha had disappeared, but a few people stood around talking, and she quickly attended to their conversation. Anything to distract her from that look.
“—and so I told them, I do not care whether it is a park or a garden or the street!” A woman was saying in an impressive voice, and two others were nodding. “If you are going to be seen in that gentleman’s company again, I beg you to take a chaperone. I mean to say, without a chaperone, who can tell what truly occurred!”
Charlotte’s heart sunk. Of course, it was a conversation about chaperones. Fate would permit nothing else. As Admiral Jenkins spoke to give his commendation to the woman’s words, Charlotte risked a glance.
He was still staring, and his smile was wider.
He could not be staring at her. There must be a young, beautiful lady behind her. Her jaw relaxed as she turned to look.
There was no one behind her.
This was unprecedented; no gentleman had ever looked at her like that! Charlotte felt uneasy, desperate to walk away but with no control over her feet. She was the one always in the background, not the woman in the front!
“What say you, Lady Charlotte?” The admiral was glaring as though she was supposed to heartily endorse his words and had missed her cue. “As a seasoned chaperone, you must agree it is vital for our young people to have an older, wiser presence in their courting?”
Charlotte had inherited few things from the Axwick line for which she was thankful, and one of them was her temper. It was her father’s temper and no matter how she tried to suppress the flames, it rose hot and spluttering, like a fire with too much fuel.
“Are you asking my opinion as someone no longer young?” she asked curtly, a mirthless smile on her face.
The admiral stomped his feet. “Well, I did not exactly mean…”
Face still hot from the gaze of the tall gentleman, she decided to rescue the admiral and place him once more on solid ground.
“You must excuse me,” she said with a deep curtsey, “I have just seen something needing my attention.”
The man’s relief was palpable, but it was nothing to the confusion whirling in Charlotte’s mind as she stepped away and saw the unknown gentleman was still looking at her. His smile threw his features into an even more favorable light.
She had to get away from this strange man. What could he possibly want with her?
She stumbled as she stepped off the lawn and onto the terrace and was immediately accosted.
“Ah, Lady Charlotte! What a wonderful wedding, do you not think?”
It was Miss Theodosia Ashbrooke, the well-known matchmaker, all the way from London. Charlotte tried to smile, anything to hide her confusion.
“Yes, it was,” she managed. “I do apologize, Miss Ashbrooke, please excuse—”
“Yes, I think it is my third favorite,” Miss Ashbrooke said thoughtfully. “I say so advisedly, for all my clients invite me to their weddings. Why, the other day—”
“You must excuse me,” said Charlotte firmly, stepping around the matchmaker and aiming for the dining room.
“Lady Charlotte!” Jacob Beauvale, Lord Westray, grabbed her hand, and if he had not been such an old friend of the family, she would have hit him for so irritatingly stopping her in her tracks once more. “A favor, old thing. I have a sweet miss I wish to have to dinner, but blasted etiquette, I need another female in the house. Are you available?”
“My calendar is booking up quickly, Westray,” Charlotte said tartly, wrenching her arm away and trying not to think of those piercing blue eyes. “You will have to…” Her voice died as she saw the disappointed look on his face. “Damn it, Westray, you know how I feel about chaperoning.”
