Page 14 of Unmasking the Diamond
“Indeed. Apparently he could not wait.” Charlotte reached into her wardrobe for a bonnet, choosing one trimmed in pale blue silk. Then she went to her desk, retrieved a small velvet pouch, and pressed a stack of coins into Sally’s hand. “If you see any women or children in need…”
Sally closed her fingers over the money, nodding solemnly. “I know what to do, Miss.”
Together they returned to the entry hall where Lord Welker stood waiting, hat in hand, his eyes alight as though she were the sun itself.
“Shall we depart?”
“That sounds lovely,” Charlotte replied sweetly. Her own voice seemed to grate on her ears.
He offered his arm, and they proceeded to the glossy black open-aired carriage awaiting them in the courtyard. Charlotte allowed him to hand her up, her smile still firmly in place, though inside she sighed.
The carriage jerked into motion. Charlotte turned her gaze to the streets, letting her eyes wander over the passing faces. The well-dressed people strolled with careless laughter, parasols and polished boots gleaming in the sunlight. But it was the others—those with threadbare coats, hollow cheeks, and eyes dulled by hunger—that drew her attention. Her chest ached with the knowledge that none of her suitors noticed them, and that most of Society did not care.
“It is a lovely day today,” Lord Welker said suddenly, breaking through her thoughts.
“It is,” she agreed.
“Do you like weather?” he asked.
Charlotte stared back at him. “Do I like weather?” she echoed, biting back a sharp retort. What an absurd question. Still, she forced a polite response. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
He bobbed his head, satisfied. “I prefer when the sun peeks out of the clouds.”
“As do I,” Charlotte replied. “Though in England one must always be prepared for rain.”
“Very wise,” he said reverently, as if she had just quoted Scripture.
Oh, heavens. She barely resisted rolling her eyes.
Then he shifted seats, plopping himself beside her. “I thought it would be better if we sat together.”
Lucky me.She laced her fingers tightly in her lap. “Do you like the sun or the moon, my lord?” she asked archly.
“The sun.”
“I prefer the moon,” she countered.
His smile turned gallant. “Ah, yes. The moon, unrivaled in the heavens—save perhaps yourself.”
Charlotte’s jaw ached from holding her polite smile. “You are very kind.”
“I would fetch you the moon itself, if you would grant me a waltz,” Lord Welker declared, his chest puffing up with self-importance.
“But where would I keep the moon, my lord? It is far too large for my reticule.”
He chuckled, winking as if they shared some private joke. “Ah, yes. Practical and wise. Exactly as I imagined.” He paused, then added, “I only wish my sister would act more like you. She is debuting next Season, and she is… impossible.”
“Impossible? In what way?”
The humor drained from his features, leaving behind the pompous earnestness she found so tiresome. “She insists she wants to write a book. Utterly ludicrous, is it not?”
Charlotte forced her expression to remain composed. “And why is that ludicrous?”
He gave her a conspiratorial look, as if revealing a universal truth. “Because she is a woman. She should devote her time to more suitable pursuits—embroidery, music, the social graces. You, for instance, embody everything a lady ought to be. I wish she would walk, talk, and act just like you.”
Her smile never faltered, but inside her heart seethed. “But, my lord,” she replied evenly, “would that not be a gravedisservice to your sister? There is only one of her. You should embrace her uniqueness.”
He looked unconvinced. “Surely you must agree that if she persists, she risks becoming a bluestocking—or worse, a spinster.”
