Page 17 of Charlotte's Kisses

Lucy snuffled as she stared at Charlotte with wide, unblinking eyes.

Charlotte adored her lady’s maid, but after the past twenty-four hours, she had no patience for blubbering. “What is it, Lucy?”

“I did not see anyone enter your chamber.” Using her sleeve, the girl swiped at her drenched cheeks. “I was hiding in the stairwell, watching the dancing last night.” Lucy brought her hand to her heart. “All of the gowns were so beautiful. But not a one was as pretty as yours. You sparkled like a fairytale princess.”

Hugh had made Charlotte feel as though she were the most beautiful woman in the world, which was akin to being a fairytale princess. But the magical moments had ended traumatically. Then she’d slept the afternoon away as her handsome prince lay injured. And now, there was entirely too much to do to relive every second of her evening and fret over less-than-perfect frocks.

Sighing, she pulled her favorite dress from the wardrobe. “Lucy, help me into this. I must see my father before dinner. Then I have other errands to attend to.”

Lucy gasped. “My lady, you cannot be seen in that. Lady Chesterhill will have an apoplexy. Some of the guests stayed on for a few days. Oh, how their tongues will wag. ‘Lady Charlotte, the daughter of one of the wealthiest aristocrats in England, dressing like a guttersnipe'.”

Losing her temper with her lady’s maid would serve no purpose other than causing them both to feel terrible, andit would make Charlotte no better than her tyrant of a stepmother. She breathed through her frustration.

“It will have to do for now because I must see my father posthaste. Now, pull yourself together and help me dress. Without your assistance, I shall have to navigate the halls in my night clothes with my hair hanging about in tangles.”

“Egads! That will not do.” Lucy grasped the edge of Charlotte’s night dress and yanked it over her head.

Charlotte stood in front of her mirror. Luckily, Lucy was a marvel at coiffures. Intricate braids twirled and looped, almost overshadowing the disgraceful peepholes in Charlotte’s dress.

“You look lovely,” Lucy said.

Hopefully, Hugh would stare into her eyes with such fervor that he would not notice the damaged frock.

“I will get to work fixing your other garments,” Lucy said.

“Thank you.” Dare Charlotte ask her next question? It was so bold and indecent. But wasn’t her goal to be more assertive? And to do so, she required assistance. As much as she loved her father and brother, they would not understand, making Lucy the only person in the household she could trust.

Before she could change her mind, Charlotte blurted, “Would you please retrieve your sewing kit? I need you to stay here and ensure no one enters my chamber and destroys anything else.” Or hurt her kitten or stole the pin money she'd hidden in her walking boots. “And, by the by, I will not be sleeping in my bed this evening, so you may slumber here. I believe you shallfind it cozy indeed.”

Charlotte tiptoed past Lady Chesterhill’s chamber. She simply did not have time for an altercation and was unsure she could hold her tongue. Once she reached the end of the hallway, she dashed down a back stairwell until she reached her father’s study. Unfortunately, two visiting lords and her brother sat with her father. The four of them smoked cheroots and discussed horses.

Charlotte closed her eyes and exhaled. Upon opening them, she pulled her shoulders back and brazenly entered the smokey room. “Papa, I must speak to you about an urgent matter,” she declared.

Papa’s gaze slid from her face to one of the holes in her skirt, and he blanched. She had no idea how the other men reacted to her interruption, or her gown, since she focused on mirroring her frowning brother. That should teach him to glare at her.

Lord Coldpepper tapped out his cheroot and stood. “Lady Coldpepper is expecting me. I will see you all at dinner.”

Distinguishing his cigar, Lord Jennings also excused himself and followed Coldpepper out the door.

“Charlie, what has gotten into you?” Alexander asked.

Charlotte planted a hand on her hip. “If you plan to scowl at me the entire time, I’d prefer you left.”

“See what I mean, Father? She’s developed an attitude, and I suspect it has something to do with that scoundrel you’ve invited to stay in our gardener’s cottage.”

Charlotte harrumphed. “It has more to do with Lady Chesterhill’s unrelenting abuse.”

“Charlotte Beckett,” Papa reprimanded.

Alexander huffed. “I wish someone would tell me whatthat manis doing here?”

Heavens, her brother could be difficult, so she’d have to steer the conversation away from Hugh. She plopped onto one of the recently vacated chairs and prioritized her list of questions.

“Papa, please tell me what you and Lady Chesterhill are up to?” seemed the perfect place to start.

Papa exhaled as he propped his chin on his steepled fingers. His gaze slid back and forth between his children.

Charlotte’s heart sank to her belly. His skin was a sickly pallor, and lines of red crisscrossed the whites of his eyes. Her dear Papa was run down. Or depressed. Or ill. Maybe all of the above.