Читать книгу An Imprudent Lady - Elaine Golden - Страница 4

“If it weren’t so early in the Season, Lady Charlotte, I’d declare your sister a singular success.” Lady Bromwell nodded toward Angelica on the far side of the room.

Charlotte Fortney smiled and nodded politely. At thirty-five, she observed the festivities from her usual place within the congregation of matrons and chaperones that watched the room with attentive eyes. As a confirmed spinster, Charlotte was content to monitor the courting rituals of others unfolding under the gilded candlelight of the ballroom. Her location had the added benefit of allowing her to keep a watchful eye on her young sister.

“Is that Stanwall dancing with Angelica?” asked her mother, the Dowager Duchess of Wainsborough, as she joined her.

“Indeed it is,” Charlotte said. “And the second dance set tonight. All of the gossips will be atwitter on the morrow.”

Her mother chuckled. “Excellent. Stanwall would be a brilliant match.”

“He would bore Angelica to tears.” Charlotte took a sip of lukewarm punch.

“I fail to see how that is a deterrent, Charlotte. One doesn’t look to a husband for diversion. Stanwall is wealthy, titled and from a prestigious bloodline. Angelica would do well as his countess.” Her mother studied the couple with the alertness of a predator watching its prey.

Stanwall returned Angelica to her throng of admirers then bowed with formal precision and took his leave. Angelica turned her attention and smiles to another suitor without a single glance at the departing figure.

“Drat,” her mother grumbled.

“Why the rush to wed her off, Mother? Allow her to enjoy this first Season and focus your wedding aspirations on one of the boys. Heavens knows they’re not making any progress on their own.” The sisters bracketed two bachelor brothers in age, so her male siblings were viable targets on the marriage mart and had been for some time.

“Don’t think I haven’t tried. They’re as slippery as eels,” she said and sniffed as if wounded. “Besides, I’d like to see one of my girls wed.” The words were careless, as if her mother had said her thoughts aloud without realizing it.

Charlotte stiffened. “I should have liked to have wed, as you well know.” At one time, Charlotte would have done anything to wed one man in particular. And she had given up everything as a result when she could not.

At least her mother had the courtesy to look appalled for her words, although if one didn’t know the duchess well it would have been difficult to tell. Her mother’s control was such that she froze when embarrassed with no undignified stammering or blushing. After a long hesitation, she inhaled and turned her full attention to Charlotte.

“Indeed. I should have said that I would like to see one of my girls well wed.”

And there it was—the admonishment for selecting the wrong man. A man who wasn’t well set in the eyes of her parents.

A long moment passed before Charlotte dared to speak. “Proceed with care, Mother, and reflect upon the last time you attempted to meddle with a daughter’s affections. And the consequences.”

“I recall all too well, Charlotte, and I won’t be as lax this time.” Her mother glanced about to ensure no one could overhear them. “She’ll be wed and secure before she has the chance to ruin herself. I won’t tolerate another scandal to suppress.”

Perhaps it was the stress of launching Angelica in her first Season that brought out the spitefulness; she’d been denied the event with Charlotte. But Charlotte had learned long ago to retreat in the face of parental opposition, and she followed that ingrained response now. After all, it wasn’t done to bicker in public. Charlotte sketched a curtsy for form’s sake and fled the room and her mother as discreetly as possible.

Memories threatened to swamp her as she left the ballroom. The images were oddly fresh for having occurred so long ago, although she had never entirely forgotten. How could she, when the course of her life had altered so completely? The exposure now, after so many years of burying them, was shockingly raw, washing her with pain.

She slipped into the ladies’ retiring room to hide until the despair was once again suppressed, and it was nearly half an hour before she recovered sufficiently. She needed to return, but she felt exposed, as if a tiny window to her soul had been revealed.

Charlotte studied her reflection critically in a gilt-edged mirror provided by their considerate hostess. At least she hadn’t cried, although it had been a near thing. Red, swollen eyes would have been impossible to explain away. Hopefully, she would be able to hide her vulnerability from the curious.

Charlotte pinched her cheeks for color, took a deep breath and summoned a broad, false smile. She could do it. She could return to the gathering and leave the past where it belonged—in the past. And, somehow, she’d find a way to stand up to her mother, for her sister’s sake if not her own. It was too late for Charlotte.

Her pace picked up as she hurried down the corridor toward the ballroom, eager to reclaim the evening. Then she rounded a corner and plowed, nose first, into the wide chest of another guest. Her heart lurched and she swayed a moment before a strong grip steadied her.

Lud, she was clumsy. If she’d been paying proper attention, she wouldn’t have nearly run the poor fellow down.

She withdrew a step and looked up, but the apology died on her lips. Her pulse seemed to slow and the world dimmed to a narrow point. The orchestra and the din of the crowd faded, muffled like sound carried underwater.

Him.

Her past, her heartbreak and her perpetual purgatory wrapped in one starkly masculine package.