And perhaps she should stop thinking about him and get on with the business of finding a husband.
“Oh, I had wanted to speak to you about something,” Mrs. Sterne said suddenly. “I do recall that you said you are fond of painting.”
“Oh, yes.” She felt a pang. “I do enjoy it, especially oils, although it has been some time since I had the chance to pursue the hobby.” She’d begun lessons with watercolors as a child and had advanced to oil lessons. How she’d loved the smell, the colors, and the feeling of sharing her views of the world, just with the stroke of her brush. But all of that had ended with the death of her parents.
“We are attending a showing at a gallery in a couple of days. I was wondering if you would care to come with us? The gallery belongs to a friend, Mr. Caradec. He teaches classes for passionate and talented young artists who might not have the money or connections to be admitted to the Royal Society.”
“Mr. Rhys Caradec?” Charlotte breathed. “I greatly admire his work.”
“Wonderful! Then you will come?”
“Thank you so much. I should love to.”
Suddenly Sterne stepped around the tree. “There is quite a crowd gathered, vying for ices.” He smiled at his wife. “That means no one is currently waiting for a boat. Shall we go out on the water, my dear?”
“Oh, yes!” But Mrs. Sterne hesitated. “That is, perhaps we should not leave Miss Mayne on her own.”
“No worries,” her husband countered cheerfully. “Whiddon can take her out, as well.” He looked over his shoulder and Lord Whiddon came around the tree behind him.
Charlotte’s startled gaze flew to his—and there it was. Thezingand spit and sizzle of . . . connection. It was an awareness, a burn, a field of friction that existed only between the two of them.
“Penelope. Miss Mayne.” He nodded.
“Lord Whiddon.”
“You won’t mind taking the young lady out in one of the boats, will you?” his friend asked him.
Whiddon’s gaze held hers. It was still there, that aura of . . . promise. It had sputtered into life on that terrace and crackled higher on the dance floor. It hung between them still, but was dimmed by the hesitation she saw in his manner.
“Oh, no need to worry over me,” she said brightly. “I am waiting on Mr. Rostham. He’s bringing me an ice. You two go on and enjoy the breeze on the water.”
Sterne glanced at his friend, then nodded and took his wife’s hand. Looking proud and content, he led her away.
Charlotte steeled her spine and glanced back at the earl. Sunshine carved light furrows in his chestnut hair and turned the sharply turned edges of his face into a study of light and shadow. She swallowed.
“I must take this opportunity to thank you for that dance, sir, the last time we met. You pulled me from disaster and saved my Season. In fact, you improved it immensely. I truly am grateful.” She glanced away. “I must make the most of my chance here.”
Nodding, he leaned against the tree. “I’m just glad it worked. I don’t think your cousin bears me the same good will, though. She glowered at me as I came in, both she and the small but malevolent group around her, too.”
“Yes. They give me the same dark looks. Honestly, though? I’m just glad I got to witness the first time Harriett has had to face a bit of disapproval for her behavior.”
“Abitof disapproval?”
“Well, she hasn’t been completely shunned, after all. And her parents, of course, do not blame her for her sudden unpopularity.”
His brow raised. “They blame you?”
“And you, as well,” she told him. “I am sorry, but it is true.”
“I shall bear the weight of it,” he said dryly.
“I would avoid her, if you can. She can be quite unpleasant when crossed. And more than a little vengeful.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience.”
“Yes, experience gathered at each dreaded childhood visit. Now, enough about Harriett. I am glad to have the chance to speak to you. I have been wanting to ask you about your archery skills.”
“Archery skills?”
