Ladies and gentlemen moved in and out of Lord Montain’s elegant drawing room, enjoying Lady Montain’s evening rout.
Lord Nettlesby and three other gentlemen ranged around Lottie, posturing and joking with one another.
For her part, Lottie listened with half an ear, fanned her face, and desperately wished to be somewhere else. Preferably withsomeoneelse.
“I say, Lady Charlotte, I was telling Peterson here that you don’t eat meat.” Lord Nettlesby grinned at her, motioning toward a thin dandy at his side. “He thought I was bamming him.”
“Is this true?” Mr. Peterson asked, staring like she was the prettiest filly at Tattersall’s, and he couldn’t wait to purchase her.
“Yes, it is true.” She paused to see if Mr. Peterson or Nettlesby would question her further. Any tiny tidbit that would indicate a true desire to get to know her.
But, instead, both men laughed, as if her reply were that of an adorable child.
Oof.
She had not missed London and its Marriage Mart.
She had been in London for two weeks now.
Nearly three weeks since Alex had left Frome Abbey, leaning on his crutch but head upright in determined resolution.
Three weeks without seeing him. Three weeks without his gentle laughter and thoughtful voice.
How could such a clearly measured length of time feel like a limitless eternity?
And yet, what else was she to do?
She wished Freddie to inherit.
Any interest she showed in Dr. Alex Whitaker was a barrier to that.
As if reminding her of her determined path, Lady Gardner whisked past in a blur of gray curls and expensive silk. Her ladyship darted a glance Lottie’s way. Like a character in a fairy tale, Lady Gardner could grow a fantasy of scandal out of innocent beans.
Could her ladyship sense the brittleness underlying Lottie’s forced cheer?
Lottie kept a bright smile on her face, determined not to give Lady Gardner even a hint of bean to work with.
Three weeks ago, Lottie had been resolute in her course.
But now . . . after feeling so keenly the pain of Alex’s absence . . .
Some days she feared her heart would quite literally crack in two, divided between her love for her family and her adoration of Alex.
But how could she hurt Freddie so? How could she hurt Margaret?
The situation was utterly impossible.
“Are you well,ma petite?” Grandmère murmured at her elbow. “Lady Montain’s routs are always a frightful crush.”
“I am fine, Grandmère. It is merely stuffy in here.” Lottie continued fanning herself.
She declined to mention that she had not eaten since breakfast. The strain of missing Alex and engaging in the social whirlwind of Town had utterly sapped her appetite. But she had drunk a glass of sherry upon arriving, and the wine sat heavy in her empty stomach, rendering her lightheaded.
The evening was meant to be one of laughter—conversation in one room, cards in another, while music could be heard coming from a third. A sprinkling of activities that might please everyone.
Grandmère, thankfully, had stayed at Lottie’s side even as gentlemen came and went. Nettlesby was the only one who remained glued in place beside her. At the moment, their small group was standing in front of an open window opposite the doorway. The night air was only slightly cooler than the room itself, but the faint breeze was a blessing on the back of Lottie’s neck.
She fanned herself, watching Frank and Margaret move through the room, greeting people. Ferndown accompanied them, currying public opinion in favor of Freddie. They stopped to speak with Lady Montain before the fireplace, all smiles and charm.
