Leaving him sputtering, she turned and departed the gallery.
Chapter 2
“You will make a beautiful Flora, my darling girl.”
“Flora.” Charity frowned at her reflection in the looking glass. “Are you certain, Auntie Louise? I was hoping to be something more dashing this evening. Something like…”
“Venus?” Auntie Louise asked, raising a brow as her sky-blue gaze connected with Charity’s in the mirror.
She had accompanied Charity to Fangfoss Manor for the house party just as she always accompanied Charity everywhere. Mama and Papa were forever far too busy with Charity’s older siblings and their own friends to have a care for her. But that was fine as far as Charity was concerned. She had always felt much closer to Auntie Louise than to Mama or her sister. Besides, Auntie Louise was far more fun.
Except for her insistence that Charity attend the masque as the Roman goddess Flora this evening.
Charity sighed. “You have heard the rumor as well?”
“Dearest, I have threatened bodily harm to anyone who carries it on,” Auntie Louise reassured her. “But in answer to your question, darling, yes, I have heard the rumor just as I suspect all London has by now. One can never trust a Richards, and I do hope you have learned your lesson.”
Hmm.
Fancy that—Auntie Louise taking her to task. For all Charity’s life, her aunt had been an omnipresent figure. Guiding, coaching, encouraging. Never judging. Always praising. The judging had been Mama and Papa’s tasks. At least, so it had seemed. When one possessed siblings who were never at fault and who did their duty and made excellent matches with ease, all without ever once bringing shame upon the family, well, how could a lady with a mind and spirit of her own ever possibly compete?
She could not. That was why Charity was so relieved Mama had relented in her august rule in the wake of becoming a grandmother—thanks to Fiona and Alfred in the same year—and devoting herself to her grandchildren instead of fussing over Charity’s every flaw.
“Peter was an excellent chum when he was in leading strings and I in short skirts,” she offered to Auntie Louise in defense of her dear friend who was responsible for the Venus painting and ensuing scandal. “However, I concede that I should never have agreed to sit for the portrait.”
“Sitting for the portrait was never the problem, dearest, and you know it,” Auntie Louise said as she fussed with a tendril of hair which had fallen from Charity’s coiffure. Once more, her gaze sought Charity’s in the looking glass. “It was the manner in which Mr. Richards portrayed you.”
Mr. Richards.How formal. He had always been nothing other than Peter to Charity. But then, she and Peter had always been friends. Rather in the fashion of brother and sister, even if they were nearly of an age.
Charity frowned at her beloved aunt in the looking glass. “I do not think Peter was portrayingme. He is no different than a brother to me, and I most certainly have neverdisrobedbefore him.”
“And yet, the undeniable likeness was enough to cause tongues to wag,” Auntie Louise pointed out, her tone calm and precise, if a bit grim. “He should have known better than to invite such unwelcome speculation. A few changes to your countenance, and the resemblance would have been much more easily dismissed.”
Again, Auntie Louise was correct in her assessment. Yet, Peter had been as young and naïve as Charity had been. She could not blame him for the damage his painting had caused to her reputation, especially considering what the painting had done for his hopes as an artist. Peter was exceptionally talented andVenus at Her Bathhad managed to achieve tremendous attention, albeit years after it had originally been painted.
Unfortunately, that attention had led to scrutiny and scandal for Charity. But never mind that. Setting society on its ear—or on its rump—had proved an excellent diversion for her on numerous occasions in the past. Charity did not mind. Her mother, however, did. But this was the first time Auntie Louise had mentioned the gossip.
She sighed yet again. “I suppose you are right, and that Flora is the wiser goddess to portray this evening.”
Her aunt beamed. “Excellent. You are lovely as always, my dearest girl. Now do let me add some silk blossoms to your hair.”
Charity held still as her aunt added the flowers, completing her toilette. Thank heavens for Auntie Louise. She always knew what to do when it came to…well,everything.
* * *
Wilty.
Neville had never met a more infuriating woman than Lady Charity Mannerless. That much was certain. And worse, she had suddenly sent him back to the uneasy youth he had once been, the man who uttered inane sallies to calm his fraying nerves.
Yes, he was aware that not everyone was as amused by bad puns as he was. No, he did not think he had impressed her one whit. Not that he had tried.
He did notlikeher, deuce it.
Fortunately, he had not seen her since that awkward interview, and he intended to do his damnedest to avoid her for the remainder of the house party. It was Friday, which meant another round of Lady Fangfoss’s dubiously entitledMandatory Funwas in order. This time, a masked costume ball instead of the more simplistic country dances their host and hostess had offered thus far during the house party. In general, the notion of hiding his identity was displeasing to him. And the idea of wearing a ridiculous costume of sorts? Even more deplorable.
How was he to woo Miss Pennypacker if he was pretending to be someone else?
Wilty.
