“I’ll not be requiring your services any more this evening, Mrs. Crabtree.” Her voice did not tremble as she spoke. “Thank you.”
Even though the chaperone held her ground, Mrs. Crabtree didn’t seem quite as certain of herself as she had ten minutes before.
Charley lifted her chin and inhaled a deep breath. A burden she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying, for the moment, lifted off her shoulders.
For the first time in ages, she didn’t feel as though she had to fight every battle alone.
Lord Greystone patted her arm in what Charley believed was approval and a rush of warmth swept through her.
“You are excused.” Lord Greystone added in a manner that the stern woman had no choice but to retreat.
“I will come to your chamber in the morning,” she said to Charley.
Manningham-Tissinton—or Mantis as Jules had referred to the viscount—cleared his throat just as the chaperone turned.
“My Lord?” Mrs. Crabtree halted and scowled at him.
“There are ladies present.” He tilted his head in Greystone’s direction. “As are, I believe, a few lords.”
The woman who’d plagued Charley for most of the evening opened her eyes wide and then began curtseying to Bethany, Lord Mantis, Lord Chaswick, and then Lord Greystone. Apparently no longer anxious to remain at Charley’s side, she practically ran into the manor. Chaswick and Mantis grinned at one another and Greystone shook his head.
Charley met Bethany’s gaze and had to stifle an inappropriate urge to giggle. They had come to aid her—to aid her and Jules. And they all seemed to be taking considerable pleasure at having done so.
But where was Jules? She sent his sister a grateful smile and then glanced around. One moment he’d been making her feel drunk with his kisses and the next he had simply… disappeared.
She didn’t really understand how all of this had come about or who had planned it, but she was grateful.
Had Jules made arrangements earlier for all of this sneaking around in order to bamboozle her chaperone? It would have been a good deal of trouble for him for a mere kiss.
Or perhaps he had wanted more than a kiss?
Bethany crossed to her side and took hold of Charley’s free arm. “Shall we visit the retiring room, Charley?”
Wary to hear what Jules’ sister was going to have to say, Charley nodded, nonetheless, and Greystone released her. She hoped the new friendship that had barely had time to blossom with the younger girl wasn’t going to be ruined. She liked having a friend, even more, she liked Bethany.
But her gut told her it was a distinct possibility. Because Bethany wasn’t only Jules’ sister, she was practically a sister toFelicity, whom everyone expected Jules to marry. And Charley hated to imagine how Felicity must feel. She’d done nothing but go along with her parents’ expectations.
Neither Charley nor Bethany spoke as they stepped inside the manor and down the corridor to the room set aside for ladies to freshen their hair and gowns.
When they entered the retiring room, the attending maid’s brows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “Your hem needs repairing, Miss! And your hair!”
Charley glanced down, and sure enough, nearly a quarter of the hem of her gown had been trailing dismally behind her. Charley slid her gaze to the mirror and winced. Her lips glistened pink and plumper than usual and the skin along her jaw glowed red from Jules’ whiskers. Leaves clung to her hair, half of which had escaped the coiffure Daisy had carefully arranged a few hours earlier and her cheeks were flushed a guilty pink. Worst of all, the bodice of her gown had shifted downward, giving her a most unforgiving wanton look.
Even she would have guessed at what they’d been up to. She wasn’t so naïve to realize what the others must have been thinking.
“It must have happened when I fell into the hedge.” Charley made a halfhearted effort to explain her disheveled appearance away.
Bethany’s gaze met hers in the mirror. It wasn’t accusing, so much as… resigned. “I do believe, Miss Charlotte Jackson of Philadelphia, my brother has taken a liking to you.”
“No. No. No.” Charley didn’t want to concede that. Because if she did, then it would mean that she liked him back. And he was an earl. An earl who lived in England. An earl who really ought to be paying his addresses to another more deserving, more appropriate young lady.
But Bethany nodded.
“Step up here, Miss.” The maid had fetched a needle and thread. “And then we’ll do something about your hair.”
“It’s nothing. We are… friends.” Charley spoke the words aloud, cursing her fair complexion when the pink in her cheeks darkened further.
“Has he offered for you?”
