“Good evening, ladies,” she replied.
She exchanged air kisses with them. Lady Kendall was rail-thin, with inky hair and painted-on eyebrows. Lady Price’s sandy-brown ringlets framed her round face, her mouth puckered as if she were perpetually sucking on a lemon.
“May I congratulate you on this splendid event, Lady Kendall?” Charlie said. “It is certain to be the talk of the town.”
Lady Kendall’s close-set eyes glittered with triumph. “Thank you, my dear Lady Fayne. Given your impeccable taste, I take your compliment to heart. However…”
Here it comes…
“I am quite distraught at the behavior of a certain aging roué.”
Lady Kendall cast an arch look in the direction of the champagne fountain, and with an inward sigh, Charlie looked over as well. The target of Lady Kendall’s vitriol this eve was Sir Hewitt Lancaster. He was in his sixties, a heavyset fellow with craggy features and bushy grey eyebrows. A wealthy merchant, he had a reputation for being a drunkard and a fool but was quite harmless.
Which was more than Charlie could say about the ladies gossiping about him.
“He looks to be enjoying himself,” she said neutrally.
“He’s been by the fountain all evening,” Lady Kendall announced. “One of my footmen says he’s had the equivalent of three bottles of champagne.”
“Such immoderation,” Lady Price agreed. “An appalling display of excessive appetite.”
“His behavior at the buffet table was equally vulgar.” Lady Kendall’s eyes lit with spite. “I suppose one cannot expect more of a fellow whose fortune comes from trade.”
As the ladies sniggered behind their fans, Charlie bit her tongue. In her quest to become a respectable lady, she’d mastered the necessary evil of small talk, but she could never get used to the maliciousness and hypocrisy. For these two to accuse Sir Lancaster of displaying an excessive appetite was beyond galling, given their own public carnal indulgences.
“Oh, there is Mrs. Rigby. Do come join us,” Lady Kendall called.
Isadora Rigby, wearing a violet gown that flattered her brunette coloring and slender form, glided over. She was an attractive woman with a triangular face and green eyes.
“Lady Fayne, have you met our dear friend Isadora Rigby?” Lady Kendall gushed.
The vision of Ophelia floated through Charlie’s head.
“Charmed,” she murmured.
Mrs. Rigby inclined her head, the plume in her coiffure bobbing gracefully. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“We were just talking about Sir Lancaster,” Lady Price said with eager glee. “Have you seen such intemperance, Mrs. Rigby?”
Mrs. Rigby flicked her eyes in his direction, looking bored. “Surely we can entertain ourselves with something more interesting than a man making a pig of himself?”
The Ladies Kendall and Price giggled.
“Lady Fayne, we’ve been looking for you!”
Charlie turned to see Livy and Fiona waving at her from beneath a towering palm.
Thank heavens. My Angels have come to the rescue again.
“Please excuse me,” she murmured. “I have some pressing matters to discuss with my charity.”
“Charity must come first of course,” Lady Kendall said piously.
Charlie escaped and joined Livy, Fiona, and their respective spouses, the Duke of Hadleigh and the Earl of Hawksmoor. While both men were tall, dark-haired, and handsome, Fi’s earl had a scholarly mien whilst Livy’s duke exuded a jaded air, a remnant of his wild and tragic youth. When Hadleigh looked at his duchess, however, his eyes softened, and there was no mistaking the healing power of their love.
“You look resplendent this evening, Charlie,” Fi said.
Given that Fi looked like a princess in peach satin, her flame-red hair arranged in a pearl-studded coronet, Charlie accepted the compliment with a smile.
