Charlotte should have remembered that her great-aunt always arrived early for any appointment.
The Dowager Marchioness of Peake still cut a magnificent figure. Tall and willowy, with coiffed curls that gleamed likepolished silver from beneath her jaunty plumed shako, she was approaching with surprising agility, given the ebony cane clasped in her gloved hand. Age hadn’t dimmed her beauty. The regal, fine-boned features of her face drew the eye with their classical symmetry, and while her ivory skin betrayed the wrinkling of time, a lively intelligence glittered in her grey eyes.
Skirts swirling, feather bobbing, she lifted her stick in an imperious salute.
“Itisyou, and grown even more striking than I remember.”
Charlotte felt as if the gimlet gaze were cutting through the layers of fabric right down to bare skin. The dowager had always possessed the ability to see through any artifice.
“I feel like I’m seeing a ghost suddenly come to life.” The cane gave another waggle. “You have a great deal of explaining to do, my dear.”
“It’s lovely to see you, Aunt Alison,” murmured Charlotte as she brushed a light kiss to the dowager’s cheek. “And, yes, I shall endeavor to answer for my misdeeds.”
Alison took hold of Charlotte’s arm. “Come, let us walk.” A wave of her cane indicated a fork in the footpath leading down to the adjoining meadow of St. James’s Park. “There is a bench close by that affords a very pleasant view over the lake.”
Crunch-crunch.The sound of their steps on the gravel filled the silence as they made their way out of the shade and seated themselves in the sunshine.
The dowager fluffed her skirts and then carefully angled her cane across her lap.
Charlotte felt her throat constrict. The soft kidskin gloves, a lovely smoke-green hue that matched the elegant walking dress, didn’t quite disguise how frail her great-aunt’s hands had become.
“Italy,” said Alison without preamble. “I heard you and your drawing master had hared off to Italy.” Her gaze was on the lake, not Charlotte. “Why didn’t you write to me?”
“Because I feared . . .” Charlotte shifted.How to explain?“I feared I had disappointed you. Not just in disgracing the family name, but because you encouraged me to think and to explore.” She swallowed hard. “And then I went ahead and, against all common sense, chose to ruin my future.”
Alison finally turned to face her. “Do you regret it?”
“No,” she answered without hesitation. “Though that’s too simple an answer. I am sorry beyond words for the pain I caused you, and all my family. But for me to live as more than a pasteboard cutout, I needed to escape from the gilded cage and spread my own wings.” Charlotte made a wry face. “No matter where I ended up.”
“Hmmph.”
The sound—was it a snort or a sigh?—was too faint to interpret. She waited, watching the dowager’s hand tighten on the handle of her cane.
“Tell me about your life,” said Alison. “Was Italy all that you dreamed it would be?”
It took longer to tell than Charlotte had expected. She had prepared a story—one as truthful as she could make it—but the dowager kept interrupting with questions. Charlotte answered them as honestly as she could.
Thank God Wrexford’s foresight allowed her to explain about the boys.
“So you are a widow, with two wards,” murmured Alison when Charlotte had come to the end of her story. “How do you support yourself?”
“Anthony made a living painting portraits, once we returned to England. Through his connections, I found work using my skill at art to do illustrations of fashion and Society.”
“Like the ones shown inAckermann’s Repository?”
“Yes, similar to those.” It wasn’t precisely a lie, just a bending of the truth.
“I see.” Another question looked to be hovering on her lips,but Alison appeared to change her mind. “So now that we’ve covered the past, let us speak of the present—and the future.”
Though the plume of the dowager’s shako was dancing in the breeze, casting her face in flickering patterns of dark and light, Charlotte saw Alison’s gaze turn searching.
“Why the sudden desire to reenter Society? From what you’ve told me, I have the distinct impression that you value your independence even more fiercely than you did as a girl.”
“I must think of the boys,” she responded. “My entrée into the beau monde will open up opportunities that I can’t currently offer to them.”
The dowager nodded sagely. “It will also open up opportunities for you.” She cleared her throat with a brusque cough. “Including to remarry, if you so choose.”
“I assure you that isnotwhy I am here,” murmured Charlotte.
