Tie me to the mast.
Laughing at something her companion said, she looked away. He continued up the stairs and into the lecture hall. There was, however, no sign of Thornton, and after waiting fora quarter hour, watching as the seats filled to capacity, he decided to try his luck elsewhere.
* * *
Alison gave an owlish squint through her quizzing glass as her butler escorted Charlotte into the drawing room. “Is that another Madame Franchot creation?”
“Why, yes, it is,” she answered.
The dowager gave a low snort and patted a spot on the sofa beside her. “Come. Sit. You have many secrets I’m anxious to learn, my dear. But I just might sell my soul to Lucifer to discover how you convinced London’s most exclusive dressmaker to fashion your wardrobe.”
Charlotte repressed a smile. The dowager’s tart sense of humor hadn’t diminished over the years. Much as the earlier round of social calls had been terrifying to contemplate, Alison’s pithy commentary—whispered sotto voce as the teacups were passed—and unflinching support had made the first foray into London’s beau monde go far smoother than she ever imagined possible.
That was, of course, because not only was the dowager a Dragon, she was also impressively accomplished at telling outrageous farididdles. Who would have guessed that such an elderly grande dame could spout such lies?
“I lust after one of her ball gown designs—L’Ange de Ciel,” continued Alison. “But I’ve been told I’m on a waiting list that will likely stretch into the next century.” A sigh. “No doubt Madame Franchot doesn’t want a bag of old bones making her divine creations look less than celestial.”
“The story of how I know her is one you shall hear at some point, Aunt Alison,” replied Charlotte. “In the meantime, I shall have a word with Franny about the gown.” She allowed a small pause. “Have you perchance thought of what fabric might suit?”
“The sky-blue watered silk from Italy,” answered the dowager without hesitation.
“A lovely choice,” murmured Charlotte.
The reply sparked a glint of amusement in Alison’s gaze. “I may be tottering into senility, but I like to think I still have a discerning eye—and not just for color, my dear.” She patted Charlotte’s arm. “The curious, courageous girl I knew has grown into a strong, principled young lady. I’m very glad you’ve come back to me.”
“As am I.” Charlotte clasped the dowager’s frail fingers and gave a quick squeeze. “I missed your wisdom and your laughter.” A smile. “Most of all, I missed your believing in me more than I believed in myself.”
“Nonsense. It seems to me you’ve done quite well without my counsel.” Alison looked away, and covered a sniff with a cough to clear her throat. “You did magnificently in charming the tabbies this morning. But I sense that tonight, you’re looking to do more than spout superficial pleasantries.”
Charlotte’s smile grew more pronounced. The Dragon was still sharp as a battle-axe. “You’re correct.”
The dowager’s expression turned expectant. “Who are you looking to meet?”
“Lady Julianna Aldrich and Lady Cordelia Mansfield,” she answered.
“Hmmph.” Alison thought for a long moment. “Can you tell me the reasons why?”
“I’ve learned that Lady Julianna and Cedric had a romantic attachment. I would like to see if some discreet questioning may elicit any helpful information on who might have wished him ill.”
Charlotte considered how to answer the rest of the question. “As for Lady Cordelia, I can’t reveal why at this moment, but I wish to meet her and make some assessment of her character.”
Alison gave a brusque nod. “Well, then, I imagine it wouldhelp to know a little about their backgrounds. And no one knows more than I do about the skeletons in the beau monde’s family closets.”
“I was hoping as much.”
“Then let us get down to brass tacks.” The dowager fluffed her skirts. “Lady Julianna grew up in India. She lost her parents during the Second Maratha War when the Chief of Baroda attacked the town in which her family was living. She was the lone survivor, and her father’s will designated Justinian DeVere as her guardian.”
“DeVere?” Charlotte recalled that Wrexford had mentioned the fact of his guardianship in passing. She hadn’t given it much thought as of yet, but any connection to Lady Julianna now seemed important to understand. “Isn’t he the nabob who’s said to be incredibly wealthy?”
“Yes, he and the gel’s father were close friends,” explained the dowager. “Apparently, her upbringing was eccentric by English standards. DeVere indulged her intellectual interests. She’s very bookish, and interested in all sorts of arcane subjects, which, of course, make the beau monde shudder in horror. However . . .”
Alison’s brows rose in a cynical arch. “DeVere has given her a very large dowry, and as we all know, money covers a multitude of sins. I’m sure Cedric wasn’t the only gentleman paying court to her.”
Charlotte nodded. “So it seems. Sir Kelvin Hollister is said to have ultimately won her regard.”
“Sir Kelvin? I find that very hard to fathom,” replied the dowager. “I grant you, he possesses a handsome face, but I seem to recall hearing whispers that he’s less than a gentleman.”
“What do you mean?”
