Actually, he was far more than a close friend, she reminded herself. He was now her fiancé.
Both of them were still getting used to that fact.
“Are you perchance nervous about being here tonight?” demanded the dowager, after lifting her quizzing glass and subjecting Charlotte to a thorough scrutiny. “You look a little green around the gills.”
Charlotte dismissed the suggestion with a low snort. Granted, it was her first appearance at a gala party since the announcement of the impending nuptials, and she could already feel the prickle of surreptitious stares . . .
“I merely dislike being ogled.”
“You can’t blame them for being curious.” Alison’s sapphire eyes took on a glint of amusement. “Wrexford has a reputation for possessing a hair-trigger temper and a rapier tongue. They are likely trying to decide how much steel you have in your spine, and whether to place a wager in the famous betting book at White’s that you’ll cry off before the wedding.”
A pause. “The odds are apparently seven to five in favor of his being jilted.”
“Ye gods, people should have better things to do with their mathematical skills,” muttered Charlotte.
“Raven and Lady Cordelia will no doubt be interested in working out some sort of incomprehensible equation to calculate how to beat the odds and make money on placing a bet,” mused the dowager.
Raven, the older of the two street urchin brothers Charlotte had taken under her wing, was showing a remarkable aptitude for mathematics—and it was flourishing under the tutelage of her brilliant friend, Lady Cordelia Mansfield.
“Please don’t encourage such an idea, even in jest,” she replied. “I would rather not have to pen a satirical drawing on the scandal of an adolescent running a gambling consortium for the gentlemen of the beau monde.”
Alison snickered. “I daresay, the little jackanapes would soon be richer than King Midas. He’s exceedingly clever—”
“Tooclever at times.” Charlotte repressed a wince. Thanks to Wrexford’s sleight of hand—she hadn’t inquired too closely on just how he had managed to create a family tree that was merely smoke and lies—she was now the legal guardian of the two boys, whom she loved as if they were her own flesh and blood.
But motherhood, however unconventional, was a constant challenge.
“He is,” she added, “reaching an age when I fear we will likely begin butting heads over rules—”
The approach of a portly gentleman, whose curling silver hair was beginning to recede from his craggy brow, caused her to fall silent.
“My dear ladies, though I know we doddering old scholars aren’t nearly as alluring as these exotic blossoms, I do hope I can tempt you to come join us by the refreshment table.”
“Ha!” Alison exclaimed, waggling her cane. “You can’t claim to be doddering until, like me, you’re forced to use a stick for support, Sir Robert . . .” She flashed a wink and lowered her voice to add, “So you don’t run the risk of falling on your arse.”
The baronet, an old friend of the dowager, and a noted expert on orchids, chuckled as he offered Alison his arm. “Allow me to ensure no bodily harm comes to you.” Another laugh. “Though I daresay, a gathering of botanists is the least likely place for any violence to occur. We tend to be very gentle souls.”
Charlotte held back a smile.No wonder Wrexford prefers chemistry over the study of plant life.His temperament tended to be a tad more volatile.
Some unkind individuals might even call it explosive.
“And may I offer my congratulations on your upcoming marriage, Lady Charlotte. Lord Wrexford is much admired by all of us as a brilliant man of science.” His lips twitched. “Though I think he considers botany to be a rather boring field. But, of course, he’s too polite to say so.”
“Wrexford?Polite?” Alison let out a snort. “Ha! Over my dead body.”
“Dead bodies?” Another scholar, his face already flushed from several glasses of champagne, came over to join them. “My dear Lady Peake, let us not talk of such unpleasant subjects at such a festive occasion.” He gestured for a footman to come over and offer his tray of sparkling wine to the ladies and Sir Robert.
“Rather, let us toast to knowledge and discovery,” he said, lifting his glass.
“And to the coming nuptials of Lady Charlotte and Lord Wrexford,” added the baronet.
“I daresay, one discovers a great deal about human nature when one dons a leg shackle,” came a voice from out of nowhere.
For a big man, the Earl of Wrexford moved with surprising stealth.
“Oh, fie, sir.” Alison rapped her cane against the earl’s shin as he came to stand by Charlotte. “Not everyone is used to your sarcasm, and might misinterpret your words as less than complimentary to your bride-to-be.”
“If I’ve said something disagreeable to Lady Charlotte, I expect she’ll let me know herself.” Wrexford looked at her through his sin-dark lashes. “With more than a meretap-tap.”
