“If he says an unkind word, Wrexford will plant him a facer.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“No, it’s supposed to make you laugh.” A pause. “Though I daresay, the earl wouldn’t hesitate to darken your brother’s deadlights if he dares be rude to you.”
“I shall pray that fisticuffs won’t be necessary.” Charlotte watched the candlelight flicker over the delicate trim of her bodice. The gown was exquisitely tasteful—its cut revealing just enough flesh to be stylishly au courant, and yet not too racy.
The necklace must be equally understated and elegant. “I think the pearls would look good, don’t you?”
To Charlotte’s surprise, McClellan shook her head. “No. You ought not gild the lily, as it were.”
“You’re suggesting I wear no jewelry?” Charlotte touched a hand to her throat. “It seems . . . odd.”
“Trust me,” replied the maid. “I’ve discussed this with Franny.” Madame Françoise—née Franzenelli—was a clever Italian who had established herself as London’s most exclusive modiste. She was also one of Charlotte’s informants on all the spicy gossip being whispered in Polite Society, and had become a good friend over the years.
“Well, if Franny says to wear nothing . . .” She cast a doubtful glance at the looking glass. “Then I had better trust her judgment over mine.” Though this was one of the rare times when she thought her fashionable friend was wrong.
McClellan handed her a feather-light Kashmir shawl woven in muted tones of indigo. “We had better go down. I hear the Weasels making a ruckus, so I assume Wrexford has arrived.”
Wrexford.That he would be with her made all her fears seem less daunting. Charlotte managed a smile—the first real one of the day—and took up her reticule.
“We better hurry. I overheard the boys talking earlier, and apparently Tyler has given Raven a new formula for making stinkbombs.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” muttered McClellan. Nonetheless, she hurried for the stairs.
The Weasels, however, were the very picture of perfect little gentlemen when they entered the parlor, save for their none-too-pristine clothing. Raven had fetched a bottle of Scottish malt from the side cabinet and was offering to pour the earl a glass—hoping, no doubt, to be offered a sip.
“No, thank you,” demurred Wrexford. “A word of advice to you for the future. It’s best not to reek of whisky when going to meet your future bride’s family for the first—” The rest of the words seemed to catch in his throat as he looked around.
Charlotte fumbled for her sash, fearing that she had somehow caused it to come undone.
“You look . . .” An odd sort of light seemed to flicker beneath his lashes. “Exceedingly lovely.”
“Is that good?” whispered Hawk to his brother.
“It’s more than good,” answered the earl, his eyes never leaving her.
She felt a touch of color blossom on her cheekbones. “Is everything in order? I haven’t got a corset string dangling down my back or my shift showing beneath my hem?”
“Turn slowly in a circle,” murmured Wrexford.
The room was silent, save for a gossamer-soft rustling of silk.
“Hmmm, something seems to be missing,” he said, once she was done. “Ah—I know. That bare expanse of flesh above your bodice looks a little . . . naked.”
“Naked,”repeated Charlotte. She turned to McClellan. “You see! Far be it for me to disagree with you and Franny, but—”
The maid began to chuckle softly, and her mirth was quickly echoed by the boys.
Confused, Charlotte looked back to Wrexford.
He was holding a slim leather box. It was open, and nestled on a bed of black velvet was a necklace.
“Oh . . .” For a moment, she was utterly bereft of speech. The double strands of finely-wrought gold links were highlighted by delicate smoke-tinged sapphires, their polished facets glimmering in the muted light of the candles. And hanging from its center was a teardrop pendant of filigree gold set with tiny seed pearls framing a diamond-cut sapphire. Its hue was an exact match of her gown’s shimmering silk.
Her breath was barely able to form a whisper. “Oh, Wrexford.”
“D-Do you like it?” That the earl—a man feared throughout the beau monde for his fierce temper and cutting tongue—could sound so sweetly vulnerable made her heart flutter.
