Charlotte extended her hand for the perfunctory bow and polite kiss to her gloved knuckles—only to be drawn into a fierce hug.
Thump, thump.
Through the layers of well-tailored wool, she could feel the racing of his heart. Perhaps, she realized, he was as nervous as she was. In an instant, she was holding him just as tightly, her eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
The dowager began making odd little noises in her throat.
Wolcott slowly released his hold and gave a brusque cough. “Forgive my informality—I must call you Charlotte now, mustn’t I?” His gaze held hers. “You’re no longer my hellion baby sister who dared to defy convention by riding roughshod over the rules of Polite Society.”
He drew in a ragged breath. “You’ve grown into a . . . a very beautiful and polished lady.”
“Oh, trust me, I haven’t changed very much.” Charlotte gave a watery sniff. “J-Just ask Wrexford. Alas, I’m sure he can tell you some stories that will make your hair stand on end.”
The earl cleared his throat with a cough. Or maybe it was a laugh.
“Allow me to introduce—”
“Lord Wrexford.” Wolcott quickly inclined an embarrassed bow. “My apologies for allowing emotion to overrule manners.” He smoothed the tails of his cravat and then tentatively offered his hand. “I’m Wolcott.”
“Like your sister, I’m of the opinion that formal manners are vastly overrated,” replied Wrexford. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mutual.” Wolcott chuckled. “Is what my sister says true? Have you some harrowing tales to share?”
A dangerous glint flashed in Wrexford’s eye, but with a flick of his lashes, it was gone. “If I did, it would be very ungentlemanly of me to say so, sir.”
“Very wise of you, Wrexford,” said the dowager. “Now please go pour us all some champagne from the sideboard so that we may toast to family and the future.”
The glasses were dutifully passed around, and the wine, along with the exchange of lighthearted pleasantries, added to the convivial mood.
“Aunt Alison is being very coy about how the two of you came to meet each other,” said Wolcott, once the dowager had made everyone settle into the sofa and facing armchairs. “I look forward to hearing the story.”
“We won’t bore you with that,” said Charlotte quickly. “You know how these things happen.” In truth, she was quite sure that he couldn’t begin to imagine the scenario.
And thank heaven for that.Her brother appeared extremely tolerant, but the details of the encounter were best left unsaid.
“Tell me about your family,” she added quickly. As a younger son, Hartley had been under no pressure to marry and provide an heir, so he had taken his time in marrying. “I-I’ve never met your wife.”
“Elizabeth wanted very much to come, and to bring our children to meet you—our two daughters are ten and seven, and our son is five. But I felt this first encounter might become too overwhelming were my entire family to descend upon you,” he explained. “We shall all—I hope—have plenty of time to become acquainted in the days ahead.”
“Nothing would please me more,” answered Charlotte.
“Alison tells me you have two young wards from Mr. Sloane’s side of the family,” continued Wolcott.
“Yes.” The boys had no idea how old they were, but Henning had estimated their ages. “Thomas is twelve, and Alexander is nine.” A smile. “Alison spoils them dreadfully with sweets at Gunter’s.”
“A prerogative of old age,” said the dowager tartly. “They aresuchcharming and well-mannered lads,” she added with a straight face. “Just the other day, they escorted me to the British Museum and explained all about classical Greek civilization as we viewed Lord Elgin’s marbles.”
“They sound like very bookish lads,” responded Wolcott.
Charlotte bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Thomas shows a remarkable aptitude for mathematics,” said Alison. “While young Alexander takes after Charlotte and is a budding artist.”
“Ah, you still sketch, Charlotte?” asked her brother.
“A bit,” she replied.
“I recall you were very, very good at it.” He chuckled. “Especially the wicked little satires you drew about the local gentry.” To Wrexford, he added, “If you aren’t aware of it, I give you fair warning. She has a sharp eye—and even sharper pen.”
