The countess gave a short laugh. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Charlotte gave her a dubious glance. “This is supposed to be fun?”
“If you let it be.” Her aunt looped her arm and flashed a wide smile. “Come along, lighten your step, my dear, and allow yourself to enjoy this rare bit of sunshine.”
“ThatI can manage.” It was painfully true that she hadn’t quite prepared herself for just how gray and gloomy England could be. The sun and warm breezes of the day were decidedly welcome. As long as she willfully ignored that she was only in the park so she could be displayed as one of the many hopeful young women on the hunt for a husband, she actually found herself enjoying the outing.
“Ah, there is Lady Byrne and her daughter Lady Delia Foster along with Viscount Waring,” Lady Henmere noted as she gazed farther ahead along the path. “That man certainly cuts a dashing figure.”
Charlotte had to agree. Lord Waring did not appear to concern himself with the general expectations of gentlemanly style. His coat was cut more for comfort than elegance and though he wore a cravat, it was tied far too loosely, exposing the shadow of his collarbone. The dishevelment was certainly enough to be slightly scandalous, but Lord Waring’s charmand charisma seemed to allow him that transgression. Amongst many others, no doubt.
As their two groups met, they stepped off the path to exchange pleasantries.
Very quickly, the young Lady Delia attracted a small group of admirers. The girl had become very popular with the young gentlemen of the ton. And for good reason. She was intelligent, pretty, and naturally kind. Lady Byrne engaged in conversation with Lady Henmere while keeping an eye on her daughter’s interactions, which left Charlotte and the viscount standing off to the side.
The man gave her a rueful smile as he stepped to her side. “Enjoying the day, Miss Dickson?” he asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “The sunshine is lovely.”
“It does bring out all the freshest and brightest blooms of the season,” he noted with a grin.
Sweeping her gaze over the extensive lawns painted in the pinks and lilacs and sunny yellows of the lovely young women, she acknowledged that they did give the appearance of flowers in a lush green garden. “If the ladies are blooms in your quaint metaphor, then what are the many gentlemen milling about?”
“Obviously, they’re the insects.”
Charlotte gave him a quick look. “You did not just say that.”
He leaned toward her with a sly smile. “Observe for just a moment, and you’ll see I’m right. Watch them scurry about, flitting from one flower to the next, seeking the sweetest nectar.”
Snorting softly, Charlotte replied, “If sweetness is what they’re after, my chances have just plummeted.”
“Luckily, not all men are insects.”
“Some of you are frogs?”
The viscount laughed. It was a warm and genuine sound. “Frogs eat insects, you know.”
“Then today offers a veritable smorgasbord,” Charlotte quipped.
When the viscount didn’t give another witty retort, she glanced at him to see that he’d become quite distracted by something farther along the path. Curious, Charlotte followed his piercing stare to its obvious target and instantly recognized the Marquess of Redington’s younger sister. Though she walked in the middle of her cousins, Lady Lydia Balcomb and Miss Bridget Martindale, it was clear that Waring’s eyes were intently focused on Lady Eleanor.
She wasn’t surprised. The young woman was stunningly beautiful with thick black hair and dark, soulful eyes. She strolled with sedate grace and her mouth held a gentle smile as she listened to the conversation between her cousins. When her attention lifted briefly toward their group, Charlotte noted how her focus flitted about before landing quite sharply upon Lord Waring.
Then she swiftly looked away, keeping her gaze lowered as they continued to approach.
Charlotte’s lips twitched at the young woman’s curious reaction.
A moment later, the three ladies shifted enough to reveal a fourth member of their group walking a few steps behind them. The Marquess of Redington’s tall, formidable presence stood out in striking contrast to the ease and amiability of the women who preceded him. It took only a moment to see that his gaze had also settled upon Waring, his dark features set in harsh disapproval.
Charlotte glanced to the viscount. A subtle curl touched the corner of his lips as he kept his attention on Lady Eleanor, completely ignoring her scowling older brother.
“Your interest appears to be unwelcome,” she muttered, half in warning.
Without even adjusting the direction of his gaze, the viscount tipped his head toward her to answer with a jaunty lack of concern, “I disagree. No lady takes such care not to look at me unless that’s exactly what she wants to do.”
“I was referring to her brother.”
Waring shrugged, undeterred.
