Lady Henmere had suggested they try to conceal her history a bit, but Charlotte would have none of it. She was proud of her parents. Her father, though a baron and member of the gentry, had been a great artist before his sudden tragic death and her mother was talented and wonderful in so many ways.
No. She wouldn’t hide who she was by deception or any other means. But she agreed not to announce such things unless it came up. And if Mrs. Dove-Lyon was as good at matchmaking as she claimed to be, Charlotte’s history shouldn’t be a problem.
“Ah! There he is,” her aunt breathed excitedly.
“Therewhois?”
The countess slid her a sharp look. “Seriously, Charlotte, have you taken note of anything I’ve said to prepare you for tonight?”
“I have, which means I recall that you’ve told me there should be no less than half a dozen potential targets I must be introduced to this night. So, you’ll forgive me if I’m not immediately certain whichheyou are currently referencing.”
“Insolent,” the countess muttered. “And it would be best if you start to call them potentialsuitorsrather than targets.”
Charlotte smiled. Even though the older woman’s tone was disapproving, her expression was one of amusement. In the days since her arrival on her aunt’s doorstep, Charlotte had come to see the countess as a compassionate soul with a somewhat lonely existence and a wicked sense of humor she did not often have cause to express. Charlotte could easily see why she and her mother had maintained an intimate friendship despite the many years of distance.
“I’m talking about the Marquess of Redington, heir to the Duke of Lindley, and your most ambitious prospect by far.”
Charlotte considered what she recalled of her aunt’s lessons on the eligible bachelors of the season. Lindley’s heir was the second richest of those on the list they’d created and shared with Mrs. Dove-Lyon, which still made him obscenely wealthy. Both of his grandfathers were dukes, and his grandmother on his mother’s side was the daughter of an Indian maharaja, making him as close to royalty as Charlotte was likely to get. It also meant he was extremely influential in society and wouldcertainly be one of the most powerful lords in the land when he finally came into the dukedom.
Though her aunt had reported on some of his other characteristics, hobbies, interests, habits, or some such, Charlotte hadn’t really cared to pay much attention to those inconsequential details. She did recall that the countess had reluctantly remarked that the man was known to be a bit dull, personality-wise, and was considered an unrelenting stickler for propriety, even by the most conservative standards.
Charlotte had shrugged off that irrelevant detail then, as she did now.
Wealth, power, and influence. Those were her only criteria. Anything else was negligible.
“Where?” she asked quietly.
Her aunt gave a subtle nod and Charlotte followed the gesture to where a tall gentleman stood within a gaggle of bright-eyed debutantes.
Standing out amongst the pastel-gowned ladies surrounding him, the Marquess of Redington was impeccably dressed with a tawny complexion and thick black hair that, although trimmed to a fashionable style, fell in reckless waves over his brow. His eyes were dark, his nose furiously straight, and his jaw squared, while his expression was decidedly…unemotional. He stood with perfect posture, displaying broad shoulders and a strong, trim form as he tilted his head to an effortlessly arrogant angle.
Typically, such an overabundance of obvious privilege and superiority personified in a single man would have turned Charlotte off in an instant. But this was exactly the type of man she wanted. A lord of the highest caliber and distinction. A nobleman of extreme wealth and elite social position. This marquess clearly fit that description.
And it didn’t seem as though his reputation for being stuffy and priggish had hurt his popularity.
A quick glance around told her that everyone in the vicinity seemed to eye this heir to a dukedom with a mixture of awe, envy, and the kind of subtle discomfort only true power could inspire.
Charlotte smiled.
He was perfect.
Lady Byrne, their hostess of the evening whom Charlotte had been briefly introduced to upon their arrival, approached the marquess with her daughter in tow, followed closely by another gentleman who didn’t appear particularly pleased to be in attendance.
“Ah, Lady Byrne’s brother, the Viscount Waring,” her aunt murmured in her ear. “I might suggest adding him to your list. He’s wealthy and titled, but he tends to eschew most social responsibilities and is often away from town, so his influence over public opinion is perhaps not what you’d want.”
Charlotte allowed for only a brief moment of disappointment—Lord Waring was quite handsome—before shifting her focus back to Lord Redington. Three more ladies had joined their group, each of them quite lovely.
Frowning, Charlotte acknowledged that it would not be easy to gain the marquess’s attention and consideration if he was constantly surrounded by so many younger and more attractive options.
“Do not look so put out, my dear,” her aunt admonished, eying her askance. “One of the young ladies is Redington’s sister. Two others are his cousins.”
The explanation eliminated only three out of the crowd. Charlotte tilted her lips ruefully. “So, I’ve got a chance.”
“If you claim it quickly.”
Glancing back to Redington and his mob of debs, Charlotte noted their group starting to disperse. Two of the ladies drew away, escorted by Lord Waring, while another became intentlyengaged in conversation with a young gentleman who blushed at everything she said. That left only their hostess and her daughter still conversing with the marquess when a footman appeared at Redington’s elbow with a note. Upon reading the missive, the marquess gave a short bow and appeared to mutter his apologies before turning to stride rather purposefully across the ballroom in a trajectory that would bring him right past Charlotte’s current position.
Her aunt issued a swift gasp just before she muttered, “Now.”
