Victor leaned back in his chair and watched Charlotte twirl a piece of hair around her finger as she read. Occasionally she sipped from her cup or nibbled on a slice of orange. His wife had turned into a beautiful woman.
She was deceiving him.
Victor still desired her.
He couldn’t trust her.
Lust and distrust could not cohabit.
Yet, he still wasn’t certain what he was going to do and needed to learn more.
“Was Lady Morrison’s ball as lavish as the writer claims?” Charlotte looked up at him.
“It began as such.” Victor had forgotten about the ill-fated ball he had attended the night before he traveled north to be with Charlotte.
Charlotte’s brow creased.
“Read on,” he encouraged.
As she did, her eyes widened in shock and Victor knew she was trying not to laugh at his expense.
“Oh dear,” she finally said as she set the paper aside.
“‘Oh dear’ is an apt statement.”
Charlotte tilted her head and looked up at him. “Did Lady Morrison not realize that putting ice sculptures in a hot ballroom and near candles was unwise?”
Victor chuckled. “Actually, Percy and I were discussing that very fact, after noting how the sculptures had begun to melt. That was right before the maiden swan slid from her pedestal and landed on me.”
Charlotte started to laugh then quickly covered her mouth. “You were not injured, were you?”
“No,” he chuckled. “Though my cravat and jacket were quite ruined. Not to mention my favorite boots were soaked through with very cold water once the thing had settled.”
“Were you terribly embarrassed?” Charlotte asked quietly.
This was the girl he remembered. Except she wasn’t a girl any longer, but her laughter and that twinkle in those blues eyes were what he recalled when he thought of her. It had been lacking until now.
“Not at all,” Victor assured her with a shrug.
“Anyone else may have been mortified,” she offered quietly. Victor assumed she was correct, but other than his boots, he found the incident entertaining and it gave him an excellent excuse to leave the ball.
“Percy?” she questioned after a moment. “I do not recall you mentioning him in your letters.”
It was all he could do not to smile and the reason he let the name drop, to see her reaction. “Baron Percival Jordan,” he stated. “Percy and I have been friends since Eton.”
She nodded and said nothing further.
“He is also friends with the Earl of Harwich, and I understand he has an estate not far from here.”
Charlotte swallowed and set the paper aside. “He does. His wife, Regina, is a dear friend.”
“Ah, yes, you’ve written of her, though I did not realize thatReginawas also the Countess of Harwich.”
A blush spread across her cheeks. “I suppose I should have mentioned such. We simply do not stand on ceremony.”
“I have come to that conclusion since I know that you address Lady Melcombe as Althea as well. Might I ask who Katrina may be married to?” He knew the answer, or believed he did, but wanted to see how truthful Charlotte would be.
“Her husband is Lord Timothy Strotham, and they own the lending library in Willanton.”
