With half the dinner guests standing, the ladies put their napkins on the table, retrieved their gloves from their laps, and slipped them on swiftly. Then they rose to their feet as the gentlemen drew back their chairs. Charlotte thought this looked as much like a dance as anything that happened on the polished floor of a ballroom. Finally, each female took the man’s right arm and let their hosts lead the way.
In truth, the Fitzwilliams’ ballroom was perfectly adequate, and the next two hours flew by. With Delia keeping watch nearby, Charlotte danced twice with Charles, as was allowed, and also enjoyed the attention of other men who were perfectly adequate dancers. No one spoke cheekily to her despite her speech at dinner. However, each time a dance ended and she reconvened with her beloved escort, Charles met them with a scowl by way of greeting.
“Stop making that face at every one of my dance partners,” she ordered, but secretly found it charming.
“That one held you too close,” Charles muttered.
“I thought I might have to pry him off of you,” he said about another.
“He was no gentleman,” he fumed over a third. “He was blatantly looking down your décolletage.”
“The musicians are playing so beautifully,” Charlotte soothed.
“They are,” Delia agreed, tapping her toe happily.
Charles gave her chaperone a withering look, and Charlotte almost laughed. Delia hadn’t set up society to be so restrictive, so there was no point in raging against her maid being in their midst.
Nevertheless, she would like a private moment with him.
“If you come to my home tomorrow,” Charlotte informed him, “my parents will have no problem with us visiting.”
“Truly?” he asked, even though Delia made tut-tut noises. The glee returned to his glance, and a smile crossed his lips bringing out his dimple.
“I shall be with you in the parlor, miss,” Delia protested.
Charlotte shook her head. “Even if a certain coachman is on the other side of the front door?”
Her maid’s cheeks went rosy. “Well, I ... well!”
“My coachman?” Charles exclaimed.
Charlotte bit back a laugh. “It’s nearly time for the last dance. I assume you have reserved it for me.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Three dances,” muttered Delia, as if the fate of all things civilized hung by a thin thread and their dancing at the end of a lovely evening might snap it entirely.
“Three is allowed,” Charlotte protested, knowing it was the absolute maximum before their names would be linked.
“Oh, good,” Charles said. “A waltz!”
As soon as they began to whirl around the dance floor, she sighed. She was right where she wanted to be.
He leaned in close as his hand pressed the small of her back. “My coachman?” he whispered.
This time, Charlotte couldn’t refrain from laughing as they danced past the stroke of midnight.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As she expected, her parents were more than happy for Charlotte to host Lord Jeffcoat in their home when she mentioned it over breakfast.
“Your father can come to the shop with me,” Felicity said. “While he chats with the builder, I’ll get the deliveries ready for Edward.”
“What am I chatting with them about?” her father asked, although at that moment, while contentedly munching on a piece of bacon and sipping tea, he seemed perfectly happy to do whatever was asked of him.
“I am considering a dumb-waiter,” her mother said, “from the back room up to the café.”
They all called the upstairsthe cafénow, giving Charlotte a little thrill each time she heard it.
