“Oof,” Charlotte said. “Not too low.”
Delia smirked. “Have I ever dressed you in any way that wasn’t decent? But now, you’ve got the viscount, you can dress a little more adventuresome. It will ensure youkeepthe viscount.”
“Delia!”
Her maid took no notice of her tone. “Turn,” Delia said, before making sure the folds and pleats of the gown’s tournure were perfect.
“It will all be mucked up after the ride over there anyway,” Charlotte reminded her.
“Perish the thought. Have one of your sisters go into the water-closet with you and you can take turns making sure you’re tidied and arranged after you get there.”
“Yes, Delia,” but Charlotte had no intention of fussing. After all, sitting at dinner or in the drawing room might mess up the perfect folds of her bustle again, so the best she could do was to keep facing forward. She was far more interested in being with Amity and Beatrice together again.
As expected, they congregated in the drawing room, which looked vaguely better than the last time Charlotte had seen it, simply because more lamps had been brought in and a fire burned brightly in the hearth.
Her mother and sisters glanced around the room with the same discerning eye, undoubtedly thinking what she thought about the need for a brighter carpet, fresh paint and wallpaper, and some pretty vases with flowers. Her father, on the other hand, and her sisters’ husbands, Mr. Carson and His Grace, the Duke of Pelham, didn’t seem to notice the drab appearance at all.
The Earl of Bentley was fully dressed, hair combed, and greeting his guests. “So this is the one who snagged a duke, eh?” he said when meeting Amity.
Charlotte hoped her sister didn’t take offense, but Amity was distracted by her heavy condition and merely offered her lovely smile before taking the first available seat. As for the duke, he was well-used to his friend’s father’s irascible ways.
“She did indeed bag me, sir,” he said, shaking the earl’s hand, “like I was a prize stag.”
When he turned, Charlotte noticed he exchanged a look with Jeffcoat, tolerant and fond.
“And you are?” the earl asked Beatrice and her husband. After Charles introduced them, his father made little comment except to say, “American! Really?”
Charlotte dragged them away from him, a little afraid of her middle sister’s quick temper when she thought she was being snubbed.
Her parents skated through without incident, too, and then Charlotte went up to her future father-in-law and bypassed the hand he stuck out to her. Instead, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.
“I’m so grateful for Charles,” she murmured so he alone could hear.
“You smell good,” the earl returned, which everyone heard, causing them all to laugh, and they were done with introductions.
With champagne in hand, except for Amity who presently enjoyed nothing but a little glass of stout occasionally as advised by the midwife, they all took seats. The sofa was hard as Charlotte recalled, and she winced when Amity reclined awkwardly, looking blatantly uncomfortable.
Charles made the announcement of their engagement, which wasn’t news to anyone, and he said it as if she were doing him a favor.What a dear man!He could have any woman he wanted, but Charlotte was confident she would love him best of anyone — from his crooked smile to his, hopefully, not crooked toes, although that would be fine, too. She looked forward to seeing his bare feet and his bare —
“I cannot believe we shall be related at last, Jeffcoat,” the duke said raising his glass. “You couldn’t be marrying into a better family.”
“Agreed,” said the Mr. Carson, whom Charlotte thought a wonderfully pleasant person with whom she had spent the better part of the previous Season while he courted Bea.
“All three of our girls, Mrs. Rare-Foure,” their father proclaimed, “engaged within three years. Rather remarkable.”
“The magic of Rare Confectionery,” Felicity mused, placing a hand on her husband’s arm.
“I knew it!” the duke said, his voice teasing. “Something grabbed a hold of me when I went in there, and wouldn’t let me go. I thought it was solely my wife’s delectable chocolate, but perhaps it was magic.”
“All I know is something was thrown at me,” Mr. Carson joked, giving Beatrice a loving smile, “and yet I returned in order to receive manymagicaltongue lashings along with a goodly amount of toffee.”
Beatrice didn’t look bothered one bit at having her sharp tongue brought up in mixed company. She shrugged and sipped her champagne before asking, “And what magic brought Lady Marzipan and Lord Jeffcoat together? Will you tell us or will we have to read about it in the gossip rags?”
“Lady Marzipan?” Charlotte repeated, looking past her sister’s stomach to see Beatrice grinning like a cat.
“Well, you labelled me atreacle toffee heiressbefore all of London’s nobility,” she pointed out. “But you, you shall be a titled lady.”
They all laughed, except Amity, whose face was unusually pale and whose mouth looked pinched. Charlotte was about to ask Charles if he thought their cook had some ginger tea to soothe her sister when, over the laughter, Amity groaned. It was a loud and strange sound that made the room fall instantly silent as they all stared at her.
