“That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in a long time, my girl, so I suppose he must be the right one.”
“Father, it’s our first time going out together.” Her parents weren’t going to become assertive, were they?
“He’s lightened your mood, at any rate,” her father insisted. “And that makes him a good chap.”
“Oh, I know he is a good man,” Felicity agreed. “Recall when he helped Edward on his first day.”
Charlotte nodded. “He’s working out well.”
“Lord Jeffcoat!” her father exclaimed.
“Father, I meant Edward Percy.”
“No, I mean, here is Lord Jeffcoat.” And her father stood to greet him.
Charlotte turned, and sure enough, there was her escort for the evening, standing in the open doorway.
“It seems Mr. Finley has gone missing again,” her mother said, standing to welcome their guest. “I don’t know why we even pay him.”
Her father laughed, never bothered by their butler’s periods of absence or inattention to detail.
“Good evening, young man,” Armand Foure said, not even addressing him correctly.
Charlotte rolled her eyes, but she knew Lord Jeffcoat wasn’t the type to take offense.
His lordship shook her father’s hand first, then bowed over her mother’s before turning to her. He was impeccably dressed in black with a white vest, shirt, and ascot. His dark brown hair was brushed back, although a few tendrils were springing forth over his forehead, belying her earlier thoughts that he was too elegant to ever have a hair out of place. In fact, he looked a little rakish.
“Good evening, Miss Rare-Foure. Are you ready to go to the theatre?” His blue eyes flickered in the firelight.
“I am.” A little drop of joy tried to trickle through her — and succeeded. “Mother, have you seen Delia? I asked her to accompany us tonight.”
As if on cue, their middle-aged maid-of-all-work appeared in the doorway. “I’m ready miss, and I have your cloak. It’s a little chilly tonight.”
“Never fear,” the viscount said. “My carriage has warming bricks and is quite comfortable.”
“Then off you go,” Felicity said. “I wonder if you will see either of your sisters there.”
She had no idea what Bea and her husband did in the evenings, but Charlotte knew what her eldest sister would be doing.
“Amity is determined to stay home every evening with her feet up until she’s delivered of her baby.”
Charlotte steered them quickly out the door before her parents decided to join them, and before her mother could tell Lord Jeffcoat her theory of men in the back room marrying her daughters. Felicity would scare him off, and all Charlotte wanted was a diverting evening. She couldn’t possibly see a future with the viscount, simply because he was not Lionel. Having nursed that fantasy so long, all other outcomes seemed inferior.
WHEN THEY GOT INTO his carriage, and the close, warm air encircled them, Charles could smell Miss Rare-Foure’s delightful perfume — lemon and lime, yet soft, not tangy, with a floral aspect that made the scent seem creamy, too. He was mesmerized. He wanted to ask her about it, but he always found chaperones impeded personal discussion until one reached the safety of the private theatre box. Then, he could seat the maid behind them and be at liberty to lean in close and ask her questions.
“What are we going to see?” Miss Rare-Foure asked, smoothing the skirts of her green gown, which he could see where her cloak fell open. As he’d noticed in the parlor, it had a fashionably low-cut décolletage and small cap sleeves. The bodice and sleeves were trim with black lace drawing his eyes where they shouldn’t go, at least not while he was still with her parents.
On the other hand, if a woman had such a pretty physique, small-waisted and big busted, as Miss Rare-Foure, and if she wore such a gown, then obviously, she expected to be observed and admired. Again, both would be easier to do once they were at the theatresanscloak — and, he hoped,sansmaid.
“In keeping with the spirit of lightening your heart, we are going to the Haymarket to see a comedy.”
“In truth, my lord, I’m relieved it’s not the Lyceum Theatre. While I admire greatly Mr. Irving and Miss Terry, they are often at their best with a Shakespearian tragedy.”
“Agreed. Tonight, there shall be no tragedy, I assure you. A rather farcical comedy calledEngaged.”
“Oh yes, by Mr. Gilbert.” She looked like she was about to clap her hands. “HisSorcererandH.M.S. Pinaforewere so witty. I am looking forward to the evening’s entertainment.”
He was glad her spirits had perked up. By the time they’d passed through the impressive columns at the entrance to the newly renovated Royal Haymarket Theatre, he hoped she might warm to him as well. He very much wanted to be the cause of her next beautiful smile.
