“That may be a bit premature,” Charlotte protested, while feeling warm and happy.
“No,” Amity said, “I agree with Lord Jeffcoat. We are lucky to have you running the shop.” Then she added, “I am sure Mother will be pleased.”
If only her sister had said that more convincingly.
When the Pelham’s butler, Mr. Giles, announced dinner was ready and the four of them, with Amity decidedly waddling, went into the dining room, Charlotte was on Charles’s arm. As he drew out her chair, it reminded her of the first time they met and dined together at that same table a couple years earlier.
It had been a momentous night when she’d accompanied Amity to a party at the Pelham residence before her sister became engaged to the duke. In fact, it was the night Henry was supposed to propose to another. Instead, as Charlotte learned later, it had been the night that ended his previous relationship. She’d been partnered with Charles at dinner and recalled making the viscount laugh when she’d exclaimed over the fancy dishes being presented.
Glancing at him now, across the table, she wondered if he’d thought her half a fool when she’d simply been trying to be entertaining. Later that night, standing up for her sister, she’d told off a room full of nobility and not regretted it.Would her previous behavior — some had called it rude and outrageous — make him think twice about her suitability?
CHARLES COULD IMAGINE having many gatherings like this, entertaining and relaxing, with good friends and good food. And Charlotte. He glanced at her across the Pelham’s dining table.Even better if she became his wife.
He had made his decision, and simply had to bring it to fruition. The notion of waiting until her parents returned so he could ask her father properly for permission was appealing However, it seemed the duration of their time away from London was unknown. Over the pottage, Charlotte and the duchess discussed letters received from their mother, filled with vagaries and lack of detail. If he read between the lines, he would guess their father had taken a downturn in his health and their mother didn’t wish to worry the sisters.
Besides, it wasn’t as if these were the dark ages, or even the time of Prinny and his ilk. Charles knew many a man who had secured the woman’s consentbeforeasking her father. Far less humiliating that way as far as he could see. Not much could be worse than having Mr. Foure give him permission, only to have Charlotte then say no, thank you.
He considered what else his peers did before becoming engaged. He would relinquish the age-old right to study her family’s bank account or inspect her ancestral lineage. He didn’t even particularly care about her family’s political connections or leanings, although a shopkeeper’s politics were generally known.
Moreover, Pelham had smoothed the path in their inner circle for taking as wife a girl not of their class, and elevating her to the nobility. It was still uncommon, to be sure, but was less extraordinary than it was in yesteryear. And Charles didn’t mind in the least if his wife ran a shop, any more than he thought it strange to be a barrister who was also a viscount.
As for his own father, the earl wouldn’t stop him or say anything to gainsay the arrangement. On the other hand, it was unlikely he would give his blessing, so disgusted by his own marital disaster.
Charles sighed, thinking how that had defined so much of his father’s life, and in some ways, his own.
“That was a deep sigh, Lord Jeffcoat,” Charlotte said. “I hope not one of discontent when this roast is so delicious.”
He smiled at her. “Certainly not one of discontent. There are potatoes smothered in cream on my plate. What could ever possibly be wrong?”
“And I believe dessert will even outshine the potatoes,” the duchess promised.
“Truly?”
Pelham grinned at the other end of the table. “My wife enjoys her sweets. It will probably be something with chocolate.”
“Perfect,” Charles said. What a contrast to a few years back when Pelham and Waverly were his dining companions, often at a greasy chophouse if not at their club. How much nicer with lovely ladies who smelled floral and citrusy! And instead of Waverly’s often sarcastic or even cynical wit, they were treated to the Rare-Foure sisters’ charm and clear thinking. But thinking of the devil...
“What is Waverly up to?”
The duchess looked chagrinned. “I confess, he was not on my guest list tonight for I couldn’t come up with a suitable dining partner for him on short notice.”
The duke laughed. “My dear wife has taken to heart the rules of our set. Better to cut someone out than to have an odd number at the table.”
“Oh,” the duchess moaned. “You’re right. I was a ninny. I should have simply invited him. Who cares about the symmetry when I might have hurt his feelings!”
Pelham looked at Charles, and they both laughed.
“Really, my love,” the duke assured her, “Waverly isn’t going to care one whit about missing a dinner, not even with potatoes. He’s off doing something he finds exciting, I know it.”
“And what would that be? What does a gentleman of your standing find exciting?” Charlotte asked, looking at her brother-in-law.
Charles looked at him, too, watching the man squirm. “Yes, tell us, Duke,” he asked, adding to his friend’s discomfit.
It was the duchess who laughed and rescued her husband. “Don’t tease him, Lord Jeffcoat. First of all, there is no one of his standing,” she insisted, looking only at Pelham, her gaze full of love.
Charles didn’t think of himself as a soppy sentimentalist, but he would vow he could feel the duchess’s love go from one end of the table to the other. His glance shot to Charlotte, who seemed to sense the same thing. Her beautiful brown eyes widened, and then her lips broke into a sweet smile. At that moment, he very much wanted her to look at him the way the duchess was gazing at Pelham.
“Second of all,” the duchess continued. “I know you two would be at your club, playing billiards or cards, and drinking too much brandy if you weren’t here being tamed by the gentler sex.”
