“Tamed?” Charles repeated.Is that what happened to a man when he married?
The duke found his tongue. “Thank you, my love. I admire how well you know me. I also have appreciated how you’ve never stopped me going to White’s to spend time with my friends.”
They looked at each other again as if they were alone. This time, Charlotte cleared her throat.
“Enough of that moon-gazing at one another. I recall in Godey’sLady’s Bookthat the host and hostess are not supposed to make their guests feel as if they are spoiled pudding, to be ignored.”
“I would never ignore spoiled pudding,” the duke said. “I would make sure my footman came in and swept it into the rubbish bin.”
“Henry!” the duchess exclaimed. “My sister is right. We can make moon eyes at each other later. Or at least, you can do so into the looking-glass, for I shall be asleep directly after dessert.
Charlotte shook her head. “Honestly, sister, you are also not supposed to make your guests feel as if they’ve stayed too long and are keeping you up.” She sipped her wine and added, “Sometimes, I think I would make a better duchess.”
“Or a viscountess.” Charles realized he’d said the words aloud when they all turned to him. His head swiveled as he looked from his best friend’s amused expression to the duchess’s with her raised eyebrows, before finally, his glance landed on Charlotte.
Her lips were parted, the full lower one caught between open and closed. She was surprised at him voicing such a thing, almost as much as he was, and her cheeks had turned a pretty shade of pink. He assumed his own had, too.
“Or a baroness or a ... princess,” he stumbled on, trying to make them believe he hadn’t meant anything by his remark.
“Why don’t we have dessert in the drawing room? This dining room is too large for four,” Amity said, proving she was a good hostess after all, breaking the tension-laden moment. Before she could do aught but set down her napkin beside her plate, the duke was sprinting around the table, there like a flash of lightning to pull out his wife’s chair and assist her from her seat.
Charlotte waited for Charles to do the same, although he did it at a less frenetic pace. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,” he murmured close to her ear.
He felt a little shiver go through her, but she placed her arm on his, letting him escort her in their hosts’ wake.
“This was rather different than the first time we dined as partners in this room,” she reminded him.
“At least that night, we were seated next to each other and not five feet across a table. It was easier to converse. Tonight, every word seemed to echo around the room.”
“Every word,” she agreed.
And he knew she referred to only one:viscountess. It still echoed in his own head. But he would not say anything more about that tonight. This was hardly the romantic setting he’d envisioned for proposing.
As they entered Pelham’s drawing room — so different from his own in that it had cushions and soft flickering candlelight and attractive things — Charles had to confess to himself he had never envisioned how or when to propose. Except he knew they should be alone.How on earth could he be alone with her?
“You’re frowning, Jeffcoat,” his friend observed, pouring brandy as the ladies took their seats.
Charles shook it off and took the proffered glass as a footman brought in a tray with cake slathered in chocolate sauce. The duchess clapped her hands with delight. Obviously, the duke was right about his wife’s love of dessert.
Then he wondered precisely how one was supposed to keep a young woman’s reputation from being marred yet find a way to get her alone to ask for her hand. If he showed up at her home on Baker Street, he supposed he could ask for a moment without the ever-present Delia sitting close by.
He watched Charlotte, as she lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth, ate it, and savored it, her tongue appearing to lick her lips before she recalled where she was. Quick as lightning her tongue disappeared, and she lifted a napkin to her mouth. At the same time, her glance fell upon him.
Charles decided he had best be quick about asking her, lest she start to think him rude for staring whenever she was in his presence. And then it dawned on him the best place to get her alone.
Should he write up a persuasive argument as he would for the judge?Hopefully, he wouldn’t need flowery, romantic words — simply the truth.
Chapter Seventeen
“Before your uncle begins the stairs, we shall have to sell all the confectionery we have and not make any more,” Charlotte told Edward when he returned from making deliveries. “So stop making toffee. I’m going to put it on sale, as I did the day I had no idea what was in the chocolates.”
She returned to the front, then strode back through the curtain. “Except not a half-price sale. Something smaller but will yet pique their interest.”
He nodded.
“I think 10 percent is too small. Perhaps 25 percent off.”
He nodded again, so she turned and left him. He was not the same as having her sisters there to discuss issues. They would certainly have had an opinion.
