“You couldn’t order anything, my lady,” Charlotte corrected her. “We are closed.”
Exasperated, Lady Fitzwilliam gestured for more wine, too. Charles hoped that would be the end of it, but then her ladyship added, “And thus, you admit it.”
“I assure you, the closing is temporary,” Charlotte insisted. “Rare Confectionery has always served the finest sweets and will continue to do so. You are all welcome to come to our grand reopening.”
“For burned toffee,” someone said, and a few snickered.
Charles had had enough. There was no salvaging the evening. He was not going to take Charlotte into the ballroom and dance with her while all eyes stared at the girl who made marzipan and whose shop sold questionable confectionery.
How had he not foreseen any of this?
“We shall take our leave,” he said tightly.
However, it was Charlotte who rounded on him with her eyes flashing. “We are not leaving on account of this discussion, are we? Is that how the nobility behaves? I discredit some untruths, and then we don’t get to stay and dance because of a silly article in the papers. Surely, these clever people — yourfriends— believe me rather than something they’ve read in the newspaper. Why, that would be like believing nonsense about themselves that they’ve read in the gossip columns.”
Charles glanced around the table. Some people looked interested, some uncomfortable, but no one seemed particularly hostile, not even Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam who were happily drinking wine at either end of the table.
Still standing in their midst, Charlotte looked around the table. “I happen to enjoy dancing very much, you understand. I’ve been to balls at Devonshire House, Marlborough House, and Clarendon House. I have danced on the same floor as Their Highnesses, the Prince and Princess of Wales. My companion here was Robin Hood.”
Charles winced. “At the fancy dress ball, last year,” he clarified in case any of their dining companions thought she meant he had been up to something ridiculous.
In any case, she was doing well to justify her presence at Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam’s home. Not that he thought she needed to prove her worth, but these people, born to the aristocratic class looked at things differently. He did, too, for that matter, or he had until he became a barrister. Dealing with real people of all classes and their problems had changed him. He hoped for the better.
Looking around the room, he suddenly had a notion few of them had been at Marlborough House on that extraordinary night. In fact, those tickets had been hard to get, exclusive to the top echelon of society. Charles was fairly certain despite being a viscount, he had attended only because the Duke of Pelham had got him in as his guest. These folks, therefore, had no cause to look down their noses at Charlotte.
For her part, she seemed to understand that the Fitzwilliams’ guests would respond well to her having matched them at the game of being well-connected. And she hadn’t even mentioned her best connection of all.
“If Miss Rare-Foure, wishes to leave,” he said, “we shall go have an after-dinner glass of wine with her brother-in-law, the Duke of Pelham, and her sister, the Duchess. Yet if she wishes to stay, then we shall be happy to dance with you in your quaint ballroom.”
He would let the choice be hers.
CHARLOTTE LOOKED AROUND the room, gauging the friendliness of those who stared back at her. It had been a dodgy few minutes, but she hoped they understood how special Rare Confectionery was.
“Oh, I should like to stay. I am sure Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam will provide us with excellent music since their taste in confectionery is so fine.”
Then she regained her seat since footmen had moved forward to start serving from the various bowls, plates, and platters.
When Charles sat beside her once again and the normal level of conversation had resumed, she looked up from her sponge-cake with cream and strawberries to see him watching her.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“You handled yourself with such grace. You defended your family’s shop forcefully, but in a way that did not cause us to have to leave in a huff. Although I would have gladly done so if you hadn’t wanted to dance.”
“You are sweet, just like this cake. But I am so looking forward to dancing with you,” she told him. “Honestly, I cannot wait to be in your arms.”
His pleased expression told her she hadn’t erred in speaking so frankly.
“In that case,” he said, his tone low, “I hope everyone eats quickly.”
She glanced around the table and sighed. “If there is one thing I learned during last year’s Season, it is how excruciatingly long a meal can be.”
With a thoughtful look, Charles nodded, then he turned away. “Lord Fitzwilliam,” he addressed their host. “Do we have time for a quick smoke before we dance?”
And then, he stood up.
Even Charlotte knew he was behaving badly. Standing before ones’ hosts stood was quite the break in decorum. Apparently, her words had spurred him to drastic actions.
Lord Fitzwilliam glanced around the table, looking taken aback, but then he shrugged and stood, causing the other men to follow suit. “I would, indeed, like to have a cigar, Lord Jeffcoat, but I fear my wife would thrash me for it later. Let us head into the ballroom,quaintthough it may be,” he added sardonically.
