Chapter One
Mayfair, London, 1814
Madam Rouen withdrewher needle from the trim on the skirt and got to her feet. “Voila! What do you think, Miss Charlotte?”
Charlotte Rose turned to the mirror and admired the exquisite empire-cut dress, made from the finest silk and boasting a fashionable square neck, puffed sleeves, and a fitted bodice from which the skirt embroidered with delicate florals flowed. Its blush color complemented her creamy, pale skin and highlighted her naturally pink cheeks.
Charlotte let out a heavy sigh. It was all rather pointless. The beautiful dress just left her feeling hollow.
“Why do you sigh? You are not happy with the dress?”
“No, of course I am. It’s beautiful. You’re a genius, Madam Rouen. It’s only that I am not looking forward to another season.”
“Why? You are the Rose of Mayfair. Every man wants to marry you.”
“How am I to find true love if I am looked upon as a man’s trophy?” Charlotte shook her head. “It’s the same group of men every year.”
“I think you will find there are some new gentlemen available this season. Just the other day, Monsieur Rouen fitted a dashing young man for a new suit. What was his name?” The modiste frowned and put her finger to her chin. “Let me think…Ah, yes,” she said, looking up with a smile. “Warsham—Mr. Hugh Warsham. He was a good sort—a real gentleman—trust me, when you have dressed as many ladies and gentlemen as my Claude and I have done, you learn very quickly how to assess a person’s character. And he was a good one.”
Charlotte smiled at the modiste’s reassurance. Even if she didn’t believe this Mr. Warsham was as good as Madam made out, she appreciated the woman’s attempt to cheer her. “Well, let’s hope there is such a gentleman and many more like him this season, or I shall resign myself to becoming an old maid.”
“Tut! The Rose of Mayfair an old maid—madness! What nonsense you speak, Miss.” Madam laughed.
“Oh, Charlotte!” Lady Rose strode into the dressing room and then stopped to admire her daughter’s newest evening gown. “I think this one is my favorite. Madam Rouen, you have certainly outdone yourself.”
“Thank you, my lady,” the modiste said.
“Do let me see what it looks like with your hair up, darling.” Lady Rose gathered Charlotte’s long strawberry-blonde tresses in her hands and twisted the locks into a makeshift chignon. “Wonderful,” Lady Rose said, still holding the chignon in place with her hand. “I think you can pair this with a string of white pearls. What say you, Madam Rouen?”
“That will be exquisite, my lady.”
Charlotte fingered the delicate diamond rose that glistened on a chain around her neck. It had been a gift from her papa three years prior when she’d turned eighteen and first prepared to come out. But then her debut into society had been postponed due to her papa’s illness.
The source of his illness remained a mystery to doctors, but it had been horrible to witness—attacking his lungs and leaving him struggling for each breath. Sometimes, his body would convulse—Charlotte shuddered at the memory—and he’d experienced chills so terrible that piles of blankets and a continuously blazing fire could not seem to keep his body warm.
Charlotte and her mama had spent a good portion of that time on their knees, praying—not knowing what else they could do. And then, one day, his fever broke, and the chills were gone. Soon, his breathing returned to normal, and the color reappeared on his cheeks.
That was when Charlotte began believing in miracles.
Consequently, Charlotte had come out in her nineteenth instead of her eighteenth year and did so to great acclaim, but her heart had not been invested in finding a husband. She’d not been ready or willing to leave her papa, who’d almost perished a year earlier and whose illness had left him with a weakened heart. The doctor had warned that any type of stress or even too much excitement might have dangerous consequences. As a result, Charlotte, who’d been dubbed “the Rose of Mayfair” by the ton for her beauty, had turned down eleven offers of marriage during her first season. The following season, she’d become a sort of prize to be caught and turned down an additional sixteen offers for her hand—not because she didn’t want to marry, but because by then she’d decided to settle for nothing less than what her parents shared—true, everlasting love.
“Charlotte, what do you think? A string of pearls, yes?” Lady Rose interrupted Charlotte’s thoughts.
“No, Mama, I prefer to wear Papa’s rose. It will do perfectly well.”
“But you’ve worn that same necklace for two seasons. I think it’s time for a change, don’t you?” Lady Rose let go of themakeshift chignon, and a cascade of tresses tumbled around Charlotte’s shoulders.
“You have ordered me an entirely new wardrobe. That is change enough.”
“You know what I’m talking about, so don’t pretend otherwise.” Lady Rose stepped aside as Madam Rouen started unfastening the dress from the back. “When gentlemen see that necklace, it will remind them you are the woman they call ‘the Rose of Mayfair’—the one who turned down every offer of marriage ever made to her and left seven-and-twenty rejected suitors in her wake! Seven and twenty, Charlotte! Do you think the offers will keep coming if you keep rejecting them? Men are fragile creatures, my dear. They don’t do well with rejection. Isn’t that right, Madam Rouen?”
“Indeed, my lady.” The modiste helped Charlotte out of her dress and then carried it away.
“None of those gentlemen were sincere, Mama. They looked at me as though I was a thoroughbred mare to parade before their friends.” She shuddered. A servant came forward to help Charlotte as she slipped back into her white afternoon dress. “I only want what you and Papa have. Don’t you wish me to be as happy as you have been?”
“Of course I do, my sweet.” Lady Rose linked arms with her daughter as they made for the drawing room. “But love doesn’t always sail into a woman’s path. Often, it is up to a woman to find love, secure it, and thereby ensure her own happiness.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that. How can a woman find love as though it were a lost marble?”
