“Does that mean I can leave?” God, if he could get out of a forced conversation with lords of thetonthat would be a perfect outcome for the evening.
Charlotte cocked her head, her lips pressed together disapprovingly. “Of course not. Goodness, John, were you raised by monsters?”
He had been born to a man with hard fists and a shrew with a vicious tongue. So, yes; he had been raised by monsters. He wasn’t about to share that, though.
“I see you obtained an invitation.” As he said the words, he realized how pleased he was that she’d done so. The night felt less onerous with her there.
“Well, when Lady Mortlake heard that Edward and Fiona had other plans and that I would be all alone in an empty house, she insisted I join you all this evening.”
“How convenient. I take it you ran into her by accident.”
She smiled. “Of course. Though I must admit, it’s not my preferred set to associate with. There is a reason Luella enjoys this company.”
Just when he thought he was enjoying himself, the dinner bell rang. The sound sent unease coursing through him. He didn’t know who he should escort into the dining room—he hadn’t been out in society for almost a decade, and even back then his interactions with thetonhad been limited—but he did know they were likely to be disappointed that their dinner partner for the evening was the reticent lesser viscount.
“Lady Burberry,” Charlotte said, when she noticed his predicament. She pointed to a woman who looked to be in her eighties and was standing by the door, waiting for him, her fan tapping at her side. Yes. Lady Burberry looked unimpressed.
An older gentleman approached, acknowledging John with a subtle nod and offering his arm to Charlotte. With a regretful smile, she untwined her hand from John and tucked it into the crook of the man’s elbow. They didn’t get two steps toward the dining room before she stumbled.
John lurched forward, grabbing her free arm before she could fall to the floor and take the grey-haired lord with her.
“My apologies, Lord Walderstone,” she said. She pressed her hand to her chest, as if overcome with embarrassment. “I seem to have twisted my ankle.” She leaned heavily against John, and he debated the merits of carrying her to a chair.
“I don’t want to keep you from dinner, my lord,” she continued. “I hear Lady Mortlake is serving trout for the first course and I know that it’s your favorite. Lord Harrow will wait with me, if you don’t mind escorting Lady Burberry.”
Lord Walderstone looked more than pleased to escape. John would have done the same if he could, given how the entire party stared over their shoulders at them as they went in. God, there was nothing he hated more than attention of these people.
Before John knew it, the room was empty save for Charlotte, himself, and a footman who had appeared with ice and a chair.
“Are you in much pain?” he asked as he knelt before her and placed the wrapped ice on her ankle, unable to help himself from noting its delicate curve and the soft sheen of the silk that covered it.
Charlotte brushed her skirts. “Of course not, silly.” This time, her mischievous smile sent his stomach flip-flopping. “It is not even a twinge, but this way, we are sure to be seated next to each other.”
“Oh.” Her machinations became apparent. God forbid she ever turn them toward him. He stood and held his hand out to her, shivering slightly at the press of her fingers in his. “You are terrifying.”
***
As terrifying as Charlotte’s subterfuge had been, it was nothing compared to dinner. Despite Walter having supposedly died owing money to at least half of the guests in attendance, they had naught but praise for him. He’d been a proper lord, born and bred for the title. Unlike the current viscount. More than a few of the guests made snide comments about John’s life in trade.
“A true gentleman would never.”
“I mean, what could possibly persuade a person to work? Shudder.”
“There are some pages of the newspaper on which a gentleman should never appear. The business section is one of them.”
Forget that his engineering firm was the only chance these people had of being repaid. For an aristocratic gentleman to concern himself with business was beyond the pale. One could only imagine what they’d say if they knew he frequently rolled up his shirtsleeves and assisted in the factory he’d been overseeing.
Charlotte did her best to dull the blows. She could turn a conversation with a witty quip or an innocent-seeming question, and the bullies would find another topic, but John couldn’t avoid conversation entirely. He kept his contributions short and the comment “I couldn’t say. I’ve not been in England” close at hand.
Of course, not taking part in the conversation meant that his attention kept drifting back to the woman next to him. It was a problem, the way his chest contracted erratically as she smiled at him, as though the sight of her bypassed the normal function of his brain and went straight for his nervous system. She was his best friend’s sister. Definitely out of bounds. Attraction to her would lead nowhere.
Logic didn’t overcome his body’s painful awareness of her, however. By the time dinner was over, his foul mood was fouler.
“We have two options,” Charlotte said brightly as he escorted her into the drawing room, completely oblivious to the impact her fingers had settling on his arm. Blast, she was inconvenient. “The ladies have suggested a game of charades,” she continued.
Any unwanted energy that still thrummed through his body at her touch was quickly quashed. “You must be kidding.” Standing before a crowd of strangers trying to communicate some trite phrase through mime was perhaps the most ridiculous “game” that he could think of.
More than that, shouting out words under pressure would lead to his tongue tripping over itself in the most humiliating way. He was not about to open himself to the ridicule that would follow. “Is departure the other option?” The ghastly dinner was over, Luella wasn’t there, and there seemed little point in remaining where he clearly didn’t belong.
