With that, Joan whisked Charlotte away to a table where her family sat.
The garden party buzzed around them beneath the pale summer sunlight, ladies drifting between rose hedges with fluttering fans while gentlemen gathered beneath striped marquees with glasses of champagne.
White-clothed tables had been arranged across the lawn, each adorned with silver tea services, tiers of tiny cakes, sugared biscuits, and bowls overflowing with strawberries and cream. A quartet played somewhere near the fountain, their music floating gently through the warm air as servants moved gracefully between guests carrying trays of lemonade and champagne.
“Charlotte, there you are. We have waited so long… my, you are flushed,” Harriet said, looking at her daughter.
“Oh, it's the…”
“We have heard the most delightful news. It seems that Baron Jackson has called off his engagement to Lady Worland. Is that not good news?” Harriet said.
“How is that good news, mother?” Charlotte said.
“Because now he is free to marry one of your sisters, of course,” Harriet said.
Charlotte laughed softly behind her teacup as Joan declared, “Baron Jackson will undoubtedly fall madly in love with me before the end of the afternoon.”
“You?” Penelope scoffed dramatically as she adjusted the ribbons on her lavender bonnet. “Joan, you frightened Lord Ellis so severely during the last dance that the poor man nearly tripped over his own feet fleeing from you.”
Irene burst into laughter while Harriet pressed a hand dramatically against her chest.
“Girls, girls, do stop squabbling over a man,” Harriet said, though she sounded thoroughly entertained by the entire matter.
Joan pointed accusingly at Penelope. “You are only jealous because Baron Jackson complimented my gown first.”
Penelope gasped. “He did not compliment your gown,” she argued. “He merely asked if the colour was meant to resemble a sunset.”
Irene stirred sugar into her tea and sighed. “Perhaps he simply enjoys sunsets,” she offered reasonably.
Charlotte hid another smile behind her cup as Bridget leaned forward eagerly. “I heard he owns three estates,” Bridget whispered. “And apparently he once fought a duel over a lady.”
Harriet’s eyes widened with interest. “Now that is the sort of passion a man ought to possess,” she declared. “None of these dull gentlemen who only discuss horses and weather.”
Charlotte shook her head fondly at them all. Only a year ago, her sisters had been quarrelling over worn hems and whether they could afford enough coal for winter. Now they argued over eligible bachelors and dance cards while dressed in beautiful gowns Victor himself had paid for. The thought softened her expression immediately, and before she realized it, her gaze wandered across the gardens searching for him.
She found him near one of the marble statues, speaking with two gentlemen. Even from across the lawn, he commanded attention effortlessly. Tall and broad-shouldered in dark evening clothes, Victor looked every inch the powerful duke society believed him to be. Yet Charlotte’s stomach fluttered not because he was intimidating, but because she remembered his hands on her thighs scarcely half an hour earlier inside the carriage.
Good heavens.
Heat rushed into her cheeks so suddenly that Irene narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Charlotte,” her sister said slowly, “why are you blushing at your teacup?”
Penelope immediately twisted around in her chair, searching the crowd. “Oh,” she breathed mischievously the moment she spotted Victor. “Never mind. I believe I know precisely why.”
Charlotte nearly choked on her tea. “Do stop it,” she muttered.
Joan grinned wickedly. “Our sister has become quite romantic since becoming a duchess,” she teased.
Harriet looked positively delighted by that observation. “As she should,” her mother announced. “Her husband stares at her as though she hung the moon itself.”
Charlotte tried very hard not to look back toward Victor again.
Unfortunately for her composure, the moment she did glance up, she found him already watching her. One dark brow lifted knowingly as though he could read every scandalous thought presently racing through her head. Mortification swept through her so fiercely that she nearly dropped her spoon into her tea. The arrogant man actually smirked at her from across the lawn.
“Oh dear,” Bridget whispered excitedly. “He is looking at you rather intensely.”
“He always looks intense,” Charlotte lied weakly.
