“I am not cheating,” Irene protested. “You simply cannot count.”
Penelope sighed heavily. “Neither of you can count.”
Charlotte shook her head fondly. “Some things shall never change.”
Victor murmured beside her, “Thank God for that. Silence from your sisters would terrify me.”
Charlotte elbowed him lightly. “Be kind.”
“I am kind,” he replied solemnly. “I invited them back after the last supper party, did I not?”
She laughed before glancing toward another corner of the room where Arabella and her husband, Gerald, stood speaking with Uncle Oswald. Arabella looked elegant in pale blue silk while Gerald appeared entirely content listening to Oswald loudly complain about London merchants.
“I tell you,” Oswald declared dramatically, “they would charge us for breathing if given the chance.”
Gerald chuckled. “Surely not breathing, sir.”
Oswald pointed at him. “You are too optimistic.”
Nearby, Bridget sat at the pianoforte playing a lively tune while several guests danced casually before her. Charlotte smiled warmly, watching her cousin play with such confidence. Bridgethad once seemed painfully shy at gatherings, yet now she laughed easily whenever someone complimented her music.
The sight filled Charlotte with pride.
Across the room, Harriet sat beside Elizabeth upon one of the velvet sofas. Harriet was speaking animatedly with her hands while Elizabeth laughed so hard she nearly lost hold of her fan. Charlotte felt immediate relief seeing how healthy and bright the dowager duchess appeared these days.
Elizabeth noticed Charlotte looking and waved her over immediately. “Come here, my dear.”
Charlotte crossed the room while Victor followed leisurely behind her.
Harriet smiled brightly. “We were just discussing how dreadful most society hostesses are compared to you.”
Charlotte blinked. “Mama.”
“It is true,” Harriet insisted. “Lady Pembroke served cold soup last month.”
Elizabeth looked scandalized. “Cold soup?”
“Positively criminal,” Harriet declared.
Victor deadpanned, “We must alert Parliament immediately.”
Elizabeth burst into delighted laughter while Charlotte shook her head helplessly. Victor looked unbearably handsome tonight in black evening clothes, his dark hair slightly unruly in the charming way that always tempted Charlotte to smooth it back into place. She caught herself staring at him for a moment too long.
His eyes flicked toward her knowingly.
Charlotte immediately looked away.
Smug rogue…my rogue.
Across the room, Lionel stood with Morgan Harding near the drinks table. Morgan appeared perfectly at ease as usual, lounging carelessly with a glass in hand while charming absolutely everyone nearby. Lionel, though more reserved, was clearly amused despite himself.
Morgan lifted his drink dramatically. “Come now, Lionel. You are unmarried, wealthy, and respectable enough to survive one evening at Vauxhall.”
Lionel snorted softly. “That recommendation alone convinces me not to go.”
“You wound me.”
Victor called across the room, “Do not listen to him, Lionel. Morgan once convinced an earl to race geese through Hyde Park.”
