“I should think so with the amount of suitors filling your dance card,” he said.
The statement shocked Charlotte. “You noticed?”
“I believe everyone has noticed,” he said, but before she could respond, the dance ended.
“I shall escort you to your mother,” he said.
He placed his arm out, and she took it as he walked her through the couples toward the refreshments.
Why had he noticed I danced with so many? Had he been watching?
“Your Grace,” Harriet curtsied as they approached.
Victor bowed, “I have brought your daughter back to you. Now, if you ladies will excuse me.” Then he walked away.
Charlotte stood there, confused by the entire situation. She was handed a cup of punch by a servant. Her gloved fingers curled around a delicate crystal cup of punch as she watched Victor walk away.
I do not understand that man and perhaps never will.
The ballroom swirled with movement and colour. Candlelight gleamed across polished marble floors while musicians played from the raised gallery, their violins filling the grand room with lively music. Ladies in silks and satin drifted past like bright flowers in bloom, while gentlemen bowed and smiled with practiced charm. For the first time in many years, Charlotte felt as though her family truly belonged amongst them.
Harriet sighed dramatically. “Look at Joan laughing with that gentleman near the windows, and Irene has danced six times already.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I declare, I could expire from relief this very evening.”
Charlotte laughed softly. “Please do not expire at the Dawsons’ ball, Mother. It would quite ruin the festivities.”
“You mock me now,” Harriet said, though her mouth twitched with amusement. “But you do not understand the joy of seeing my daughters finally noticed properly.”
Charlotte’s gaze drifted across the ballroom toward her sisters. Joan was indeed laughing loudly beside a red-haired gentleman who looked both enchanted and slightly frightened by her. Irene glided gracefully through a dance with a viscount’s son, every movement elegant and poised. Penelope stood near the orchestra speaking animatedly with two young officers, both of whom looked moments away from complete ruin.
“It is going well,” Charlotte admitted quietly.
“It is going magnificently,” Harriet corrected. “And it is all because of the Duke of Mulford.”
Charlotte’s cheeks warmed at the mention of Victor. “Yes, well, His Grace has been… generous.”
“Generous?” Harriet nearly choked upon the word. “The man has transformed our fortunes in a fortnight.”
Before Charlotte could answer, a gentleman approached and bowed deeply. “Miss Brown, might I have the honour of the next dance?”
Charlotte blinked at him in surprise. He was pleasant enough, with sandy hair and kind eyes, but her instinctive responserose immediately. “I thank you, sir, but I am engaged in conversation.”
The gentleman bowed again, though disappointment crossed his face before he walked away.
Harriet stared at her daughter in horror. “Charlotte Brown.”
“What?” Charlotte asked defensively.
“You refused him.”
“I was speaking with you, mama,” she said.
“You could have spoken with me after the dance.” Harriet lowered her voice sharply. “If you are not truly engaged to the duke, then you ought to think of your own future happiness.”
Charlotte nearly laughed at the absurdity of the statement. “My future happiness?”
“Yes, your future happiness,” Harriet repeated. “Surely there is at least one gentleman in this room you might favour if you gave him a chance. You have already danced with many; what is one more?”
Charlotte stared at her mother for a moment, genuinely startled. The thought had honestly never crossed her mind. Since her father’s death, her life had become lists and budgets andsacrifice, all thoughts of marriage tucked quietly away beside childish dreams and pretty ribbons. Her sisters had always been the priority, and somewhere along the way, Charlotte had stopped imagining anything else for herself.
