written on her hand and direct the throngs accordingly.
Charlotte glanced around her, absorbing the information.
James feared his carefully, well laid plans were unraveling by the second. It was deuced hot in this ballroom. Was this tension what Charlotte felt all the time since she was scheming nearly all the time?
“Well what is the worst that could happen if we go to the west drawing room and not the east one?” Lady Talleyrand asked with a piercing laugh.
Disaster , James thought. He tugged at his cravat, which had been tied awfully tight this evening.
“We shall miss a portion of the reading!” Lady Inchbald lamented.
“It’s in the library,” Lord Derby insisted.
George Coney doesn’t even exist, James thought to himself. He was sure Charlotte was thinking the same. He glanced at Charlotte—her brow was furrowed and she was furiously thinking, he could tell.
Harriet succeeded in removing her glove.
“Perhaps you should confer with the duchess,” Charlotte suggested. “Do let me know what she tells you. I would also perish if I were to miss this reading.”
“We shall do just that. I should hate to miss it,” Lady Talleyrand said.
“Indeed I am dying to hear from the book that is sold out in bookstores all over London! Not a copy to be had! I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it Charlotte,” Lady Inchbald added.
Charlotte was biting down on her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. One could practically see the wheels turning and the steam rising. It was clear to him that she was completely vexed by all the nonsense.
Was it wrong he thought her adorable in that moment?
“Harriet, do you know anything about this?” Charlotte asked in a remarkably calm voice after the bothersome guests had departed in search of the duchess.
“About what?” Harriet asked. She blinked her eyes for effect.
“Harriet …”
“I am parched, utterly parched,” Harriet declared. Without further ado she strode determinedly toward the lemonade table—unwittingly dropping her glove where it was promptly trampled underfoot on the ballroom floor.
The Waltz
In times of uncertainty, ambiguity and chaos, Charlotte—like her dear brother—resorted to facts, and the facts were thus:
George Coney did not exist. Certainly not in human form. Once upon a time George Coney existed as a beloved pet rabbit, who met an untimely demise.
While gossip did have a way of getting twisted, contorted and badgered into new on dits , passed around on good authority, in the strictest confidence, Charlotte did not think mention of George Coney’s reading at midnight was the result of people’s idle chatter regarding her invented author and book at the Capulet ball Thursday last. Because …
Charlotte had a sixth sense for sniffing out plots, schemes, mischief and trouble of all kinds. Tonight, she detected a scheme.
Charlotte, it should be noted, was the grand master architect of schemes. She was not an unwitting pawn. However, tonight she suspected she was indeed an unwitting pawn!
Such were her thoughts when James approached her … in addition to thoughts that were utterly unladylike and completely wanton and had little to do with rumors and secret, nefarious plots and more to do with the removal of his attire.
“I believe you promised me this waltz,” James said, ever the gentleman. Though she might have detected a distinctly ungentlemanly gleam in his eye. For the first time she understood the saying “butterflies in one’s stomach.”
He held out his hand and she placed her palm in his. Then he whisked her into his arms and swept her onto the floor, in the crush of dozens of other waltzing couples. They spun and whirled around the ballroom in perfect time with the music.
“ How are you enjoying your evening?” James asked with a polite smile. She was sure he was hiding something.
“It’s far more interesting than I had anticipated,” Charlotte replied, hoping to
Charlotte glanced around her, absorbing the information.
James feared his carefully, well laid plans were unraveling by the second. It was deuced hot in this ballroom. Was this tension what Charlotte felt all the time since she was scheming nearly all the time?
“Well what is the worst that could happen if we go to the west drawing room and not the east one?” Lady Talleyrand asked with a piercing laugh.
Disaster , James thought. He tugged at his cravat, which had been tied awfully tight this evening.
“We shall miss a portion of the reading!” Lady Inchbald lamented.
“It’s in the library,” Lord Derby insisted.
George Coney doesn’t even exist, James thought to himself. He was sure Charlotte was thinking the same. He glanced at Charlotte—her brow was furrowed and she was furiously thinking, he could tell.
Harriet succeeded in removing her glove.
“Perhaps you should confer with the duchess,” Charlotte suggested. “Do let me know what she tells you. I would also perish if I were to miss this reading.”
“We shall do just that. I should hate to miss it,” Lady Talleyrand said.
“Indeed I am dying to hear from the book that is sold out in bookstores all over London! Not a copy to be had! I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it Charlotte,” Lady Inchbald added.
Charlotte was biting down on her lower lip. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. One could practically see the wheels turning and the steam rising. It was clear to him that she was completely vexed by all the nonsense.
Was it wrong he thought her adorable in that moment?
“Harriet, do you know anything about this?” Charlotte asked in a remarkably calm voice after the bothersome guests had departed in search of the duchess.
“About what?” Harriet asked. She blinked her eyes for effect.
“Harriet …”
“I am parched, utterly parched,” Harriet declared. Without further ado she strode determinedly toward the lemonade table—unwittingly dropping her glove where it was promptly trampled underfoot on the ballroom floor.
The Waltz
In times of uncertainty, ambiguity and chaos, Charlotte—like her dear brother—resorted to facts, and the facts were thus:
George Coney did not exist. Certainly not in human form. Once upon a time George Coney existed as a beloved pet rabbit, who met an untimely demise.
While gossip did have a way of getting twisted, contorted and badgered into new on dits , passed around on good authority, in the strictest confidence, Charlotte did not think mention of George Coney’s reading at midnight was the result of people’s idle chatter regarding her invented author and book at the Capulet ball Thursday last. Because …
Charlotte had a sixth sense for sniffing out plots, schemes, mischief and trouble of all kinds. Tonight, she detected a scheme.
Charlotte, it should be noted, was the grand master architect of schemes. She was not an unwitting pawn. However, tonight she suspected she was indeed an unwitting pawn!
Such were her thoughts when James approached her … in addition to thoughts that were utterly unladylike and completely wanton and had little to do with rumors and secret, nefarious plots and more to do with the removal of his attire.
“I believe you promised me this waltz,” James said, ever the gentleman. Though she might have detected a distinctly ungentlemanly gleam in his eye. For the first time she understood the saying “butterflies in one’s stomach.”
He held out his hand and she placed her palm in his. Then he whisked her into his arms and swept her onto the floor, in the crush of dozens of other waltzing couples. They spun and whirled around the ballroom in perfect time with the music.
“ How are you enjoying your evening?” James asked with a polite smile. She was sure he was hiding something.
“It’s far more interesting than I had anticipated,” Charlotte replied, hoping to
Similar Books
