Noble Destiny (16 page)

“Did I hear my name taken in vain?” Lady Brindley's cool gray eyes examined Charlotte from crown to heels before she smiled.

Caroline gasped in horror, one hand covering her mouth as she stared with wide eyes at the woman Charlotte would gladly have seen struck down with a bolt of lightning.

“Oh, Char, I'm so sorry, I didn't know she was there—”

Lady Brindley smiled. Charlotte gritted her teeth and tightened her hands into fists.

***

“It can't be that bad, Dare,” David said as he strolled into the card room from the dance floor. “I know you have no love for these things—God knows, I don't either—but we have to humor the ladies once in a while, and Patricia's in seventh heaven that Charlotte is going to introduce her to all the fashionable folk.”

Dare tossed back a second whiskey and gestured to the footman for another with only a raised eyebrow and a grimace to indicate he heard his sister's betrothed.

“If you feel so strongly against attending balls and such,” David said, “you shouldn't have allowed Charlotte to talk you into this one.”

Dare took the proffered glass, saluting the younger man with it. “Talk? She didn't talk. Talk I could have resisted. Talk might have meant I had a chance to reason with her. Talk would have been manageable. What she did was much more insidious. She's a woman, and women don't think like we do. Always remember that, David. They take the shortest route to what they want, which, in most cases, means they use their perfumed selves to drive you to the brink of madness, forcing you—out of sheer self-preservation—to give them what they want.”

David laughed again. “Do I take it, then, that your own good lady worked her wiles on you against your wishes?”

Dare allowed a smile to flirt on his lips before the memory of Charlotte at breakfast that morning returned. He was consumed with guilt when he considered the life he was forcing her to accept, overwhelmed with the worry that his steam engine wouldn't succeed. He took a gulp of the whiskey, closing his eyes against the burn as it worked its way into his stomach, wondering if he would ever be free of the yoke of debt that had settled on his shoulders when he inherited the title. Worse yet, he admitted to himself as he tossed off the last of the drink, he feared his future with Charlotte. Could he go through life in love with a woman who didn't love him in return?

“Dare?”

He pushed that thought aside and smiled a humorless smile at the concern in David's face. “I'm all right, just a bit tired. I've been putting in extra time trying to get the condenser running at optimum capacity before your uncle arrives.”

David nodded. “You have another two months. His latest letter said he won't be here until September.”

“Good,” Dare replied, settling back to have a comfortable talk about the world of marine engines. “I'll need every hour of that time to get it running its best. I've been thinking how best to demonstrate the engine, and I believe I have a solution—”

“Carlisle! Carlisle, where are you man? Has anyone seen—there you are. Come quickly.”

Dare looked up in surprise at the flustered man who stood before him. “Beverly. Is something amiss?”

Lord Beverly's eyes bulged out in an alarming manner. “I'll say there is! You must come quickly. It's your wife.”

Dare was on his feet and headed out of the gaming room before Beverly could blink. “Is she hurt?” he tossed over his shoulder.

“No, not at all.” Beverly panted, trotting to keep up with Dare's long-legged stride. Dare stopped abruptly, grabbing the man to keep from running into him.

“If she isn't hurt, what is the hurry?”

Lord Beverly pulled out a silk handkerchief and mopped at his red face. “She's…she's…she's making a scene! You can't want that! She's your
wife
!”

Dare took a deep breath and turned back toward the comfortable leather chair he had been sitting in. “Is that all?”

“All?” Beverly asked in confusion. “All?
All?
Did you hear me? She's making a scene! In front of everyone!”

“Then I'm sure she's quite happy,” Dare said with a grin to David. “There's nothing Charlotte likes more than an audience to one of her tempers.”

“But…but…aren't you concerned? Don't you care?”

“Not really,” Dare answered, resuming his seat. “To tell you the truth, I rather hate to spoil her fun. She's had so little the last few days. What is it this time? Is she telling Lady Jersey off again?”

Beverly stared at Dare as if he had a duck dancing on his head. “No, no, it's not Lady Jersey,” he choked out. “It's Brindley's wife.”

Dare's head snapped up at the name.

“Lady Carlisle seems to have taken exception to something Lady Brindley said, consequently dumping the punch bowl over her head.”

Dare swore as he leaped to his feet a second time, dashing for the door with David and Beverly fast on his heels.

“The watch! Someone send for the watch!” Phylomena was screeching as he burst into the disordered scene in the ballroom. “She tried to drown me! You all saw her attack me! She's mad, quite, quite mad!”

“I am not mad. My hand slipped,” Charlotte argued.

Dare pushed his way forward to where the most elite members of the
ton
stood in a loose circle around five people. The three clustered together—his wife, Patricia, and Lady Caroline—he ignored, focusing on the remaining two.

“Slipped? You held the punch bowl over my head and turned it upside down!”

“I was merely trying to assist you to a cup of punch. A full punch bowl is not an easy thing to handle, you know. I imagine anyone's hands would have slipped in a similar situation.”

“I don't care what you say, you can't stop me from telling everyone that—Carlisle!” the bedraggled, punch-soaked figure in blue screeched, pushing away the man who had been attempting to comfort her. Three blue ostrich feathers hung down to her shoulders as hair, formerly coiffed into sable ringlets, dripped red punch down the front of her gown, her bosom bedecked with orange and lemon slices. If Phylomena hadn't one of the sharpest tongues and most vindictive natures he'd known, he would have been tempted to find the situation humorous. As it was… “Save me from that…that…madwoman, that hellion you wed!”

Dare put up a hand as she rushed toward him, his face tight. “I'll thank you to remember you are speaking of my wife and moderate your tone. We can discuss the situation after you have attended to yourself.”

“Yes, truly, you are a mess.” Charlotte nodded virtuously, showing her dimples for her husband. “Thank you for your support, Alasdair. You know how against my naturally shy and reserved nature it is to be any part of a scene. I am available for the next waltz if you wished to partner me, but do watch your step. Lady Brindley's unfortunate episode has made the floor quite slippery.”

“Unfortunate?” Phylomena spat, glaring at Charlotte with a venom that was quick to fire Dare's anger. He stepped protectively in front of Charlotte, blocking her from his ex-lover's glare, his scowl fearsome to behold. Lady Brindley, however, was not daunted. She took a step closer to him. “Unfortunate? The only thing
unfortunate
about the episode is that your husband didn't have the good sense to wed me when he could!”

“Or there is to be a country dance following, I believe. I should be happy to accompany you in that, if you prefer. I quite enjoy the lively nature of country dances.” Charlotte tipped her head and gave him the full benefit of her blue-eyed attention.

Dare felt an absurd sense of admiration for a woman who thought nothing of pouring a bowl of punch over a rival. Still, a saner voice pointed out that it would probably be best to smooth over Phylomena's upset. He looked around for a familiar face. “Lady Beverly, if you would be so kind as to escort Lady Brindley to a room where she might receive attention…”

Caroline gave a little squeak of dismay, but obediently hurried forward and attempted to take Phylomena's arm. The latter snatched it back, snarling at the assembled crowd as a piece of garnish slid down the end of a soggy feather and fell with an audible wet plop on the floor before her. “I won't leave until she's taken by the watch! I will prefer charges against her! No one treats me in this manner,
NO
ONE
!”

“I do hope the Prince Regent comes soon, so we might have the windows opened. I'm finding it a bit noisome in here,” Charlotte said with a ladylike hint of boredom as she fanned herself. Only Dare saw the tense line of her mouth.

“NOISOME!” Phylomena shrieked.

Enough was enough. “Lady Brindley, you will retire now,” Dare said firmly, his blue eyes steely in their resolve. He sent a silent message to Phylomena's escort, who nodded and took her arm. Caroline took her other arm. With only a moderate amount of cursing on Phylomena's part, they managed to steer her out of the crowded dinner room.

Almost.

“Do not think this is over,” Phylomena dug in her heels long enough to warn over her shoulder as she was led out the door. “It is not! I shall make sure that everyone will know the truth! Everyone will know that you are bound to a deranged wife, a woman you find so repugnant you have yet to consummate your marriage. Everyone will know how you pine with love for me! Be assured I will have my vengeance!”

Dare heard the quick intake of breath behind him at Phylomena's words and wondered with a brief rush of irritability why Charlotte had mentioned something so private to the other woman. Surely she was aware of his past relationship with the twice-widowed Phylomena; he had been keeping her company when he met Charlotte, and he was under the impression that she would have rather died than condescend to even notice the older woman, let alone speak to her of something so intimate. But when, he wondered wearily as he rubbed the blossoming headache away, had his wife ever acted in a manner that made any sense?

An excited babble started up immediately. People moved away quickly, forming small groups to discuss this latest tidbit of thrilling gossip, tittering and casting periodic glances their way. No doubt it would be the topic of conversation for many months to come. Thank God they would have nothing to do with the
ton
after Patricia's wedding.

“I hope you're happy with the results of your actions,” Dare growled to his wife. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but it was the flash of pain in them that stopped him from continuing. He couldn't chastise her, it would be senseless. She was simply being Charlotte. She could no more change than the sun could keep from rising each morning. The sooner he became resigned to her, the easier his life would be.

“I believe I would very much like to go home now,” Charlotte said in an unusually subdued voice. Dare took a closer look at her. Her eyes weren't just wide, they glistened with tears, tears of mortification. He took her hand and pulled her after him toward the dance floor where couples were just taking their places for a waltz. As he swept her into his arms, he said, “Don't let them see you care, love. Smile at me as if none of them matter.”

“But they do matter,” she protested gently, her tears threatening to spill over. “They're the
ton
. They represent everything I have sought to return to. They represent success and achievement and every good thing. Even you must acknowledge that.”

He couldn't help but laugh. “If you really cared for what any of them thought of you, my dear wife, you would not have
accidentally
lost control of a punch bowl while it was over Lady Brindley's head. The only achievement and success they represent has to do with the sheer luck of having been born into one of the noble class.”

“But—”

He whirled her into silence for a moment. “Charlotte, they are only people, not gods. They have sins and failures and bad habits just as everyone else does.”

She thought about that for a moment. “That may be, but they look perfectly elegant while they are sinning and failing and indulging in bad habits.”

His gaze softened upon her lovely face as he noted the tears had disappeared unshed. “Appearance is not everything, my lady.”

“Is it not?”

Her eyes were bright, brilliant as the summer sky, her lips parted slightly, beckoning him with a siren song to taste them just once, her curls tipped with molten gold by the candlelight, her skin not the pale, flawless alabaster so popular with ladies of the
ton
, but a darker hue, honey-warm and flushed with life, as if she had spent time unprotected in the sun. “No,” he said softly, almost without realizing he was speaking aloud. “I do not suppose you can understand what it is to look beneath an appearance when yours is so perfect.”

She even blushed beautifully, her cheeks brushed with dusky rose. “I'm not perfect. My nose is exactly one quarter of an inch too long. My left eyebrow is unruly in the morning, and often requires a strict hand to conform it to the standards set by the right. One of my bosoms is larger than the other, too,” she added with a morose sigh. “I was lopsided for an entire year when I was sixteen. I feared they would never match, and although they are more equitable, they are still not identical. I cannot begin to tell you what a trial it is to have unequal bosoms. It weighs upon my soul quite heavily.”

Dare tried to hold onto a dignified mien, but it was a lost cause. He laughed again, shaking his head at his own folly, knowing that she did not see things as he did, that for her, appearance would be all. Inside him, deep inside where he kept his secret dreams, he mourned the dying hope that she would one day learn to value the things he did—honor, determination, strength in the face of adversity. He was honest enough to admit he didn't want to change her, just to help her to look beyond the obvious. Perhaps sometime in the future she might be able to see what he saw, but until then… “Charlotte, you are the only woman I know who has a soul made heavy by the state of her breasts.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “As an unbiased witness to them, I am happy to reassure you that any imperfections you might perceive are not visible to my eye. Or hands. Or…mouth.”