Page 26 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

She rang for Fisk and ordered more tea. The clock on the marble mantel struck four. Dinner at six left ample time for them to dress and mingle beforehand. She could, perhaps, relax a trifle.

As she sank gratefully onto the sofa, she could not help but be pleased with her efforts thus far. The busy room hummed with guests who seemed excited to be there. The two unexpected visitors had been handled to her satisfaction. Henry Marsh’s absence remained the sole thing marring the perfection of the house party. She sighed, determined not to fret.

Tea arrived and her guests seated themselves, still chatting avidly. Smiling, Charlotte poured, although she glanced at the clock more frequently than she should. It was now going on five. Soon the company would need to retire to dress for dinner. Well, if Mr. Marsh did not come, she would have to carry on as best she could with very odd numbers for dinner.

“Lord Fernley, I expected your cousin to arrive with you,” Charlotte said, setting her teacup in its saucer with a firm clink. “Do you suppose he has been detained in Town?”

Fernley had just taken a sip of his tea. He held up a finger, making a show of swallowing. His face had turned almost the same shocking red as his hair.

“Forgive me, my lady, I should have explained the moment I arrived, but I had just been renewing my acquaintance with this ravishing young creature.” He nodded toward Georgina, who turned scarlet and clutched her cup like a weapon. “So all other thoughts flew right out of my head. My cousin sends his regards and his regrets. A sudden turn in his business—he is a barrister, you see—and he was called to the bar for a most infamous case, you must have heard of it . . .”

Lord Fernley droned on as Charlotte sat, sick at heart. Only four gentlemen to six ladies. And she knew none of her neighbors well enough to call on for reinforcements. As hostess, she must be the one to give up her claim on the gentlemen. She’d be lucky to have two words with Lord Wrotham the entire time. The weekend that had held such promise now loomed like a gloomy cloud over her happiness.

“I do wish you had sent a note, Lord Fernley,” she said as he finally paused for breath. “I might have been able to invite another gentleman to round out the party.”

“My lady, do not fret yourself. I have managed to save the day.” Fernley beamed at her, revealing the frightening sight of large crooked teeth in a wide grin. “I persuaded a dear friend of mine to attend when he had already sent his regrets.”

Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. That would leave her lacking only one gentleman. Perhaps the party wouldn’t be as gloomy for her after all. “Excellent, my lord. May I expect Lord Lathbury or Mr. Abernathy?

“Mr. Alan Garrett.” Fiske’s rumbling voice cut through the guests’ low chatter.

Charlotte jumped, her head jerking toward the tall man in the doorway. Attired in buff and blue, his curly hair in ringlets around his brow, he smiled brilliantly at her, his eyes sparkling in triumph.

“Mr. Garrett.” She rose on unsteady feet to greet him, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest. The mere thought of his hand on hers sent dread coursing through her and the room wavered.

“I have missed you, fair one,” he murmured in his deep, velvet voice as he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

Her eyes closed and the sharp tang of his cologne assailed her senses. Not so strong this time, thank goodness. Still, she couldn’t wait for him to raise his head so she could withdraw her hand and step back.

“Has all of your little party assembled?” He glanced around the room, nodding to Lord Fernley.

“Yes, you are the last, but for Lord Wrotham, who will return for dinner.” Dear God. Wrotham would think she had invited Mr. Garrett. She would attach herself to Wrotham at dinner—he would be seated beside her—and inform him that this last-minute substitution was not of her making. “Do you know everyone here, Mr. Garrett?”

He scanned the drawing room until his gaze fell on Maria. “All but the young one there. Is she a daughter of Lady John?”

“A distant relation only.” Charlotte took his arm. “Pray, let me introduce you.” She led him toward the unsuspecting Maria. Mr. Garrett might focus his attentions on the young widow instead of her, but she doubted it. From the corner of her eye she caught the rake’s quick smile as he squeezed her arm. Yes, she doubted it very much indeed.

* * *

Dinner proved rather a victory for Charlotte. Lord Wrotham arrived in good time and established himself as an excellent addition to their party. He was previously acquainted with Lord Brack and Lord Sinclair, having attended a hunting party last autumn with the latter and a dinner party hosted by the former’s elder sister.

As a result, the dinner conversation touched on literature, politics, sports, and the Season past. Amazed to find Lord Wrotham, seated at her left, had a lively interest in poetry, Charlotte listened, rapt, while he talked of Byron’s The Corsair. Lord Sinclair, on her right, proclaimed himself a regular at Jackson’s and gave her a blow-by-blow account of his latest round, so stirring the women near him applauded when the final blow fell.

By the time she and the other ladies retired to the drawing room for tea, Charlotte genuinely looked forward to dancing with several partners at the evening’s entertainment. She had enjoyed herself more tonight than she had in years, despite her worry over Mr. Garrett’s presence. He had talked devotedly to Maria Wickley at dinner and so far had been a model guest. The evening, however, was young.

Once the gentlemen joined them, natural groupings seemed to arrange themselves. Georgie, Lord Brack, and Elizabeth appeared inseparable. Good for Elizabeth, although Georgina needed to push herself to converse with the others as well. Jane gathered Sinclair, Wrotham, Fanny, and Maria together, talking about gaming. And Garrett and Fernley were deep in a discussion about curricles.

“We can have dancing now, if you like,” Charlotte announced and sat down at the rosewood pianoforte to play “Miss Gayton’s Hornpipe.” Couples formed the set quickly, the pairings ending much as she expected, except Wrotham partnered Georgie and Garrett claimed Maria.

The energetic country dance that ensued put everyone in a playful mood. She followed it with the “Duke of Devonshire” and “Grimstock” before giving way to Elizabeth. Charlotte hurried to the refreshment table, seizing a glass of lemonade. While she drank, she looked around and discovered, to her dismay, Mr. Garrett the only unpartnered male. Drat the luck. With as good a grace as she could muster, she accepted him for the next dance, a set called “The Mercury,” a particular favorite of hers.

“You have been a lovely hostess, my dear.” Mr. Garrett met her in the middle and they sashayed down the line.

“Thank you, sir. The company seems to mix together well.” They circled round each other, closer than the dance called for. Waves of heat from his body assailed her.

“We should mix together well, Charlotte.”

His low words and the use of her first name sparked tension in her, putting her on alert.