Page 33 of To Woo a Wicked Widow

“No, I refused him. Wrotham. Last night.” Charlotte fanned her hot cheeks. Lord, if this happened each time she thought about the earl, she’d have to start wearing lighter clothing.

“He actually proposed? Last night?” Jane’s mouth had dropped open.

At last she had surprised her unflappable cousin.

“Yes. It’s quite the story. First, he accused me of being Alan Garrett’s lover, then he kissed me, then he asked me to marry him. Somehow I don’t think this is the behavior of a perfect gentleman.”

“Perhaps not,” Jane said, sipping her tea, her eyes still wide. “But you have to admit it is extremely dashing. Was he very disappointed when you turned him down?”

“Not half so much as when I suggested we have an affair instead.”

Jane dropped her cup. It rattled into the saucer without spilling a drop.

“Charlotte! You didn’t!”

“I did indeed. And I would have done it, but he simply refused to entertain the notion.” Charlotte adjusted her napkin. “He must wish to marry rather badly. I thought men generally jumped at the chance for a dalliance.”

“Generally they do.” Jane picked up her cup and shook her head. “One does wonder why he would insist on marriage on such short acquaintance. Perhaps he’s in love with you.”

Charlotte snorted. “Love at first sight, Jane? In Minerva novels only, I assure you. No, I’m not quite sure why only marriage will do for him where I am concerned, but should he persist, I will find out.”

“I will be very interested in what you discover. So, my dear,” the brisk Jane returned, “how do you propose to even your numbers now that Mr. Garrett has gone?’

The abrupt change of subject jarred Charlotte so thoroughly she knocked her hand against the teacup. It rattled alarmingly, almost turning over. “Drat. I had forgotten Mr. Garrett’s departure would make the party most uneven.”

“Yes, you are now down two gentlemen, Charlotte, for dinner and your outings, which will make for an awkward time of it for one of your guests. As hostess, you can stand to be unpartnered, but at least one of the ladies will likely be made to feel left out.” Jane poured more tea and dropped in two small lumps of sugar, all the while staring at Charlotte with an air of expectation. As if Jane hadn’t realized her invitation to Maria Wickley had caused the problem in the first place.

“I hadn’t thought about it yet,” she confessed, suddenly aware that she should have been thinking about the situation almost immediately. It wasn’t as though she’d never hosted a party before. Just never one where she had been completely distracted by the men in her life.

“Lord Wrotham is returning, is he not? He seemed to get on well with everyone last evening. And if he is absent, I simply don’t know what you shall do with only three men.”

Charlotte’s heart sped up at the mention of his name again. This would never do.

“Lord Wrotham hinted he had more important things to do than socialize with his new neighbors. That is why he did not stay last night. He said he had business to attend to this morning.” Charlotte comforted herself with the thought she’d spoken some snippet of truth, although he’d said nothing about being otherwise engaged this evening.

Jane flashed her a knowing look. “Indeed. It sounds as though he enjoyed himself immensely. I’ll wager he returns tonight. He dances divinely, but of course you know that. You seemed to take great pleasure in the set you shared.” A satisfied smile spread across her face. “In fact, you appeared quite enthralled when you looked at him. Are you sure you turned him down?”

Face now flaming, Charlotte stared down at her cold plate. “Yes. And if you doubt me, you may ask him yourself when he arrives tonight. If he arrives.” Best turn the tables before Jane could ask any more questions. “But then, what about you and Lord Sinclair? How have you been getting on?”

Jane’s narrowed eyes spoke volumes. “Robert and I have been friends for years, while I was married to Tark.” Her voice firmed and her gray eyes flashed. “And that is all we were.” She softened once more. “Now I believe he has developed a tendre for me. And I have encouraged him in it. This weekend, therefore, I think we will become better acquainted.”

Her voice softened as she returned to their previous topic. “So tell me, what do you plan to wear on the lovely outing you have planned for this afternoon?”

* * *

The village of Wrotham lay picturesquely nestled at the foot of the North Downs of Kent, only a mile from Lyttlefield Park. Why, therefore, had Charlotte only visited it once in the whole of the four weeks in which she’d been resident? Oh, she could give herself excuses aplenty. There had been so much to do and oversee at the Park that unless she deemed the need urgent, she’d vetoed any excursions in order to make sure the house and grounds were all in readiness for her guests. That meant, however, that planning an outing to the village had been done with almost no knowledge of the points that might be of interest to the company.

Charlotte managed to smile pleasantly at Georgie as she and Elizabeth chatted about the sights of the village as the carriage rumbled forward toward Wrotham. Then she went back to brooding, praying her ignorance of the village would not earn her the label of poor hostess. She had attended only one house party before her marriage and none thereafter, so she had little personal knowledge to guide her.

Her original hope had been that her guests would be so exhausted from their nighttime frolics that they would be content with a turn around her park and gardens. But Jane had assured her this was an error on her part. The ensuing discussion this morning had led to the hastily planned visit to Wrotham.

On her one trip into the village, Charlotte and Jane had visited a couple of shops looking for a cobbler to mend Charlotte’s riding boots, had peeked into St. George’s Church and been accosted by the rector, who welcomed them to the community, and had lunched in a private parlor at The Bull Inn and Posting House. Not a grand tour, but a start at least. Perhaps Mr. Micklefield, the pub owner, could suggest some other sights for their tour. Otherwise they would be returning to Lyttlefield in short order.

* * *

Nash downed his second pint, set his glass on the dark-stained plank table, and called for a third. “And another for you as well, Mr. Smith?”

The burly man in stained linens grinned and nodded quickly. “Aye, if you don’t mind, my lord. Smithing’s a hottish business come August, even with our weather these days.”