Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

T he following morning, Charlotte sat at the breakfast table alone. Her parents, having returned only an hour before she rose for the day, would not be about the house for hours.

She glanced through the morning's papers, drank her tea, and moved around her plate the cooked ham and eggs Cook had prepared. Unfortunately, her cheeks would not stop burning. Each time she thought about how she had snuck into Mr. Richards's room the night before—a bold action very much out of character—and had been caught was mortifying.

She set down her tea and frowned. She had been sure she had heard footsteps above her, and yet, how was it that Mr. Richards hadn't been home? Come to think of it, where had he been?

Did he attend the lower echelons of society's balls and dinners? Maybe he was courting a barrister's daughter or a doctor's.

The thought made her frown, and she schooled her features, not wanting to age prematurely by thinking of things that would only upset her.

She was supposed to sneak away with Matilda to the Dudley rout this evening. Her parents were to attend Lord and Lady Eden's ball, and she had already planned to come up with an ailment that would prohibit her from attending.

This afternoon, when her mama finally rose from her bed, she would feign a headache and declare that she would remain home and have an early night's rest.

Finishing her breakfast, she pushed back her chair and started for the back parlor, wanting to sit outside on the terrace and enjoy the warm weather London had been experiencing of late.

She scooped up the latest copy of The Lady's Magazine and opened the terrace doors, letting the fresh morning air sweep into the room. Moving toward one of the plush daybeds her mama had strategically placed under the shaded piazza, she pulled the seat into the sunlight just far enough to warm her legs. The day was still, with no sounds of bustling servants or family nearby. Feeling delightfully alone, she lay down, lifting her skirts above her knees. With a soft sigh, she slipped off her stockings and shoes, wiggling her toes in the gentle warmth of the sun, savoring the rare moment of freedom.

Further out in the gardens two gardeners pruned the hedge that bordered the grounds, far enough away to ensure her privacy. Secure in the knowledge that no one would see her legs and expose her to ridicule, should her mama find out, she lay back and opened her magazine.

Gown after beautifully designed gown was showcased, along with some delightful fiction and poetry that was always worth reading. With the Season well on the way, perhaps it was time she looked at what fashions she would take to their country estate. One could never have enough gowns.

The clearing of a man's throat startled her, and she let out a little squeak before sitting up and hurrying to cover her legs.

"Mr. Richards, can I help you?" Her tone was lofty and condescending, but he had snuck up on her and she did not appreciate the disappointment she read on his visage.

"Your father asked me before he retired for the night—or this morning for the day—to speak to you regarding Lord Anson."

"Lord Anson?" Charlotte stared up at Mr. Richards, her mind forgetting all about Lord Anson and reflecting instead on how handsome Mr. Richards was this morning. The man was a walking Adonis and had the chiseled jaw to prove it.

Not to mention those lips. She'd seen her friend, Lady Genevieve, kiss her husband when they thought no one was watching, and she longed for the same passion and adoration. She wanted to experience all of that and more.

She wanted to be wanted, longed for, and consumed by love.

A shiver stole down her spine, and she schooled her features, hoping her wayward thoughts weren't readable on her face.

"Lord Anson has made an offer of marriage, and your father wanted you to think upon his request. His understanding is that you've known his lordship for some time and are on amicable terms."

She stumbled to her feet, tripping over the multitude of words she wanted to say. "While I know Lord Anson, I wasn't aware he was interested in having me for his wife. Why has he not attempted to converse with me at any of the balls we've attended or called on me here to further his suit?"

Mr. Richards stared at her, a muscle working in his jaw. "I cannot tell you the answer to those questions, my lady. But it would seem he has gathered enough courage to ask your father for your hand."

"Well, he ought to have gathered enough courage to ask me first. I could never have a husband who was not forthright, who knew what he wanted in his life—wife included—and ensured that whomever he desired knew, without any doubt, of his affection."

Mr. Richards cleared his throat and nodded. "I shall inform the duke that you're to reject Lord Anson's proposal."

"Well, perhaps it would be hasty of me to dismiss him so easily." Charlotte watched Mr. Richards, trying to discern if her words brought any alarm to his eyes. And yet, he remained steadfastly unbothered.

That would never do.

She needed to know, without asking him to his face, if he found her as appealing as she found him. That she was not alone in the emotions that somersaulted in her stomach each time she looked at him. "If Lord Anson were to speak to me at a ball or party, then perhaps it would help me decide what I would do with his proposal."

Mr. Richards nodded and looked down at the flagstone terrace for several heartbeats before meeting her eyes. "I think that would be best, my lady. You do not want to appear too hasty or eager when it comes to a proposal of marriage. It is for life, after all."

"This may surprise you, Mr. Richards, but I often receive proposals of marriage. In fact, I'll probably get another this evening. Lord Anson is not the first gentleman to propose, and nor will he be the last. He's merely the first who has asked Papa for my hand, but I will not be forced or rushed into such a decision. Not by anyone."

"Ah, I see. I thought because you've been in society for so long?—"

"This is my third Season, yes, but that does not signify. I have chosen not to marry up until now because none of my suitors have interested me enough to agree to be their wife. I will only marry a man whom I love, you see, and I'm not convinced Lord Anson loves me for who I am inside, but only for who I am by birth."

Mr. Richards nodded. "And that is important to you."

Charlotte threw him a small smile, glad to see that he didn't look away. "It's the most important thing to me when finding a husband. I want him to love me for me, not because my father is a duke and one of the wealthiest men in England. I do not wish to be flattered and then forgotten after marriage. What a devastating kind of life that would be."

"I shall inform the duke you'll think upon Lord Anson's proposal only if his lordship speaks to you at the forthcoming balls. Does that suit, my lady?"

She shrugged, picking up her magazine once again. "That will suit very well," she answered, hearing him move away. Not that his lordship's courting would go anywhere. Her mind was made up, and she knew who she wanted.

And it wasn't Lord Anson.