Chapter 5

Chapter

Five

T he following afternoon, Charlotte sat in the front drawing room, greeting the many guests her mama invited for their at-home gathering. Most of the guests present were her mama's friends—matrons of the ton eager to gossip about the latest on-dits circulating the social circles.

Charlotte, however, had another plan entirely. She sat beside Matilda and Genevieve, who had finally separated herself from her new husband to visit with them both for a couple of hours.

She could not blame her dearest friend for spending so much time with her new husband, Lord Tyndall. He was awfully handsome and loved her dearly—what wasn't there to enjoy in his company?

"So, what are you going to do today?" Matilda asked, biting into her Bath Bun, a bite that was far too large, making her cheeks puff out.

"Mama has left the door to the drawing room open, and if you look across the foyer, you can see Mr. Richards's office. He's also, by chance, left his door open, and he can see directly into here. Not that anyone is paying our steward any notice."

"Besides you?" Genevieve quipped, grinning mischievously.

"Yes, well, besides me. But Lord Anson will arrive soon. He said so at last evening's ball, and I will use him, as naughty as that is, for my gain."

"Use him?" Matilda mumbled through her chewing. "How so?"

"I will toy with his lordship and ensure Mr. Richards sees my familiarity with him. How else am I supposed to make him wild with jealousy?"

"And I suppose with his crazed jealousy, he will ravish you?" Genevieve sipped her tea. "Are you certain you truly want Mr. Richards as your husband? Or are you being swayed by his chiseled jaw and straight, aristocratic nose? Which, I must admit, is quite becoming."

Charlotte hoped she wasn't so shallow that she was only attracted to the outward beauty of her father's steward. "I do not think so. He's kind and patient and never seems flustered or out of sorts—not that I've seen him be so, in any case. And he's very good with finances. Papa is always boasting to Mama about his accounting abilities."

"But it doesn't change that he's not titled or rich," Matilda warned.

"Well, maybe he isn't as poor as you think." Charlotte placed her cup of tea down and leaned closer, ensuring more privacy from those talking around them. Not that any of her mama's friends were paying them any attention. "Beckett mentioned something a week or so ago after we called in on you, Charlotte, to see how your hand was after your fall and to tell you our news."

"Yes, I remember," Charlotte said, hoping to speed up the process of imparting the news to her.

"Well, from what Beckett knows of Mr. Richards, his parents are French but grew up in London. He's apparently quite the card player. Rumor has it he's financially comfortable, if untitled, but has won his fortune fair and square."

Charlotte adjusted the lace on her bodice and glanced toward Mr. Richards's office. He was seated, bowed over his desk, scribbling away, going back and forth from one ledger to another.

A lock of blond hair had slipped over one eye, giving him an air of dishevelment that made him all the more appealing. The fact he was a numbers man, a bookish sort, only made him more desirable in Charlotte's eyes.

What wasn't there to admire in a man who could keep ledgers balanced while looking dreadfully handsome?

She inwardly winced. Perhaps she was a little swayed by his pretty face.

"So he's rich but not titled. That's helpful and might persuade Papa should I want to pursue things with him."

"Your father would never allow you to even glance at such a man, not to mention you do not even know him. He could be married, or maybe he's courting a lady from his social sphere."

Charlotte stilled. "Surely he is not seeing a lady. He never leaves the house and is always working for Papa. If he is courting someone, they're very patient—far more patient than I would ever be."

"Well, Beckett states he's as rich as any gentleman here and owns a modest country estate. Well, a manor house with several acres, but that's better than nothing, and a small town house here in town."

"True," Matilda said, sipping her tea. "It is better than nothing."

"Do you think I'm foolish for my infatuation with him? I know there are many obstacles between us. And you're right. I do not know if he likes me at all."

"Shall we test that theory?" Genevieve asked, wiggling her brows.

"Oh yes, how can we do that?" Charlotte asked.

"Why don't you stroll past his office door through the foyer, and we will keep watch. See if he looks up and notices where you're going."

"I'll pretend I need to go upstairs to fetch a fan," Charlotte said.

"Good idea. Now go," Matilda said, grinning.

Charlotte took a fortifying breath and stood, smoothing out her rich silk afternoon gown in a light purple hue. She walked from the room, not glancing toward Mr. Richards's office, and casually strolled through the foyer and up the stairs. She returned to her friends after stopping in her room for a few minutes to grab her fan.

She sat between them, but their faces were perfectly neutral, giving nothing away.

"Well?" she asked after a long pause, refusing to look toward the office.

"Well," Genevieve said, taking her hand, "he didn't look. Not a flicker of awareness."

"Perhaps he's so engrossed in the ledgers that he simply overlooked you walking by. I'm certain, however, that no man—and certainly not Mr. Richards—could be unaware of how sweet and beautiful you are. He would be a fool not to be in love with you."

Charlotte chuckled at the absurdity of her friends. "I know you both love me very much, and the feeling is mutual, but just because we're The Graces doesn't mean everyone is madly in love with us."

"I think you speak too soon," Matilda stated just as Lord Anson appeared before them, bowing.

"Lady Charlotte, Lady Matilda, Lady Tyndall, good afternoon. How beautiful you all look today—like pretty spring flowers ready to be picked."

Genevieve stood, smiling at Lord Anson, though Charlotte could see her smile was laced with pity. "I've been picked already, Lord Anson, but do have a seat before you wilt."

Matilda chuckled and covered her laugh with a cough before excusing herself quickly and following Genevieve, leaving Charlotte alone with Lord Anson.

It wasn't the worst outcome of the afternoon, at least from Charlotte's vantage point. Mr. Richards could easily see her conversing with the viscount, and perhaps, just perhaps, it might stir a touch of jealousy—or even a spark of desire for her.

Not that she was entirely sure he harbored such feelings, but a lady could hold on to hope, and right now, that hope was all she had. As for Lord Anson, he looked as though he was on the verge of dropping to one knee to propose once more.