Never Kneel to a Knight Page 7

  “It’s all right, Matthew,” Charlotte murmured. “Give me a moment to talk with Miss Thorn.”

  He nodded and allowed the countess to sweep him away at last.

  Charlotte drew in a breath.

  “I can see I assigned you quite the challenge,” Meredith said, watching Matthew’s dark head bend closer to the countess’ fiery mane as the two conversed.

  Charlotte smiled, a ghost of its usual brightness. “They are all delightful people, if still a little rough around the edges. Terribly sorry about Daisy. We haven’t covered beau poaching yet.”

  “And here I thought her so practiced in the art,” Meredith said. When Charlotte sagged, she nudged her white satin slipper with her own. “I was joking. Julian had hinted he wanted to dance earlier. It was my own fault for not taking him up on the offer.”

  “Next set,” Charlotte promised.

  “Or not,” Meredith said. “Like your clients, I find it best not to stand out.”

  “That was calculated risk,” Charlotte told her. “They are new to all this. I have been through several Seasons, and I believe you have as well. You could reign over this crowd if you wanted.”

  Once she’d been young and naïve enough to want just that. Society had abandoned her when her mother died. She had seen no need to return to it now that she was self-sufficient. Yet Julian’s profession as a solicitor required him to associate with the rich and titled. For his sake, she would brave much.

  “Perhaps I have other goals now,” Meredith said, watching Julian twirl Daisy by both hands.

  Charlotte must have noticed the direction of her gaze. “Worth thinks quite highly of Mr. Mayes,” she said. “He is obviously well considered by the prince and others.”

  “For good reason,” Meredith said. “He knows how to solve their problems, even the messy ones.”

  Charlotte’s smile returned, in full force now. “What a lovely trait to have. I hope I may soon join all of London in wishing you both happy.”

  So did Meredith. But if Lord Harding’s reception was any indication, some would never accept her and Julian. How much would that trouble her ambitious beau?

  Chapter Eight

  What a night. Matthew had always been proud of his sisters, but to see so many of London’s finest acknowledge them brought a smile to his face. He could find no lovelier, more poised ladies in attendance.

  Except one.

  He glanced at Charlotte, standing beside him now as if she guarded the crown jewels. She had stayed that close ever since Lady Carrolton had returned him to the spot.

  “Such a gentleman,” she’d said with a flutter of her red-gold lashes. “Au revoir, mon cher. I hope to hear good things of you soon.”

  Matthew had bowed as she sauntered away.

  “Interesting conversation you appeared to be having,” Charlotte had said.

  Her voice had held the oddest note. In another woman, he might have thought it jealousy, but that made no sense. Charlotte didn’t care for him in that way, and the countess was happily married, by all accounts, to perhaps the one fellow who might lay Matthew out flat.

  “She was easy to talk with,” Matthew had said. “She asked a lot of questions about Ivy and Daisy, my record in the boxing square, the incident with the balloon. I’m not sure I did myself justice, but it was good practice.”

  Charlotte had sniffed and trained her gaze out over the dance floor.

  She had danced only a little that night, preferring to encourage Ivy and Daisy instead. He hadn’t danced at all.

  It wasn’t because he was concerned about the steps. Despite his comments to Charlotte and Miss Thorn, he’d been certain lords and ladies danced differently than a bunch of lads behind the mill. Determined not to embarrass Charlotte or his sisters, he’d been Ivy and Daisy’s practice partner after they’d left the dance master. He could acquit himself well enough. But there was only one lady he wanted to partner, and she was beyond his reach.

  “The last dance of the night,” Charlotte said beside him now, twisting her head this way and that to see through the milling crowds. “Ivy has a partner—Lord Kendall no less. Well done. And…yes! There goes Daisy.” She sighed happily as she straightened.

  Out of the masses, one man strode in their direction. Harding. His golden head was down, his eyes narrowed, as if he’d sighted a target and wouldn’t deviate until he struck it. Was he after a conversation with Matthew or a dance with Charlotte?

  The thought of the arrogant lord touching Charlotte fired Matthew’s blood. He seized her hand. “Dance with me.”

  “No, no,” Charlotte said, resisting with surprising strength. “The correct form is ‘Miss Worthington, may I have the honor of this dance?’.”

  “Miss-Worthington-may-I-have-the-honor-of-this-dance,” Matthew rattled off, pulling her toward the line of couples.

  Lord Harding drew up and watched them pass.

  Charlotte positioned herself with the ladies. With a sigh of relief, Matthew aligned himself opposite her with the men. Farther down the set, Daisy shot him a grin, and Ivy smiled. He caught himself smiling back.

  This dance was a lot of hand-over-hand and twirling your partner. He nearly flung the other lady in the set out of the pattern before controlling his movements.

  “Such enthusiasm, sir,” she said before they parted, but she seemed to be offering more of a compliment than a complaint.

  He gentled himself when he took Charlotte’s arm. She floated around him, effortless, weightless, like a flower petal riding the breeze. He could have dived into the grey of her eyes, floated in peace, and never come up again.

  Torture. That’s what this was. To have her so close, and yet, so far. The prince might have promised to elevate him into Charlotte’s sphere, but Matthew feared he would never be worthy of her. His fancy new title couldn’t mask the fact that he had blood on his hands.

  As if she sensed his thoughts, her smile dimmed. Her gaze sought his, held it captive once more. The world faded away. In all the vast ballroom, the teeming metropolis, there was only him and Charlotte, moving through a dance, and neither could break free.

  The music stopped. He released her to her spot and bowed with the gentlemen. She curtsied with the ladies. Ivy and Daisy allowed their partners to lead them off the floor. He didn’t dare offer Charlotte his arm. One touch, and his resolve would break.

  He really would deserve the name of Beast if he did what he wanted right now and kissed her senseless.

  ~~~

  Charlotte could only accord the ball a success. Ivy and Daisy had been introduced to a portion of Society, and the gentlemen at least had been appreciative. The ladies had been more reticent—additional competition on the marriage mart was always viewed with a certain amount of caution. Their brother might soon be a knight, and a baronet, but the entire family was far too close to trade. And they hadn’t even owned the mill where their father had worked.

  The ladies, however, had been sufficiently intrigued with Matthew. She’d seen the number of looks directed his way, most admiring. Lady Carrolton might have been the only one brave enough to approach, but others had considered doing so.

  And he had only danced once, with her.

  Every time she remembered, her cheeks warmed. He had mastered the more courtly forms as easily as the dance he had performed for her and his sisters. He had been there to take her hand when the pattern demanded, could be counted on to swing her gently through the turns. And, for a moment, when their gazes had brushed, she’d thought she’d seen an admiration, a regard that held her as tenderly.

  But then something had intruded, a darkness slipping over him, until she’d felt as if the very air in the ballroom had soured. She could not understand it. Would he confide this time, if she asked? Did she dare ask?

  Perhaps it would be best to focus on the task at hand: improving Ivy and Daisy’s standing on the ton. Gregory, Earl of Carrolton, was one of the kindest, most considerate men she’d ever met, and no one was as open-minded as h
is bride, Yvette. Lilith’s reception had proven that others in Society would not be as welcoming. Time for step four.

  “Daily constitutionals, I think,” she told Ivy and Daisy the next day when she returned to the house off Covent Garden. “In Hyde Park, between three and five, when it will be at its most crowded by all the fashionable. That should help establish you as members of the Beau Monde.”

  “Bow what?” Petunia asked from her place on the sitting room carpet. She had managed to pull Rufus away from Matthew and sat with him, legs curled away from the growing puddle around his jowls.

  “Good society,” Charlotte translated.

  Petunia nodded. “And while you take your constitutionals, I can walk Rufus.”

  The elderly hound raised his head from the carpet and blinked his rheumy eyes. Much as Charlotte knew he could do with more fresh air, she wasn’t sure it was wise for tiny Petunia to drag him to the park and surround him with horses, other dogs, and children.

  Daisy, seated on the sofa next to Ivy, was more vocal. “I will not be seen with that creature. He’ll drool on my new shoes.”

  “Still wouldn’t make them pretty,” Petunia jibed.

  Daisy tossed her head. “I don’t have to listen to fashion advice from an infant.”

  Petunia climbed to her feet, and Rufus heaved himself up as well. “Infant? Who are you calling an infant?”

  “Certainly not you,” Charlotte intervened. “You have proven yourself a young lady of heart and purpose.”

  “See?” Petunia flipped her skirts aside to sit down again, pulling Rufus with her. “Miss Worthington says I have heart.”

  Daisy stuck out her tongue at her.

  Ivy raised her brows. “I certainly hope you don’t do that with our new acquaintances.”

  Daisy yanked in her tongue and clamped her lips together.

  “Perhaps we should review how to behave when someone calls,” Charlotte said. “After last night, I expect to hear the knocker sounding.”

  Ivy and Daisy set to with a will, Petunia chiming in here or there. It was some time before Charlotte could slip away and speak with Matthew.

  Indeed, she found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she climbed the stairs to his study. Why? She had never felt so cautious with any of the men who had shown interest during her Seasons. Most had been content with her poise, her polite demeanor, wanting only a wife who would do them credit in social circles. John Curtis had seemed more interested in what went on behind her eyes. Unfortunately, he had turned out to be a dastard of the first order. His only true interest in her had been as a conduit to discover more about her brother’s research so he could claim it as his own. After that debacle, she had tucked her heart safely away.

  It was harder to keep up her pretenses with Matthew. Their shared purpose—first to help Worth construct his balloon, now to launch Matthew’s sisters—united them, opening the door to something more. The dance last night had only inched the door wider. She wasn’t sure she was willing to walk through.

  If Matthew remembered last night with equal trepidation, he gave no indication as she knocked and was bidden to enter. Instead of sitting by the hearth this time, he was squeezed before a secretary, table down and papers strewn about. A smudge of ink marred his solid chin.

  “Forgive the interruption,” Charlotte said.

  He raised his head. “I could use the interruption. Corn futures never made a great deal of sense.”

  Charlotte wandered closer. “Corn futures? Are you invested in the Exchange?”

  He waved a hand over the papers. “To my consternation, some days. What do you think, will silk from the Orient or sugar from Jamaica be a better investment?”

  No one had ever consulted her about such matters before. Intrigued, Charlotte leaned over his shoulder, studying the cramped handwriting. He’d detailed companies, their history, their potential for growth. “Silk,” she said. “I cannot like the labor practices in our Caribbean plantations. Although I understand the Adair family is more compassionate.”

  “Adair,” he repeated, writing the name on one of the sheets. “I’ll look into that.” He lay down the pen and glanced up at her. “Forgive me. Did you have a question for me?”

  Charlotte smiled, stepping back. “I wanted to make sure you were ready for the levee on Wednesday.”

  He slumped. “As ready as I’ll ever be, which isn’t saying much.” He blinked and jumped to his feet, nearly oversetting the chair. “See? I should have stood the moment you walked in the room. I can’t even remember that!”

  “There shouldn’t be any women at the levee,” Charlotte consoled him. “And everyone stands in the presence of the prince.”

  “And I’m never to show my back to the fellow, even when leaving the room,” he said as if reciting from memory. “At least I ought to be able to manage that.”

  “You have it easy,” Charlotte told him, moving to the window and twitching the curtains wider to let more light into the small room. “The Queen holds drawing rooms for her ladies. She requires that we wear wide hoop skirts from the last century, complete with trains. Try walking backward in that.”

  “No, thank you, though I’m sure you managed it.”

  “I did.” Charlotte turned to him. “And you’ll do well at your presentation too. And when it’s reported in the London Gazette, everyone will know what a hero you are.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll never be a hero. Whole lot of fuss and bother over nothing.”

  Charlotte raised her chin. “You forget, sir. I was there. I saw you endanger yourself to keep His Highness safe.”

  He snorted. “If he’d had the sense God gave a goose, he would have moved out of the way all on his own.”

  “A sudden change in circumstance can surprise anyone.” Charlotte returned to his side. His cravat was sagging. She reached up and righted it.

  “Who’s going to do that when I have to meet the prince?” he murmured.

  Charlotte’s hands lingered on his shoulders, so broad, so firm. “You could hire a valet.”

  Those brown eyes were guileless. “He’d never be as pretty as you.”

  Once again, she felt off-kilter, as if the world was shifting around her. She wanted to move closer, feel those strong arms come around her. But that implied more than she was ready to admit. She dropped her arms and stepped back. “Well, I certainly hope not. Now, I have a question for you.”

  “Anything.”

  So quick, so sure. A shame she didn’t feel nearly so certain of the situation. “The ball went well last night, but now is not the time to retreat from the field. I suggest that Ivy and Daisy start promenading in Hyde Park in the afternoon. Petunia wants to join them with Rufus. I would approve, if you lead Rufus.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Will you be joining us?”

  “As often as I can, yes.”

  He nodded. “Then I’ll come.”

  She wasn’t sure why so small a concession pleased her this much. “Thank you. Then I shall meet you at Hyde Park corner at three for our first promenade.”

  He bowed. And though she had strolled Hyde Park many times over the years, she could hardly wait.

  ~~~

  So, shortly after three, Matthew found himself strolling through Hyde Park, Rufus on a leash and remaining at his side only because of a firm hand. That nose kept twitching, the great head swinging from side to side as he tried to take it all in. Matthew knew the feeling.

  Hyde Park on a sunny June afternoon was a fascinating blend of color and movement. Gentlemen in top hats and ladies with flowing trains on their riding habits rode past on noble steeds. Carriages lacquered in crimson, emerald, and buttercup trundled along, stopping every few feet so that the occupants could converse with those in other gilded coaches. Ladies in frilly muslin wandered along on the arms of polished escorts in tail coats. With the hum of discussion, he couldn’t hear whether the birds were chirping in the trees they passed or had hidden their heads under their wings. And any scent of th
e flowers along the path was masked by the perfume of the ladies admiring them.

  Charlotte walked on his other side, grey gown partially covered by a green short jacket of a material that gleamed in the light sparkling through the trees. The tall velvet hat on her auburn hair only made her look more elegant. Ivy and Daisy in muslin with shawls draped about their shoulders walked behind with Tuny between them. Charlotte had approved Tuny’s church dress, a pretty flowered cotton with a profusion of lace, for the outing.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here. This strutting about felt frivolous. He’d worked since he was a lad. He had funds he should be managing, a garden to plant. Shouldn’t he be doing something more purposeful than this?

  Then he realized everything Charlotte did had a purpose.

  Her smile remained pleasant, her step confident, but that grey gaze kept moving as they approached the Serpentine on their left.

  “Miss Everard,” she acknowledged a beauty with golden ringlets escaping her silk-lined bonnet. “May I make you known to my friends?”

  Matthew bowed, and the ladies began chatting. He and Tuny stepped to one side. Tuny rubbed Rufus behind one of his droopy ears.

  “She’s very good at this,” his sister whispered.

  “Yes,” Matthew agreed, watching as Charlotte elicited a promise from the other lady to call on his sisters soon, “she is.”

  “That makes five,” Charlotte said with satisfaction as they resumed their stroll past the blue-grey waters. “Perhaps two more, and then we can retire for the day.”

  Matthew shook his head. “You make this look easy.”

  “It is easy,” she said, twitching her skirts away from a damp spot on the golden gravel. “The ton is above all else opposed to effort. Like the dances, once you learn the pattern, you simply repeat it.”

  “The pattern?” he asked, and he felt Daisy pressing closer as if just as interested in the answer.

  “Catching their eye,” Charlotte explained, “then commenting on something that commits you to nothing—the weather, their equipment or adornment, their family’s health. When they respond, you attempt to prolong the conversation. And when things grow more interesting, you invite them to continue the discussion at your home.”