“Julienne.”
“Thank you, Julienne.”
“Did you bring an abigail with you?”
Charlotte shook her head, knowing the outmoded style of her garments most likely betrayed her limited means.
“Wonderful. You and I shall prepare for the evening together. My maid will take one look at your glorious hair and beg to style it. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. That sounds lovely. Thank you. You’ve been so kind to me.”
“Nonsense. It will be fun. Bring your companion, too, if you like.” Julienne moved to the door. “Now, as much as I’d rather stay with you, I must see to the new arrivals. Your trunks will be up shortly. If you’re at all interested, the other ladies are in the sitting room, a few doors down on the right. You’ll hear the gossip as you draw closer.”
Pausing with her hand on the knob, she offered a warm smile. “I’m very pleased you came, Charlotte. I shall track you down in an hour or two, and we’ll have the opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“I’d like that.”
The door had barely shut behind Julienne Remington when a knock came. Gwen rushed in without waiting for permission. “Oh, Charlotte!” she cried. “There’s a ball tonight. Isn’t that exciting? My first ball. I cannot wait to see the clothes. And the men.”
Laughing at the young girl’s exuberance, Charlotte shrugged out of her travel pelisse. “You will wear my ice blue satin.”
Gwen’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. That’s your best gown.”
“Lady Julienne has graciously offered me the use of one of her gowns.”
Squealing with delight, Gwen spun around with her arms wide. “I really like her. She’s as nice as Lord Montrose.”
“Yes, she is.” Another knock came to the door. When Charlotte opened it, she found two footmen waiting with her trunks, and a maid to unpack them.
Gwen came to her side. “Shall we retreat to the rear garden? Lady Canlow’s companion said it was designed to look even prettier in the snow than it does in the spring.”
Charlotte retrieved her pelisse and cloak, feeling a freedom and lightness of spirit that she doubted she’d ever felt before. And it was all Hugh La Coeur’s doing, she knew. She linked her arm with Gwen’s. “Well, we definitely must have a look, then.”
Chapter Eight
“That has to be one of the more fantastic stories I’ve ever heard,” Lucien said, with a shake of his head.
Hugh threw his head back and released a deep breath. “I know. Believe me. I thought I was going mad. You’ve never met such a ragtag collection of lovable misfits in your life.” He started to pace. “Where in hell is your butler?” he snapped.
He’d sent the servant to locate Charlotte and bring her to him almost a half hour past. The Remington manse was vast, but not that vast.
“You are wearing a hole in my rug, Montrose,” Lucien said dryly.
Cursing, Hugh stilled, staring down at the elegant Aubusson rug beneath his feet. He spun about as the door to the study opened. The butler entered, a prime example of an upper servant with his impassive face and unflappable demeanor. Snorting, Hugh realized he liked Artemis better. Artemis would have told him why Charlotte was absent immediately, unlike Remington’s butler, who waited to be asked before he would speak.
“Out with it, man!” Hugh barked. “Where is Mrs. Riddleton?”
The butler turned his head to Hugh with a disdainful sniff. “Apparently there was a collision between two footmen as they carried Lord Merrick’s trunks up the stairs. Mrs. Riddleton took the injured party to the kitchen. I informed her of your summons, my lord, but she said you would understand why she was unable to respond immediately.”
Throwing up his hands, Hugh turned in exasperation to Lucien, who sat calmly behind his desk. “I swear, Remington, that woman is a magnet for the injured.”
Laughing, Lucien rose and moved toward the door. “We’ll go see how they’re faring. Then we’ll retire somewhere private, and you can inform Mrs. Riddleton about Glenmoore’s presence.”
When they reached the kitchen, they discovered a well-tended footman eating hot buttered scones, and no Charlotte. The servant leapt to his feet, flushing guiltily, but Remington waved him back down.
“Where the devil did she go?” Hugh asked a scullery maid, who stammered so terribly with fright in the face of his ill humor, he could hardly comprehend her.
“There was an ac-cc acci-ci-”
“Bloody hell. An accident?”
The maid nodded, and Hugh shot a glance at Remington, who was beginning to scowl.
“What happened now?” Lucien barked.
“Lady Denby broke her cup, Mr. Remington, and cut her finger.”
“Where?”
“The upper sitting room.”
Hugh and Remington took the servant’s stairs to the upper floor, where they found Lady Denby with a bandaged finger, and no Charlotte.
Lucien sketched a quick bow before asking, “Do you have any idea where we can locate Mrs. Riddleton, Lady Denby?”
The buxom brunette batted her eyelashes and offered a coy smile. “Why, Lucien Remington, whatever do you need Mrs. Riddleton for?”
“I need her,” Hugh growled. He was starting to feel a mild panic under his frustration. If Charlotte was traipsing all over the premises, she was very likely to run into Glenmoore.
Lady Denby arched a brow. “I see. Well, I would try the stables, then, Lord Montrose. I believe she mumbled something about checking on a horse.”
He released a deep breath and moved toward the door.
“The stables?” Lucien asked, following on his heels.
“Yes, yes, she’s mad for horses.” Hugh moved down the hallway with impatient strides. “One of my new carriage bays was injured when my wheel broke. She fussed over him the entire way here.”
Lucien’s soft chuckle earned him a scathing glance over Hugh’s shoulder. “A magnet, you said.”
When they reached the stables, Hugh found his horse sporting a liniment-covered foreleg, and no Charlotte.
“Damn and blast and bloody, everlasting hell!” Hugh cried, kicking a stall door and sending a fine spray of hay into the air. If he didn’t find her immediately, he would go mad. Well-and-truly mad.
His heart raced in a desperate rhythm as he pictured Glenmoore finding Charlotte before he did. She’d promised to keep Gwen hidden in return for the use of the manse. Who knew how Glenmoore would react if he discovered the two had not only left, but were attending a large social function. The duke had discarded her clothes and jewelry, and spent the last three years ensuring that she had no life whatsoever. Hugh could only imagine the malicious temper that would goad a man to retaliate so viciously against a woman as kind and nurturing as Charlotte.
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Lucien said softly.
“Like what?” Huge snapped, his hands clenching into fists.
“Like this. So concerned for another individual. Even when I wished to court Julienne, you weren’t this upset.”
Hugh growled. “’Tis the damned Derbyshire water. I’ve never been the same since. I’m completely mad.”
“Yes, dear brother, I believe you are quite mad for her.” Remington’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sometime.”
“What was bound to happen? What the devil are you rambling about?”
“You’re in love with her.”
Lucien offered a commiserating smile as Hugh gaped and then sagged into the abused stall door. “I know just how you feel. Someone had to tell me, too. I think men who are accustomed to lives of carnal indulgence find it harder to acknowledge how dependent their happiness can become on one woman.”
Shaking his head, Hugh considered himself carefully. He’d known Charlotte for such a short time. How could it be possible that he loved her already?
“How do you know?” he asked. “How can you be certain?”
“When you are in love, you cannot stand to be away from your lover. Her touch, her smile, her attentions, are necessary things. You admire her above all other women; her faults are what you find charming. You want to care for her, protect her, be all things to her. Your desire for her stuns you, humbles you, and makes every other female pale in comparison.”
“Good God.” Hugh scrubbed a hand over his face. “That sounds dreadful. And terrifying.” He dropped his hand and sighed. “And very much like the way I feel about Charlotte.”
Patting him on the back, Lucien gestured toward the stable door. “Let’s go find her, shall we? Before you expire.”
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Gwen breathed, running her hands reverently over the tiny pearls that encrusted the sleeves of Charlotte’s gown. “I’ve never seen a garment so fine.”
Charlotte eyed her reflection with both longing and trepidation. The satin gown was a beautiful green that complimented her eyes and brought out the striking hue of her hair. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Nonsense,” Julienne cut in, resplendent in mauve-colored silk. “That dress looks much better on you than it ever has on me. You must wear it.”
Turning, Charlotte gave Hugh’s sister an impulsive hug. “Thank you so much.” Having been occupied all afternoon with entertaining Gwen and helping wherever she was needed, she hadn’t had the opportunity to see Hugh at all, and she missed him dreadfully. She was pleased to think that when he finally saw her, she would look as she did now, dressed in a green very much like the robe she wore the first night they made love.
She was also quite willing to admit that her infatuation with the handsome earl was rapidly progressing to deeper waters. A few hours without him, and she felt bereft. She wondered where he’d been all day, how he’d occupied himself, if he’d thought of her at all and missed her, if only just a little.
“I cannot wait until the moment Hugh first lays eyes on you,” Julienne said, with a smile. “I’ve waited so long for him to find his footing and a steady companion.”
“Find his footing?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes.” Julienne waved her arm carelessly. “His entire life he’s fallen into one scrape after another. Don’t misunderstand, he’s very intelligent and inherently kind. He simply has a tendency to leap before looking. He says and does things before considering all the consequences, and then regrets his actions later. Hugh has made an effort to change over the last few years, but it may be a while yet before he becomes a man that one would call responsible. There were a few times when I wondered . . .” She shook her head. “But you are a sensible sort, confident and poised, and Hugh is obviously quite taken with you. You’ll be a good influence on him. I can tell.”
Charlotte frowned, attempting to reconcile the picture painted by Julienne with the image she bore of Hugh—a man who was strong and resourceful.
“Shall we go down to dinner now, ladies?” Julienne asked, effectively squelching the questions Charlotte had been about to ask.
“Oh, yes, let’s!” Gwen cried.
Shaking off her sudden unease, Charlotte turned to look at Guinevere. Dressed in the ice blue gown, Gwen’s creamy skin was displayed to perfection. But there was something missing from the ensemble, and despite how hard she considered it, Charlotte could not remember what it was.
Collecting the elbow-length gloves the abigail held out to them, they left Julienne’s dressing room and headed toward the main staircase. Several other guests also left their rooms, and Charlotte studied the latest fashions carefully, eager to see what was new and popular. A bright bauble on a passing baroness caught the light, and suddenly she remembered what it was Gwen’s dress was missing.
“Please go on ahead,” she said, stopping in the middle of the gallery. “I forgot something.”
Gwen frowned. “What is it?”
“The diamond brooch that goes so beautifully with that gown.”
“You would allow me to wear that?” Gwen’s eyes widened.
It was one of the few pieces of jewelry Charlotte had remaining, and it was one of her favorites.
“Of course. I think the dress looks almost naked without it.” And the fact was, after this week the chances of Gwen mingling with Polite Society were very slim indeed. Charlotte wanted to ensure the young girl enjoyed every moment to the fullest.
“Well, we should retrieve the brooch, then,” Julienne said with a smile.
“Please proceed without me,” Charlotte urged. “You have guests to attend to, and Gwen is so excited. I hate to delay either of you.”
As the two women moved away, Charlotte lifted her skirts and ran to her room. Hugh was certainly waiting downstairs by now, and she couldn’t wait to see him. There was so much yet to learn about each other, so many questions to ask. Clutching the diamond-encrusted piece in her gloved palm, she backed out of her chamber and shut the door.
“I thought that was you.”
She stiffened at the familiar voice behind her.
“Only a woman of your breeding would run down the hallway like a hoyden.”
Taking a deep breath, she turned around. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
The Duke of Glenmoore smiled and sketched a mocking bow. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
“I detest it when you call me that,” she said tightly, her gaze raking his stocky form. He remained unchanged from the last time she’d seen him, a year ago. He was still handsome, with his dark brown hair and even darker, almost black eyes—eyes that radiated none of the warmth she found in Hugh’s. Once she’d found Jared appealing; now she wondered why.
“I detest that you married my father. Some things cannot be changed. Such as our agreement.” He stepped closer. “What are you doing here?”
