Lady Charlotte and the Lending Library (The Rogue’s Alliance #1)

Chapter Three

“W ho was that man?” Louisa asked her friend once they were both in the privacy of the town carriage. “Now that you are back in the coach, we are safe from curious eyes.” Louisa sighed as she relaxed against the plush squabs. “No harm done.”

The man she’d encountered outside of White’s was one of the most striking men Charlotte had ever met, and she didn’t even know his name. Once he had seen Louisa, he’d obviously decided she was a member of the gentry. His agreeable demeanor vanished to be replaced with a rather frigid countenance as disapproval of her escapade rolled from him in waves.

“We weren’t properly introduced. He came out of White’s and approached me,” she replied with a shrug. She felt unaccountably dismayed that the elegant gentleman disapproved of her. Charlotte pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in the wool coat she wore and proceeded to vigorously rub the linen over her face to clean away the soot. “You used my father’s title.”

“I’m not accustomed to lying.” Louisa frowned at Charlotte’s efforts. “Let me have that handkerchief. You are missing some spots.”

That morning Charlotte pilfered some of the old clothing the housekeeper put aside for the rag and bone man to collect. The clothes were worn but clean. An old pair of boots were drying by the fire in the kitchen, and she took them, silently apologizing to their owner. She rubbed ashes from the nearby grate on her face and exited the townhouse in Hanover Square for the mews behind. Her father’s coachman drove to Louisa’s home in Grosvenor Square, and then the ladies continued on to Piccadilly Street.

The day was now bright outside, and light crept through the sliver of space between the drawn curtains of their conveyance. The carriage was well-sprung, and their trip through the cobblestone streets was comfortable.

After a minute of exertion, Louisa sat back and said, “There. Your face is clean again.”

Charlotte took the proffered handkerchief and stuffed the dirty piece of linen back into the pocket of her coat.

“Whoever the man was, he knew I was a female and even guessed I had means enough to afford a carriage.” Perhaps if she hadn’t been so distracted by the man’s attractiveness, she would have put more effort into disguising her voice.

Louisa rolled her eyes. “I told you your disguise wouldn’t fool anyone who looked closely at you.”

She saw no reason to acknowledge Louisa’s point. Her friend was too free with her opinions as it was.

Charlotte imagined the scent of the man’s spicy cologne still surrounded her. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed him at the balls and routs of the marriage mart because he was a married gentleman. That was a depressing thought. No matter how attractive she found the man, his manner upon leaving her had been abrupt, bordering on rude. It seemed her adventure that morning was forgivable if she’d not been a member of the peerage.

“No one was seated in the bow window today,” she said to her friend, hoping to banish any lingering thoughts of the elegant gentleman from White’s. “The only thing I learned is that the club has a majordomo named Dawkins.”

Louisa clicked her tongue. “We’re not going to be able to convince Mrs. Thorne that she needs a majordomo in her shop.”

“You’re probably right about that.” Charlotte glanced at the cushion next to Louisa, where a bonnet and old walking dress rested. “I must take off these clothes. The material of this shirt is itchy. The dress I brought along will be suitable until I arrive home. I forgot to bring along shoes, so I’ll have to continue wearing these boots.”

She took off her hat, her dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders.

Louisa looked askance at her friend. “The bonnet will hide the tangle of your hair.”

“I should be able to slip through the mews and into the house unseen.” She added, “My mother is probably still abed. If my father is awake, he will be in the library engrossed in a book.”

“I imagine neither of my parents has risen,” Louisa replied lightly.

With four sons, Louisa’s mother seemed quite unsure of what to do with a daughter when Louisa came along. Her family lived near Charlotte’s in Kent, and Louisa gravitated to Charlotte’s mother, who was more than happy to mother the girl.

Charlotte didn’t mind Louisa being underfoot as her only sibling was a brother. She enjoyed the company of another girl her age and had spent many happy hours exploring the chalk hills of the North Downs with Louisa by her side.

“How did you convince Villiers to come along with us?” Louisa asked as she helped Charlotte don the walking dress.

Villiers was her father’s coachman. Other than Louisa, Charlotte had few friends growing up, often playing at the estate in Kent all by herself. Her brother could not often be bothered to play with a girl and had left for Eton at a young age. Villiers had always been nearby, ostensibly watching out for her. She thought the elderly coachman had a soft spot for her as he made sure he was always available to drive her whether in London or the country.

“He dotes on me,” Charlotte replied with a grin. “I told him about our plan to save Thorne’s, and he was sympathetic to our cause.”

“It seems we have come out of your adventure unscathed,” Louisa said drily.

“Unscathed and knowing no more about White’s than before I went to St. James’s Street,” she grumbled. “Will you come home with me, or do you want me to take you back to Carstairs?”

Louisa shook her head. “Mother would come looking for me soon enough. I have a fitting at the modiste this afternoon.”

Despite her chance encounter with a handsome gentleman outside of White’s, Charlotte had to admit her efforts that morning had netted scant useful information. The only thing that remained for the day was to attend Lady Cairs’s ball and hope the matron could be convinced to help Charlotte and her friends save Thorne’s Lending Library.

“My mother is confident that should I attend Lady Cairs’s ball this evening, I will meet the man of my dreams there.” After rolling her eyes, Louisa added, “As Edith is also attending the ball, we can discuss our next step tonight.”

“We must plan a way forward,” Charlotte replied with more confidence than she felt. “I will not accept defeat.”

* * * * *

T hat evening Lady Cairs put a hand to her generous bosom when a footman announced Ashford and Cecil. Resplendent in peacock purple, the lady’s head snapped toward where he and his companion stood on the above landing before descending the staircase that led to the rooms below.

The ballroom consisted of several state apartments combined to provide a large room for dancing. Carpets had been removed, the wooden floors polished, and the room was lit by a hundred candles. Young ladies in light-colored gowns mingled with gentlemen in dark coats and white neckcloths.

Cecil nudged him in the side with an elbow. “I think our hostess might have an apoplexy.”

“I agree. The lady looks quite shocked to see us,” he replied with a chuckle. They approached the dowager and greeted her. The matron wore an overabundance of rosewater, and Ashford stifled a sneeze.

“To what do I owe this pleasure , Lord Cecil? ” the lady asked as she eyed them both closely. “Your mother must surely be behind your appearance this evening.”

With a wink, Cecil replied to their hostess, “I merely wanted to see the splendor of your ballroom again. You are known to be the greatest of entertainers, my lady.”

“Be off with you,” Lady Cairs retorted and swatted Cecil with her fan. “Why Lord Ashford keeps in your company, I do not know. He is such an easygoing young man.”

Ashford sketched a shallow bow before he skirted the plump matron to follow his friend further into the room.

Now he was here, he must quell the urge to disappear into one of the card rooms to avoid all the marriage minded mamas. He had no idea what the lady he was searching for looked like. He knew her voice and the smell of her perfume. Tuberose was a heady, mature scent for a young woman to wear. He could only hope the fragrance was as rare as he believed and would not be liberally used by several other ladies that evening.

Cecil strode to a refreshment table, and Ashford followed. He selected the least gruesome of the available beverages: Regent’s punch. No ratafia, negus or watered-down lemonade for him.

“It isn’t too awful,” he said conversationally after the two men found an unoccupied spot in the corner of the room, and he took a sip of the potent liquid. The beverage contained a surfeit of rum.

“How do you expect to find the lady from White’s?” Cecil asked after he took a drink of the punch and grimaced.

“She wears Tuberose perfume. And her voice.” He paused. “It is very distinctive.”

Cecil’s gaze sharpened as he raised a brow. “How so?”

“It is rather warm and husky for a female.” He shrugged when his friend grinned widely, feeling heat upon his cheeks. Ashford looked about the room a moment. He wasn’t exactly eager to proceed into the fray.

He’d told himself he was merely at the ball to find the young woman from White’s and warn her away from any further indelicate behavior. To his surprise, he found he felt energized at the prospect of searching for and finding the unconventional lady.

“I spy Nathaniel.” Cecil raised a hand to catch their friend’s attention. “At least his sister is safe to dance with, as she doesn’t fancy either of us.”

“Too right,” he replied with a chuckle. “Alicia has far better taste.”

Their friend, Nathaniel Tilford of Harbury, might be a mere baron, but he was the wealthiest of the three men. He’d been a naval officer during the conflict with Napoleon, retiring from the navy to look after his sister Alicia. Their parents had died of influenza the year before, and his sister had gone to live with maiden aunts for several months before her brother returned to England.

After Ashford danced with Nathaniel’s sister, he made a circuit around the edge of the ballroom, hoping to catch a whiff of his phantom lady. He spied the fashionable young woman who had stepped out of Lord Faversham’s carriage earlier that day. He’d forgotten about the vagrant’s friend Louisa in his desire to locate the lady from White’s.

Louisa stood with two other young women. Both were attractive. One lady had dark brown hair, the other, pearly blonde. His vagrant had been a head taller than Louisa, and the dark-haired woman was the tallest of the three ladies.

Although all of the debutantes in attendance dressed in white or cream-colored gowns, the tall woman standing near Louisa stood out from the rest. Her glossy brown locks were pinned artfully on top of her head, a strand of pearls woven through her lustrous hair. She smiled at something Louisa said, and her whole countenance bloomed. Observing the lady’s curved lips, he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. That smile transformed her features from merely appealing to enchanting.

Ashford took a few steps closer. The lady with pearls in her hair looked directly at him. Her dark brown eyes widened, and her mouth opened in a silent oh. Had he found his vagrant?

He could not approach the group as he had never been introduced to the young women. To his astonishment, a gentleman he recognized came to stand beside the trio of females. The man looked up, caught his gaze, and strode forward.

“Lord Ashford! How wonderful to see you! It has been a long time.” William Beaumont performed an exaggerated bow.

“I’m surprised you recognized me,” he replied evenly. If not for his desire to meet the young woman from White’s, he’d rather the young buck hadn’t remembered him.

“You did me a huge favor, Lord Ashford. I should never forget you. You must meet my sister. Let me introduce you to Charlotte and her friends.” The man returned to the three ladies, standing beside the tallest one. “Benedict Grey, Marquess of Ashford, may I present my sister Lady Charlotte and her friends Lady Louisa and Lady Edith.”

Ashford bowed to the ladies as they all curtsied prettily. The rich floral scent of Tuberose drifted to him, ensnaring his senses. The lady named Charlotte said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ashford,” and he was sure he’d found the lady from White’s.

Lady Charlotte’s brown eyes were beautiful, slightly tipped up at the corners and thickly lashed. They were eyes a man could drown in. She’d been clever to hide them on St. James’s Street. If he’d seen her eyes, he would have known her for a woman straight away.

He greeted the three young women, the languorous warmth in his limbs and his rapid pulse alerting him to the fact that he was attracted to one of the ladies: a tall, slender woman with shiny, glorious chocolate-colored hair.

Ashford felt an odd kind of pleasure that his street urchin was the loveliest lady in the room, although it didn’t signify. Lady Charlotte wasn’t marriage material as not only was her recent behavior far too reckless. Her brother was a thief.