Cocky Earl - Annabelle Anders Page 0,44

isn’t even necessary that she participate, only that that she be at your side in case you require assistance. And so that you never find yourself alone with any of the gentlemen guests.”

“Oh.” Charley hadn’t thought of any of this herself. Although it did give her one more reason to be angry with her father.

“And I’ve been meaning to give you this.” Charley didn’t realize immediately that the countess was handing her an envelope. Her name was written on the front, in her father’s handwriting. “He left it with Mr. Goulding.”

Rather than take ten minutes to say goodbye to his daughter, he left a note with the butler.

Even as Charley accepted it, her father’s betrayal—his abandonment of her—stung.

“If the woman you’ve brought along isn’t sufficient, I can make one of my own servants available to you. I’m certain that’s what your grandmother had in mind when she sent her along. It’s a shame she couldn’t join us herself. Ah, well. Lady Thornton keeps a busy schedule in London.”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary.” Charley doubted Daisy would want to join the festivities. Even so, she recanted, “I’ll ask her.”

Lady Westerley gave her a strange look but then blinked. “Very good. I look forward to meeting her at the evening meal.”

Did Lady Westerley suspect the strange arrangement Jules and she had made? It didn’t require a genius to realize that the countess didn’t exactly approve of Charley. Especially after being seated beside her and making questionable conversation at dinner.

The reminder only made Lord Westerley’s assertions that he would marry her seem all the more ludicrous. Charley squirmed under the countess’s scrutiny.

“I’m not sure she has something suitable to wear but perhaps she could wear one of my gowns.” Although Daisy was considerably more endowed in certain areas.

“I will send a maid to your chamber later this afternoon.” The countess gave a tight smile. “I knew your mother. Did you know that? She would have wanted you to know the proper English ways.”

Charley swallowed hard. Of course, Lady Westerley had known her mother, Lady Miranda. Was that why Lady Westerley’s daughters had been so quick to befriend her? Out of respect for her dead mother?

“Did you know her well?” Charley’s curiosity got the best of her. Her mother had given birth to her later in life. She would have been close in age to Jules’ mother.

Lady Westerley’s response was a vague smile. “We came out the same year. She created quite the scandal, going to Paris and then running away and marrying your father.” She sighed. “She and I corresponded for a while. Poor dear. I suppose we all are destined to make mistakes some time in our lives. Lord and Lady Thornton are most forgiving to welcome you back into their family.”

“My mother never quite took to America.” An understatement of considerable proportions. “She spoke of London often. And she never failed to act in a manner that was absolutely proper.” Did her father know her mother had written friends divulging that she considered her marriage a mistake?

“Her parents were quite disappointed”—the countess winced—“that she would ever leave England.”

“And for America, no less.” Charley couldn’t help adding. How her grandparents must have hated that. It was obvious from the manner in which they’d treated her father that they blamed him. They blamed him for their daughter’s early death, and they blamed him for the behavior and appearance of their only granddaughter.

Charley’s mother had loved them as much as had been possible, but for the most part, Charley and her father had been nothing more than a mistake to her.

“I will be sure to mention your need of painting instruction to your grandmother.” Although the countess’s eyes were brown, she had the same proud tilt to her head that her daughters did. Only rather than smiling, she kept her lips pinched tightly together. The countess’s gaze turned and landed on Felicity Brightley. “Such a lovely young woman, isn’t she? If you’ll excuse me, it seems that Monsieur Jean Luc wishes to have a word.”

Charley dropped into a shallow curtsey and wished she knew if that was what she was supposed to do. Perhaps she ought to have paid more attention to the few lessons she’d had while at her grandparents’ after all.

Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have minded learning things. Making things.

Not necessarily painting things.

Charley glanced at her painting with one last wince, and then remembered Jules was waiting for her.

She wiped her hands on the smock, slid her arms out of