“Never mind, Lizzy. Just be assured that I know what is best for Anne and for you.”
“That sounded very like your Uncle Henry,” Charlotte commented.
“Nonsense!” The insult left him rigid with anger. And the snap of the word rang loud inside the carriage. The resulting silence lasted all the way home.
Ten
The following Thursday, Charlotte tripped down the stairs of the Wylde town house to find Lady Isabella waiting for her in the drawing room, making desultory conversation with Frances Cole. Charlotte suspected that she had come in from her carriage because she wanted to check Charlotte’s appearance, and smarten her up if necessary, before shepherding her into society. For the first time in more than a year, however, Charlotte was feeling confident. Frances’s high-toned dresser had not only taught Lucy to do her hair in a becoming new way, but she had also directed them to shops and markets where everything from hats to slippers could be bought on the cheap. Charlotte had used a small amount of money to great effect, so that even though she had on the same velvet gown she’d worn to the play, she was pleased with the result. She was also very grateful for the warmth of the April evening. It allowed her to carry a new shawl rather than the embarrassment of her tired old cloak.
Lady Isabella, in a floating gown of sea green satin that matched her eyes, surveyed her from top to toe. She gestured. Obedient, Charlotte turned in a circle. She felt thoroughly evaluated, from the knot of silver ribbons in her hair to the new evening slippers on her feet, and briefly, her nervousness returned.
“Very nice,” said Lady Isabella finally. She sounded a bit surprised, and Charlotte couldn’t blame her. Her dreadful blacks had probably given the impression that she had no fashion sense at all.
“You look lovely,” added Frances, who had stood aside for the examination.
Charlotte gave her a broad smile, knowing that Frances wished her well despite whatever frictions existed with Lady Isabella. “Will we be late?” Charlotte worried as they went out to the carriage.
“My dear, only nobodies turn up before nine.”
The invitation had said eight; left to herself, Charlotte would have arrived with the nobodies. Of course, she was a nobody, she reflected. But being of little importance in society’s scheme of things had its advantages. It was one reason she could ignore the conventions of mourning dress. Too, she didn’t expect to be much noticed tonight; she would keep to the sidelines and learn about how to go on at a first-rank ton party.
Their destination proved to be a huge house in Grosvenor Square. The buzz of conversation rose and rose as they climbed the stairs—exhilarating and intimidating. The atmosphere positively crackled. It was just as she had dreamed when she first knew she would be living in London. It was gaiety and color and life—all the things she had been missing because of Henry.
Lady Isabella greeted the formidable woman at the top of stairs, and they exchanged uneffusive smiles. She murmured a name, which Charlotte missed, then said, “And this is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Charlotte Wylde.”
The name jarred. She’d somehow forgotten that she must be presented in that way, but there was no help for it. She bobbed a curtsy under the hostess’s raised brows—whether at her youth or her existence or some other cause, Charlotte didn’t know. “Very pleased to meet you.”
Passing that first hurdle, they moved into a spacious reception room full of chattering people, servants gliding through the crowd with trays of goblets filled with golden champagne. This was to be a musical evening, no dancing. Not that Charlotte cared. It was all just as she had imagined—the rainbow of silks and satins, the glitter of jewels, the rise and fall of sophisticated talk. She followed Lady Isabella into the press, watching her nod right and left as they passed acquaintances, envying her sure knowledge of this new geography.
She seemed to have a clear destination in mind, and did not stop to speak to anyone. Her goal turned out to be two ladies of around her own age and equally fashionable, posted in a corner, scanning the room. They greeted her with airy kisses and murmurs of, “Bella, dear. You look stunning.”
She returned the compliments and introduced her friends to Charlotte as Mrs. Reverton and Mrs. Prine, not making it clear which was which. Both had crimped brown hair, solid figures under their modish ensembles, and the eyes of