looked like sympathy, but she must be mistaken. There was no reason for that.
“Has Aunt Bella been helpful, told you something of the ton?”
“Oh, yes.” Charlotte prayed he wouldn’t ask for examples.
One corner of his mouth curved up, as if he heard much more than she’d said, but he merely turned toward the crowd. “You see the fellow by the entrance, the one with the striped waistcoat?”
Charlotte’s heart sank. Did people in London society talk nothing but scandal? She looked and had no trouble picking out the man he meant. The stripes were inches wide, and of a truly startling yellow and green.
“Percy Gerard, a prime example of the dandy set,” he added. “Padded coat, you see, and rather a lot of… ornamentation.”
The young man seemed in danger of choking on his massive neckcloth. His coat was so pinched in and padded out that he looked rather like a frog, one with a gleaming array of fobs and chains across its stomach.
“Quite a few Pinks of the ton here tonight,” Sir Alexander pointed out, without of course actually pointing. Now that she knew what to look for, Charlotte discovered a liberal sprinkling of similar, extreme ensembles in the crowd. “Most of their attention goes into their tailoring. And outdoing one another in setting new fashions.”
“What is that… instrument Mr. Gerard is holding?” He was surveying his fellow guests through a sort of lens on a stick.
“Quizzing glass. Meant to make you wonder if you have a smut on your nose or an outmoded gown. But I’ve always suspected the fellow can’t see two yards without it.”
Charlotte laughed. Sir Alexander’s comments felt different from Lady Isabella’s spiteful snipes; this was more like a road map for unfamiliar territory.
“Now, Lord Wraxton there is an altogether different type.”
Charlotte followed his subtle nod and discovered a tall, saturnine gentleman leaning against the wall. His coat was plain and dark, his waistcoat and neckcloth austere.
“One of our leading Corinthians,” Sir Alexander said. “His set goes in for athletics, boxing, hard riding, and expert driving, an ostentatious lack of excess. Chancy tempers, too. Wraxton is famous for his crushing set-downs.”
“Of whom?” said Charlotte, fascinated.
“Just about anyone who crosses his path.”
“So, they’re rather alike then—dandies and… Corinthians.”
He raised his eyebrows. “How so?”
“They both have an inflated opinion of themselves.” He laughed. “And what are you, Sir Alexander?”
He looked startled. “I? I… hope I am simply a gentleman.” He went on before Charlotte could reply. “You can spot young ladies in their first or second seasons by their…”
“Age, surely,” she interrupted, wanting to show that she had good sense, at least.
“Not necessarily. A young woman may be married…” He paused briefly at this near approach to her own unfortunate situation. “The debs wear simpler gowns, no satin or velvet, plain jewelry and not much of it.”
“I wouldn’t have expected you to notice fabrics,” Charlotte joked, to cover the brief awkwardness.
“A man on the town must learn to recognize the difference.”
“Between…?” For a moment she was confused. “Ah. Married and unmarried young women,” she concluded. The married ones had far more freedom and far more… possibilities, if they chose to see it that way. If she hadn’t already known that, Lady Isabella’s conversation would have made it perfectly clear.
“Indeed. The debs come with dragons, which…”
“Dragons?”
Sir Alexander looked down at her and seemed to recall himself. He reddened. “Got carried away, picking apart a situation. Anne says it’s one of my besetting sins.”
“But what do you mean, dragons?”
“Mother, duennas, chaperones,” he muttered quickly. “The hovering tribe who makes certain the debs don’t get into trouble.”
“Unlike the young married women, who can get into as much trouble as they wish?”
“No. I didn’t mean… Nothing of the kind!”
She couldn’t resist. “So, you gentlemen need these clues to sort out who you can get into trouble with?”
Sir Alexander glowered at her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
It was true; she didn’t—precisely. But she wanted to. And it turned out to be such fun teasing him. There was a heady freedom in the knowledge that she didn’t have a host of critics watching, eager to tell her how to behave. She was so very tired of being told what to do. “I suppose the dragons would be the ladies in the chairs,” she said to divert him. Gilt chairs lined the walls, nearly all occupied by older women. They looked as if they were chatting, but Charlotte had noticed that their sharp eyes swept the room like lighthouses above rocky shoals.