one brief nod. “You have misunderstood me if you think…”
Charlotte felt a hand brush her arm. In the next moment, it was drawn into Edward Danforth’s. “Hullo, cuz,” he said to Sir Alexander. “I believe this young lady is promised to me.” His tone made it a jest, almost. “Said I’d make her known to a few friends of mine,” he added carelessly.
Sir Alexander looked thunderous as Edward pulled Charlotte away. “Wasn’t that rather rude?” she said. It had been rather exciting as well.
“Cousins, no need to stand on ceremony,” he replied.
Which was nonsense, but Charlotte let it go. “You are very late to the party.”
“On the contrary, I am precisely on time.” He gave her a smile to melt hearts.
“Fashionably late?”
“Timed to a nicety.” He laughed at himself, and she had to laugh with him. “Come and meet my friends.”
“You might have invited Sir Alexander.”
“And share your attention? Never.” With a speaking glance, Edward put his free hand over his heart.
Charlotte felt a small flutter in the region of her own. This was flirting. It was like the champagne; it bubbled.
“Cousin Alec is so very worthy, you see,” Edward added. “Sterling fellow, of course, but he tends to put a damper on things.”
Charlotte didn’t know how to answer. His tone made her uncomfortable, though she’d had similar thoughts. Sir Alexander Wylde could be gruff and dismissive and vastly infuriating. He’d been quite pleasant tonight, though, made her feel so much more at home in this buzzing room.
“Here we are.” They’d reached the far corner of another large reception room, opening at the left of the first. A group of young people had rearranged gilt chairs into a loose circle near the doors to the garden, open for the air. A table that looked like it had come from outside sat in the middle, and two young men were setting food on it.
“George and William raided the supper room,” one of the women told Edward. “Had to overpower a footman guard. But you know George can’t go two hours without eating.”
“Here now, you were the one claimed you were perishing from hunger,” the stockier of the two men replied.
“Attention all, this is Charlotte Wylde,” said Edward.
“The one who was married to your fusty old uncle?” asked the same woman. Charlotte flushed. She hadn’t realized that Edward had talked about her.
“The very one.” No one seemed to think anything of it. Edward began to point. No one seemed to mind that either. “And this motley crew is George and Celia Elliott, William and Margaret Billings, Richard Taylor-Smythe, Sally… er…”
“Beaton,” supplied Margaret, the woman who had spoken first.
“Right. And…”
“Lydia Trent,” said Celia.
“Very pleased to meet you,” said Charlotte, frantically trying to imprint the names on her memory, attached to the right faces. Edward stepped away, and she nearly panicked. But he was back in a moment with another chair. The circle shifted, opened, and he offered her a place in it with a flourish. She sat down, still reviewing the names in her mind.
The stockier man—George, brown hair and round face—gestured at the tabletop. The second man—William, thin, black hair—had taken a chair on the far side of the circle. “We have lobster patties, some promising Stilton, some sort of filled pastry, lemon tarts,” George announced.
“My angel,” put in the plumpish blond woman. Celia, Charlotte reminded herself, who seemed to be George’s wife rather than a sister or some other relation.
“Would I return to you without lemon tarts, my darling?” George teased.
Definitely wife.
A handsome dark young man, with two champagne bottles under each arm, joined them. “Ah, here’s the last of us,” Edward said.
“And the best of us,” the newcomer responded, to a hail of catcalls.
“Tony Farnsworth,” Edward finished.
“Fall to, fall to,” declared George. “Descend like the ravening hordes. I can get more. No mere footman keeps me from sustenance.” He popped a lobster patty into his mouth. “Umm, not bad.” Celia Elliott took two lemon tarts. The rest of the group reached for whatever tidbit tempted them. Tony opened the champagne; someone found Charlotte a glass.
Most of the group had obviously known each other for years. At least, all the men had, Charlotte concluded. They teased each other mercilessly, with references to school and previous Seasons that they all found hilarious. She decided that Margaret had merely married into this melee, while Celia might be Richard Taylor-Smythe’s sister. After a while, Edward shifted into the seat next to Charlotte and gave her a running commentary, which he seemed to think explained