along a graveled lane, stopping often as those ahead paused to converse. Margaret nodded now and then and greeted some people, but there was no opportunity to introduce Charlotte. Not that she cared; she was fascinated by the social interplay going on all around them. It was like watching a play.
They were nearly to the other side of the park when she finally recognized a face. Edward Danforth rode toward them on a spirited black horse that seemed to object to the presence of other riders. He brought his mount up beside them and tipped his hat. “Well met, fair damsels.”
“Poseur,” replied Margaret. “I can’t believe you’ve brought Dancer into this melee.”
“It’s good training for him.”
“Nonsense. It’s a chance to show off your riding skills.”
Edward gave them one of his dazzling smiles. “May as well let the young sprigs see how it’s done.”
“You’ll look all nohow if he bolts and throws you.”
“He has better manners than that.” The barouche in front of them stopped suddenly and then backed a little. Margaret reacted immediately, narrowly avoiding a collision. “Bravo, Margaret,” said Edward. “I believe you’ve come to equal my mother at the ribbons.”
“Lady Isabella drives?” said Charlotte, surprised.
“Oh yes, she’s a notable whip. She’s even handled a team, in the country. Though she’s gone off it in the last few years.” The line of carriages moved forward again, and Edward stayed beside them. “You said the other night that you’ve never been to the opera,” he said to Charlotte. “Would you care to go on Friday? With my mother and me?”
“Oh. That would be pleasant.” It was a little odd that he was inviting her for Lady Isabella, but they were well acquainted by this time, after all.
“I’m sitting right here and yet not invited,” commented Margaret.
“Because I am well aware that you hate the opera.”
She grinned. “True. William’s mother despairs that I have no ear. It all sounds like stray cats bawling in an alley to me.”
“Do not be influenced by this philistine,” Edward told Charlotte. “She cares more for horses than art.”
“So I do,” said Margaret cheerfully. “And now I am ready to turn my horses, Edward, so please get out of my way.”
He bowed from the saddle and moved off. Charlotte admired the neat way Margaret maneuvered the pair around a tight corner and set them crossing the park in the opposite direction. “Quite a charmer, our Edward,” Margaret commented then.
“He’s very good company.”
“Famous for it.”
Charlotte wondered yet again why she did not find Edward more exciting. He was strikingly handsome, amusing, attentive. And yet she merely liked him—no more than that. Why should one man—with less extraordinary looks and manners—be riveting and Edward only pleasant? There was no explaining it.
Margaret shot her a sidelong glance. “Not a marrying man, of course. At least not yet.”
For a moment, Charlotte was confused. “Oh, Edward? No, I shouldn’t think so.”
“So if anyone was hoping for an offer from that direction…?”
“Me, you mean? Of course not.” She was suddenly certain, even though she had never considered the matter before, that Edward would only marry for a fortune. One larger than she had ever possessed.
“He’s not nearly as great a catch as his cousin,” Margaret added.
“His…?”
“Oh, come, don’t be missish. Sir Alexander Wylde has been rather attentive.”
“He’s been kind enough to…”
“My dear, he shows up wherever you are, hovers and glowers in the best style!”
“Glowers?”
“You must have noticed the way he scowls at Edward whenever he is near you.”
“I haven’t… does he?” The idea sent a thrill through Charlotte.
“He certainly does.” Margaret laughed. “I would say if you play your hand with any skill at all, he might make an offer.”
Charlotte sat very still. She’d enjoyed observing the lively social scene. She’d seen how everyone gossiped. But she hadn’t imagined that the obsession with others’ doings would be turned on her. She’d thought of herself as invisible, a nobody. The idea of being under such scrutiny made her squirm. And yet she longed to hear more about Sir Alexander’s interest in her. “It could be just politeness.”
“This is my fifth London Season, my dear. I can tell the difference. Why do you think Edward is paying such…” She pressed her lips together, looking chagrined.
“What?” When Margaret just shook her head, Charlotte put the pieces together. “Edward is singling me out to annoy Sir Alexander?”
“I beg your pardon, Charlotte. I did not mean…”
“It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t—much. A little sting, perhaps. She hadn’t imagined that Edward felt any real regard for her.