Page 42 of The Devil Wears Kilts
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Jane tugged Charlotte into the morning room and gestured at the floor. “Help,” she said with a laugh.
She and Winnie had laid out every invitation they’d received, for breakfasts, luncheons, recitals, picnics, dinners, the theater, soirees, and even a proposed excursion in rowboats up the Thames. Seeing them all arranged by date and time like that, the sheer volume was stunning.
“What do you need help with?” she asked, reaching down to pet Una as the hound sat on her foot.
Winnie, on the far side of the stacks, pointed. “For the seventeenth we have one breakfast invitation, two for morning excursions, four luncheon invitations, three more for afternoon visits or shopping, and a soiree and an evening at the theater. What do we do?”
Charlotte looked from one of them to the other. Not for the first time she felt old, or at the least, jaded. Each year seeing the same people, some of them pairing off in marriage, but others—like her—simply growing older and smiling the same forced smiles and talking about how very young and silly the new crop of debutantes seemed to be, felt as heavy as lead in that moment. And she’d driven off the only man who’d showed any interest in her, even if his aim had been for the bed rather than the altar.
“Char?”
She shook herself. “Firstly, you need to ask Mama and Papa if there’s an evening event they particularly want to attend—or to avoid. And then look to see if you’re attending other events that same day or week with the same people, and choose which one you prefer.” Bending down, she picked up a luncheon invitation. “This is a picnic with Lord Harold Onless,” she said, stifling her scowl.
“Yes. He’s very handsome,” her sister said, fanning her face with one hand.
“And his second cousin is Donald Gerdens.”
“What does that signify?” Winnie returned, her cheeks reddening. “There’s Parliament that day, so Berling won’t be at the picnic.”
“Rowena, your brother wouldn’t like it.” Evidently she’d become a nanny after all, and to both young ladies.
“I don’t care what my brother thinks,” Winnie said, too shrilly. “I haven’t even seen him for a week.”
Charlotte hadn’t, either, but she’d been listening. And she’d heard rumors, rumblings that didn’t make much sense. “You said you didn’t want to see him. He’s honoring your wishes. That doesn’t mean you should disregard his, does it? This is a matter of your safety.”
“Well, he won’t know, and I’ll be fine, so that doesn’t signify.”
“Winnie.”
A tear ran down Rowena’s fair cheek. “How am I supposed to ignore him and be mad at him if he won’t even show himself?” she managed, sinking onto the couch. “No one cares that I’m here all alone in London!”
Oh, dear.Charlotte had no idea how to answer that, especially when she’d been the last one from the household to speak with Ranulf. Or to speakathim, rather.
“You’re not alone in London, Winnie,” Jane said briskly. “And that Lachlan MacTier doesn’t deserve your affection if he can’t even be bothered to send you a note. As for Lord Glengask, you know he adores you. It’s as Charlotte says; he’s honoring your wishes.”
Actually, Charlotte had more than a suspicion thatshewas the reason Ranulf had made himself scarce. But he’d made her so angry, and even jested about the brawl at the Evanstone party—a brawl the wags were still gossiping about, for heaven’s sake. And the kiss, then suggesting they simply… become lovers, because of course they were all wrong for each other otherwise—notgiving him a piece of her mind would have been wrong of her. She’d actually said more than she’d intended, but once she’d begun she hadn’t been able to make herself stop. Oh, he aggravated her.
And then he’d vanished from public view for a week. Not completely; evidently he’d gone riding in the early mornings and had taken several meetings with various people, but he hadn’t attended any parties at all. Of course she wasn’t certain he’d been invited to any, after what had happened last week.
But as for this picnic, if she allowed something to happen in his absence that endangered his sister, then all her talk about how he was the one making trouble and how Rowena was safe among the English aristocracy would become a lie. And if that caused him to discount her words, then she would have ruined the most interesting… friendship she’d ever had, and for no good reason. “Yes, he does adore you. So you can be mad at him and not risk your safety at the same time, can’t you?” she persisted. “You have two other overlapping invitations for that same day.”
“Two so far,” Longfellow intoned from the doorway. The butler produced a silver salver laden with still more invitations and correspondence.
All the doldrums forgotten, the girls dove into them, laughing and squealing as they recognized a name here or an address there. Charlotte supposed she couldn’t begrudge them their excitement; she’d had a splendid debut Season, herself, culminating with her betrothal to very pretty James Appleton.
“This one’s for you, Char,” Janie said, handing over a folded missive.
She didn’t recognize the address, but broke the plain wax seal and unfolded the note, anyway. As she read the brief paragraph her heart skittered to a stop and then unsteadily resumed again. Taking a breath, she read it again, to make certain she hadn’t missed anything. Then she cleared her throat. “Winnie, you should read this,” she said, holding it out with shaking fingers.
Rowena took it from her and read it, then looked up again. “He… he bought a house?” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes again. “Heboughtahouse? In London?”
“I only know as much as you do, Winnie. It does lend some sense to a few odd rumors I’ve been hearing.”
“Well, what does it say, for heaven’s sake?” Janie asked.
Winnie didn’t look capable of answering, so Charlotte did so. “Ranulf—Lord Glengask—purchased Gilden House on Market Street. He’s invited our family to dinner there tomorrow evening, if we are available.”
