dear. Carlotta, now we are in London and…that is, I think it might be best if…’
Lady Broxted twisted her hands together, looking very uncomfortable.
Carlotta prompted her gently. ‘If what, Aunt?’
‘Well, as you know, we decided at the outset that you should take the family name of Rivington—so much simpler for us all, my love, and quite usual when one is taken up by relatives—but perhaps also it would be as well if we did not mention your parents. Broxted thinks it best if we merely say they live retired in the country, should anyone ask.’
‘And is it the fact that my mother eloped or my father’s occupation that would be most unacceptable?’ retorted Carlotta, bridling.
‘Well, you will admit that either of those things would set tongues wagging,’ came the frank reply. ‘Any hint of gossip could be quite ruinous to your chances of making a good match. Not that I want you to lie,’ added Lady Broxted hastily. ‘That would never do. Merely that you do not offer the information.’
‘Should a gentleman show a marked interest in you, then of course it would be necessary for him to know the truth,’ put in Lord Broxted. ‘And if he is fond of you, then I am sure it will make no difference.’
Carlotta bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying she did not care what anyone said of her. After the kindness she had been shown by her aunt and uncle over the past year, it would be churlish in the extreme to admit how little she cared for anyone’s good opinion. Part of her wished she could return to her parents, but they had been so happy to think of her going into society and making a good marriage. It was what she must do to repay all their goodness to her.
She had been in London with Lord and Lady Broxted since the beginning of May; a flurry of shopping trips and visits to my lady’s dressmaker had filled her days and at last she was ready to attend her first ball. She only wished she could summon up more enthusiasm for it, but her depression was always there, just below the surface. A sadness she had tried to hard to overcome, but even now, after almost twelve months, her dreams were still haunted by a tall, handsome man with laughing, wicked eyes. Determination kept her smiling, made her hide her bleakness from her aunt and uncle. Lady Broxted was patting her hands.
‘I cannot tell you how much I am looking forward to launching you into society, my love. It has been a constant sadness to Broxted and me that we did not have children and so it is doubly delightful that I have you with me now.’
Lady Broxted began hunting for her handkerchief. Lord Broxted drew out his own and handed it to her, saying as he did so, ‘We are indeed delighted to take you up, Carlotta. It is the least I can do for your poor mother. When my father disinherited her upon her marriage I was shocked, but powerless to help. Then, of course, we lost touch for so many years, but now, I believe it is in my power to reinstate you into your proper place in the world.’
In the face of such kindness Carlotta’s anger died away as quickly as it had come. Impulsively she hugged her aunt.
‘There, there, Aunt, pray do not cry—if it is your wish, then of course I shall tell no one about my parents. Let us go upstairs and you can advise me which one of my new gowns I should wear this evening.’
In an effort to give her aunt’s thoughts a more cheerful turn, Carlotta accompanied her aunt up to her bedchamber where the maid quickly brought out several of Carlotta’s new gowns for inspection. Lady Broxted discarded the pink muslin with apple-green acanthus leaves embroidered around the hem, declaring that almost every other young lady would be wearing pink. Her hand hovered over the lemon satin before settling on the white sprigged muslin.
‘This is perfect for your first appearance,’ she said. ‘You have too much of the Italian in you to appear as a typical English rose, but we must turn that to our advantage—the white muslin will accentuate your olive skin. Thank goodness you have such a flawless complexion, my love, for that means we can leave your lovely shoulders bare. My own woman shall have the dressing of your hair; when it is brushed it glows like polished mahogany and you shall have tiny white rosebuds amongst your curls. It is early for roses, I know, but the cost will be worth it and I shall have a small posy made up for your corsage, too. What do you say?’
Carlotta could not deny a small frisson of excitement at the picture her aunt had drawn. When she had been a child growing up in Rome she had never dreamed that one day she would be staying in one of the largest houses in Berkeley Square, preparing to attend a fashionable ball. The gown her aunt was holding up to her was of the finest muslin, embroidered all over with tiny exquisite white rosebuds. The tiny puff sleeves were gathered and fastened with satin ribbons and a wider satin band ran around the high waist. Little Carlotta running barefoot in her father’s studio had never imagined owning white satin slippers with leather soles so fine that they would be worn through after one outing, but such a pair was now lying in a drawer, wrapped in several layers of tissue paper. Carlotta smiled at her aunt.
‘I will look like a fairy princess,’ she murmured.
Lady Broxted handed the gown to her maid and caught Carlotta to her in a warm, scented embrace.
‘You will indeed, my love,’ she murmured, her voice breaking. ‘You will make us all so very proud of you.’
Luke glanced up at the imposing entrance of Prestbury House. Flambeaux burned on each side of the double doors and liveried servants were on hand to assist the ladies from their carriages and escort them up the shallow steps to the grand entrance hall with its soaring marbled pillars. Letitia Prestbury was a formidable hostess and invitations to her fashionable parties were jealously guarded. Luke had no giltedged card nestling in his pocket, but he was confident he would not be turned away. Giving his coat sleeves an infinitesimal tug, he joined the long line of guests processing up the grand staircase. From the reception rooms above came the sound of many voices intermingled with the scraping notes of several violins. No lone fiddler or squeaky quartet for Lady Prestbury—her guests would dance to the best musicians money could buy.
As he reached the top of the stairs he found his hostess waiting for him, smiling.
‘Well, Cousin, we are honoured to have you attend our little party.’
He bowed over her hand. ‘I promised you I would come.’
‘But you are so often enticed away by more exciting pleasures, are you not?’ She laughed at him. ‘I did not send you an invitation because I thought my society gatherings far too staid for the Wicked Baron!’
He grinned at her. ‘Perhaps I have reformed. It is not impossible, Letty.’
She twinkled up at him. ‘True, Luke, but it is highly unlikely! I know just what it is that has brought you here.’
‘You do?’
‘Aye, ‘tis curiosity, to see the latest heiress.’
He looked down so that she would not read the truth in his eyes. ‘Oh?’ he said lightly, brushing an invisible speck from his coat. ‘And who might that be, my lady?’
‘You know very well,’ she said, tapping his arm with her closed fan. ‘Broxted’s niece, Miss Rivington. We were all agog when we heard he was bringing her to town, and he has settled ten thousand pounds on the chit! If that wasn’t enough to make her a target for every young man in town, the girl is a positive beauty. But be warned, Luke, she is not for you: I have it from the countess herself that Broxted has great plans for his niece. He will be looking higher than a mere baron.’
