Midnight in Mayfair, 1777 Society, Book 2 (Ebook)

1777 London
Charlotte had never been one for self-pity, but even she had to admit she'd succumbed to the pain her broken finger was inflicting upon her after falling off her horse three days prior and breaking her small finger.
She sat in her mama's private parlor, which shared a set of doors to the terrace beyond, and glowered at the pretty flowers and summery day.
That she was missing many social events until her hand was healed was beyond endurance. She wanted to dance, laugh, drink delicious champagne, and enjoy her time with her friends.
Not endure an aching hand that refused to stop being an ugly, bruised color.
Very unbecoming for a duke's daughter.
Her only consolation at being stuck at home when her parents enjoyed society was Mr. Alexander Richards, who, right at this moment, strolled the back garden with the head gardener, discussing whatever it was that one's gardener discussed with one's duke's steward.
Perhaps there had been an issue of some sort, or her mama wished for a change in configuration or flowers.
She sighed, reaching for a pillow and slipping it onto her stomach, glad she was wearing a comfortable round-bodice gown with long sleeves that wasn't too constricting like her evening gowns.
Mr. Richards laughed at something the gardener said, and she sighed. My, he was a handsome man, tall and athletic, a gentleman she'd secretly admired for months now.
His blond hair was longer than most men wore about town, and a slight curl gave it a boyish charm. If her finger weren't so sore, she'd love to run her hands through his hair, pull him close, and kiss his wicked mouth, which, when smiling, was the most attractive mouth she'd ever beheld.
Not that he'd given her one ounce of hope that he may have noticed her infatuation. For months he'd been polite, distant, monotone, never once showing any sign of emotion.
But then, he would know that it was frowned upon, that her father would never approve of her marrying a man of no rank or fortune.
That was not to say she did not think he was worthy. She could see herself quite easily ensconced in his arms, having him lean down and kiss her until her knees gave way to passion's embrace.
"Charlotte, how are you feeling?" Matilda asked, bustling into the room. Her gown swooshed about her legs with her hasty gait, and her blue bergère hat brought out the color of her eyes.
"Matilda, dearest, I'm so happy you're here. I was about to expire from boredom."
Matilda chuckled and rang for a servant before sitting across from her. A footman soon followed, close on her friend's heels. "Tea, please, and perhaps a light repast."
"Of course, Lady Matilda."
The servant went to do her friend's bidding as Matilda settled her skirts about her legs and leaned back into her chair. "I've been riding this morning. It's a beautiful day, and I wish you were with me. How is your hand, dearest? It looks terribly…green today."
Charlotte looked down at her broken finger and cringed. "It's hideous, is it not? And it will not stop aching. The doctor has prescribed laudanum, but I do not wish to take it if I can help it. I've heard it's terribly addicting."
"Yes, I have heard the same." A footman delivered their tea and repast, consisting of small sandwiches and cream biscuits. Now, tell me, what is new with you? Genevieve mentioned that she'd come to see you and told you of her good news. Isn't it delightful?"
"Oh, I'm so happy for them both. They look utterly in love."
Matilda grinned. "They do, do they not?" She paused, handing her a cup of tea with a small biscuit on the side of the saucer. "Tell me, how long before you're back in society? Can you not wear a glove and hide the bruising?"
"It's still terribly sore. If I were to dance, I fear I may recoil as I'm guided about the dancefloor, which will never do."
The sound of men's voices grew louder, and Charlotte looked out the terrace doors only to see that her father's steward and gardener were now standing on the terrace discussing the ivy growing over a shaded pavilion erected last year.
"Well, who is that?" Matilda asked, watching Mr. Richards with an interest that unsettled Charlotte's joie de vivre of seeing her friend.
"My father's steward. Has been working for him for two years now." She paused and sipped her tea. "I'm in love with him."
Matilda's cup clattered, and she set her tea on the little table before them. "Charlotte, whatever do you mean?"
She sighed, staring at Mr. Richards bending over the terrace railing, his breeches taut over his perfect bottom. Oh dear, there was little hope for her. She was besotted.
Not only was he a numbers man, but he also seemed to be an outdoors kind of gentleman, if his taut backside was any indication.
"I do not know what I mean. I'm all sixes and sevens when I'm around him. But father, needing his assistance with his many estates, has him living here now. He has the room above mine, and I hear him walking about. I know when he goes to sleep or is sitting before his fire. One day just the other week, I leaned out the window and listened to him bathing in his room as his window was open. I'm scandalous."
"Oh dear, Charlotte, this sounds dreadfully disgraceful indeed." Matilda grinned. "You're not going to act on your infatuation, are you? He's a servant, and in addition to not be titled, he's also not wealthy enough to counteract that failing."
"Is it a failing though not to be titled? Why are we so much better than anyone else?"
"Well, we're not, but our parents certainly think we are, and that is all I meant. As for Mr. Richards…" Matilda looked onto the terrace again and bit her lip in contemplation. "I can see the attraction for him. But you cannot dally. What if you catch real feelings and so too does he?"
"There is little chance of that. Even if I did ask for a kiss if I ever cornered him alone somewhere, he's too devoted to my father and would never risk his employment or my reputation."
"Well, that is a shame and a virtue, I suppose."
"Yes," Charlotte agreed, biting into a sandwich. "Do you think he would kiss me should I offer myself up for a little romance? Do you think he'd find me attractive?"
Matilda snorted and then laughed. "Of course, he would find you attractive. You're one of the most beautiful, eligible heiresses in London. You're loyal, sweet, and kind. He would be a fool to see you as anything but perfect."
"Thank you, my friend. I've been a little down about my finger of late and needed a little reminder that not all is lost just because I've been stuck at home for some days yet."
"Well, I suppose if no one saw you with Mr. Richards, what harm would that be? If he rejects you, then you have your answer and can move on to other suitors. But if he does kiss you, mayhap you could look at it as a lesson in the art of love for when you do marry."
Charlotte chuckled. "If I kiss him, I fear I'll be ruined for anyone else, but I love your alternate thinking."
"Well, what are friends for?" Matilda picked up the teapot and refilled her cup. "Now, what gloves do you have that will cover that unsightly finger and bruising? I cannot live without your company in town. Genevieve is happy with Tyndall now, and I fear we have lost her for a time."
"I have many gloves, but I'm fearful my finger will hurt should I wear them."
Matilda waved her concerns aside. "There is no time to worry about pain, not when there are husbands to catch or stewards to practice on. Let us go upstairs and try some on. See if you can withstand the pain."
"Very well," she agreed. "But in another minute or two. My entertainment outdoors hasn't yet left. I must take my fill where I can get it."
"Wicked girl. How I love thee."
Charlotte smiled, her attention moving back to Mr. Richards. He looked into the drawing room and their eyes met, held. Her stomach knotted with flutters of desire and no matter how much she knew she should, she could not look away.
And nor did he…