An Unpracticed Heart

Chapter Sixteen

Charlotte stood in front of the glass, gazing at her own reflection.

The gown was plain, but adequate. A deep blue silk without any adornments, a piece her stepmother had passed down to her when the call for short sleeves had fallen out of fashion three seasons before. Her slippers did not match the gown, but she hoped her skirt would be long enough to prevent anyone from noticing. As for her gloves...

Well, the white would have to do, though they did have a few stains on the underside of the left wrist and between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand. But again, she doubted anyone would remark on her foibles. Lady Alvord, she knew, was beautiful enough to draw all eyes to herself. A widowed mother of thirty-three years, and she still carried a youthful bloom in her face and in the honey-gold highlights of her hair. A wonder that she had not already married again, Charlotte mused, and turned away from her own image in the glass.

She had tried not to wile away the afternoon thinking of Lord Cowden. What had been his purpose in coming here? He'd said nothing of their previous acquaintance in Scotland to her stepmother, and so she had followed his lead, pretending that she had not encountered him before today.

Her fingers trembled as she reached behind her neck and tried to fasten the clasp of a simple silver chain. She hoped... Goodness, she didn't know what to hope. That he would touch her? Kiss her? Offer marriage? She wasn't certain Lord Cowden even knew what he wanted. But he was here now, and she would have to sort out her feelings for him before she left for Wales in two week's time.

She met Lady Alvord at the bottom of the stairs, her stepmother already clad in a shimmering silk wrap of a deep burgundy color that glowed like wine in the light from the candles.

"Now, I will not have you engaging Lord Cowden's attention for the entire evening," Lady Alvord began, her mouth pursed as she finished speaking before she relaxed her lips and smoothed away any potential lines with her gloved fingertips. "I fear he only extended the invitation to you in an act of politeness, so please don't prattle on about things that may be of no interest to him. You've not been in town for some time, and I doubt you'll be capable of keeping pace with those around you this evening." She smiled then, a practiced one that did little in the way of creating new creases around her eyes. "And besides, what would you have to offer in the way of conversation? Comments about the weather in Scotland? A discourse on the eating habits of sheep?" She laughed lightly and reached up to adjust one of the pins in her hair.

Charlotte said nothing. She placed her own shawl around her shoulders just as the bell rang, signalling Lord Cowden's arrival. He met them on the front step, his head bowed until Higgins opened the door entirely.

He had changed his clothes since she'd seen him earlier in the day. Of course he had, she reminded herself. As she had and her stepmother, as well. They were in London, now. About to attend the opera in a private box, where the intention was more to see and to be seen than to have a care for anything happening on the stage. And so they wore their finest things, which in Lord Cowden's case meant black breeches and a black coat, the darkness of the fabric only broken by a show of white shirt collar and neckcloth at his throat.

Charlotte stood there, staring at Lord Cowden as if seeing him for the first time all over again. All those weeks ago, up in Scotland, her first sight of him had been to watch him stumble out of a carriage and land unconscious at her feet. He'd been too thin, unwashed, unshaven, his clothes soiled...

She closed her eyes as her fingers tugged irritably at the edges of her shawl. She didn't care to cast her thoughts back to those first few days, when he'd seemed to want nothing more than to put an end to his own existence. But she'd watched him strengthen in body, seen him stagger back from the brink. His mind, she hoped, had grown healthier, as well. His eyes, still the vivid green that had made her catch her breath when they'd first fluttered open, held her attention even now. There was something brighter about them, less haunted than in that first perilous week when it had been such a struggle to even make him want to participate in normal, day-to-day activities.