Lady Whistledown Strikes Back by Julia Quinn Karen Hawkins Suzanne Enoch Mia Ryan

Author:Julia Quinn, Karen Hawkins, Suzanne Enoch, Mia Ryan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, pdf
Published: 2005-09-04T22:00:00+00:00

Charlotte couldn’t avoid looking in the mirror the next morning as she dressed. Neither could she ignore the high color in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. “He might not make an appearance,” she reminded herself sternly. “He probably won’t.”

Behind her, Alice paused as she pinned up Charlotte’s hair. “Beg your pardon, Miss Charlotte?”

“Nothing. I’m just talking to myself.”

“If I may say, you seem a bit unsettled this morning. Shall I have Mrs. Rutledge make you up some peppermint tea?”

Alice wouldn’t be the only one who noticed her behavior, because since intermission last night she’d been veering between panic and euphoria. Perhaps admitting to a touch of a cold would keep everyone’s suspicions away, until Lord Matson arrived. If Lord Matson arrived. “Tea would be lovely. I’ll have it with breakfast.”

Her maid curtsied and hurried from the room. Sighing, Charlotte finished untangling last night’s hair ribbon and laid it across her dressing table. If she thought about it logically, it didn’t matter whether she had a caller this morning or not. Her parents would never allow her to see him. They would think he must have an ulterior motive; of course he wouldn’t come by just to see her.

From her window, mingling with the tap of the rain, she heard a coach turn up the drive. Her heart seized into a tight, pounding ball. He hadn’t been teasing.

She wanted to rush to the window to look out. “No, Charlotte,” she told herself sternly. “You’ll seem like a rabid dog.”

Instead she went about finishing her hair, a difficult prospect without Alice to assist her. With one more pin to go, she abruptly stopped.

Why was she so infatuated with Xavier Matson? Yes, he was handsome and confident and athletic, but how much else did she know about him? His schedule: The way he went boxing at ten o’clock every morning when he didn’t have Parliament; his preference for luncheon at White’s or Boodle’s; the afternoon rides in Hyde Park, weather permitting. Other than that, he was a stranger. And that was partially what she liked about him. He could be handsome and romantic and mysterious, and safely unattainable.

But now he was at her front door.

Alice burst back into the bedchamber. “Beg pardon, Miss Charlotte, but you have a caller.” She tiptoed closer. “It’s a gentleman, miss.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said noncommitally. “Help me finish my hair, will you?”

“Right away, miss.” Alice swiftly repinned the work Charlotte had done. “Aren’t you curious as to who it might be, miss?”

Oops. She’d forgotten; she wasn’t supposed to know. “Of course I am, Alice. Where did Boscoe put him?” she asked, though she assumed the butler had shown the earl to the morning room, the usual place guests were asked to wait. Not that she’d ever had any male guests except for Herbert.

“He’s in your father’s office. Lord Birling didn’t look at all pleased. I’m sure I don’t know why, because your visitor is very…pleasant-looking, but it’s none of my business, anyway.”

It wasn’t, but Charlotte was so grateful for the news that she didn’t complain.

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