ROMANCE: PARANORMAL ROMANCE: Coveted by the Werewolves (Paranormal MMF Bisexual Menage Romance) (New Adult Shifter Romance Short Stories) (302 page)

“Why are you not ready, Charlotte?” The large-framed, unsmiling woman demanded. Before she could receive a response, she glided behind her daughter and roughly took hold of the back of her hair. “Wrong. This is not how I taught you to do your hair. You will sit in silence as I do this so that you will not make the rest of us any later.”

“Mother, I have it-”

“You will kindly observe silence.” She replied crisply. “I would prefer you to be seen and not heard, which would be a proper policy for you to observe at the dance. I shall never find you a husband if you can not learn to mind your tongue.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Beatrice Woodhall pulled and shaped her hair quickly and without mercy. In short order, Charlotte’s hair was a rough approximation of what she’d wanted- a little old fashioned for the dawning of the 1820’s, but near enough she knew she had little grounds for complaint. Complaint was the furthest from her mind among considerations, anyway. It would do no good. Her mother was unkind, but not normally cruel; there would be no physical punishment for rule-breaking. However, if she spoke out of turn, word would be put round to their two remaining servants and the girls not to speak to her under any condition. A week or two of pure silence was not entirely unwelcome, yet just unnerving enough that Charlotte had determined to avoid it if only for the sake of peace in the family.

“There. You are presentable.” Charlotte’s mother proclaimed. There was no father to admire the handiwork; Charles Woodhall had died two years ago and the family was saddled with his debts. They’d gone from a modestly comfortable, upper class lifestyle to giving up their apartments in Bath for their country cottage. The people in service to the Woodhalls had gradually gone from nearly one dozen to the elderly couple that seemed to have born into Woodhall employment, and Charlotte suspected even their days of cooking and cleaning for the four women were dwindling.

“Let me get a look at you.” Beatrice insisted, and after Charlotte spun around slowly, her mother sighed. “Very well. You are a pretty girl, Charlotte, but you must stop shrinking into everything you wear. How a girl can be so timid around men and yet clomp about without any hint of femininity is quite beyond me.”

The words stung, but Charlotte bore them up as she had before. “I will do my best to reflect well on us tonight.”

“See that you do. That’s enough tarrying, we must leave now before we become the very last guests to arrive at the Sedgewick’s..”

*****

They arrived late, but still within the range of fashionably late enough that Charlotte was not to incur too great of an amount of wrath from Beatrice. As soon as they were announced and had entered the rooms of the Segewick’s fete, Charlotte’s family abandoned her. On some occasions, this might be cause for irritation, to be left alone with nobody to talk to. Fortune favored her this time, though, because Frances Cook spotted her and immediately made her way across the room to her.

Frances was a waif of a thing, much more petite than Charlotte, with equally dark hair and a penchant for laughter. She was already laughing over some funny comment that was either told to her or that she’d shared with a fellow guest when she took Charlotte’s arm. “Thank heavens you’re here,” she declared, leading her across the room towards a servant carrying a tray of punch. “I nearly died of boredom! There’s no one to talk to within our station- all right, I’ll be candid, within my station- and I have taken to accosting lonely and shy girls to trade jibes about the worst-dressed.”

“How terrible of you!” Charlotte teased her friend.

“It is, it really is. Punch?” Frances asked, and the uniformed man provided the women with drinks.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean about my station, dear Frannie.” Charlotte added. “You know the Woodhalls have taken a fall in the world. I can’t say we don’t deserve it.”

“Nonsense. The right man and you’ll be back on your feet in no time. Look there,” she said, pointing out a well-groomed young man with brown whiskers. “There is the sadly widowed Captain Howard Bannister, recently returned from India. If you don’t mind the warmer climes, I think you’ll find he’s worthy of the pursuit.”

“Recently widowed?” Charlotte asked?

“No, the mourning period is long past. He has been to a few such events and though your sisters have fluttered about him and made what I’d deem brazen flirtations, he has merely yawned at their antics.”

“A man of taste. I like him well already.” Charlotte joked. The women laughed and, to her surprise, the Captain both spotted her and proceeded to approach her from across the room.

“Oh dear. Here he comes. What do I say?” She whispered to Frances.

“Nothing stupid, I should think.”

The man offered a polite bow and Charlotte and Frances curtsied. “You are looking well today, Mistress Cook.” He offered politely.

“You are too kind. May I present Miss Charlotte Woodhall of Waverly Lodge?” Charlotte thought he had something of a weak chin, but his eyes were bright and he was clearly fit from his duties.

“Charmed.” He announced. When they’d dispensed with the niceties, he came directly to the point. “A lively tune!” He cried, as music began. Dancers took the floor. “Would you do me this kindness and honor, Mistress Woodhall?”

“I should be delighted.” She wasn’t at all sure she was. She would have preferred to have had a chance to speak with him first, and dancing wasn’t her strongest asset. But there would be some opportunity during the dance itself to get to know one another, or so she hoped.

His conversation proved meager at first, as they both tried to find things to talk about. “I have met your sisters, I believe.” He informed her as they met during the carefully choreographed dance steps. She was trying to recall the correct way to perform a contratem and settled for watching others and taking their lead.

“Oh?” Was all she could say.

“Yes.”

“And may I ask…” She struggled as she tried to remember her travelling steps. “May I ask how you found India?”

“Hot.” He informed her. “India is a place that is far too intemperate for my taste. I have been stationed here for the time being. Strange to live in peace for so long, speaking as a soldier, but I can say I don’t mind it terribly much. I’ve been keeping occupied.”

As the dance progressed, she found she was attracted to him, but it felt like a surface attraction, a curiosity that piqued her interest without giving her any clear indications. It was odd, though; she took note of a man with a grim face and a shock of red hair dancing nearby who kept glaring at her. She wasn’t sure what she was doing wrong or why she had offended him, but he was clearly disturbed.

The dance came to an end and the dancers clapped for the musicians. After stepping away from the floor, she noted the man with red hair positively scowling in their direction. But she couldn’t get any intelligence on who he was; Howard seemed to have warmed up to her and was vividly describing the places he’d seen in his travels, in particularly in Greece, India, and even at home. It was an interesting conversation, and she’d initiated it by asking him to elaborate on some of his trips, having never travelled much herself. But soon she excused herself to catch up with Frances.

“I do hope you’re not leaving just yet?” He asked hopefully.

“Why no! I can’t recall when I’ve had such a nice time. Only give me a moment to speak to Frances.”

She rescued her friend from a man Frannie called a ‘crashing bore’ and from whom she was grateful to be led away. “Do tell me,” Charlotte asked, pointing to the red-haired man. “Who is he? I don’t recall seeing him before.”

“And no small wonder.” She was told in a confidential whisper. “The Duke of Dorset, George Mandeville the Younger. The elder died just last year while the young Duke was away at school.”

“I recall hearing that!” She marvelled. “I had no idea he had a brother.”

“Isn’t he in a black mood?” Frances asked, looking over at him. He was seated, arms folded and apparently being spoken to by a young woman who was trying to keep the mood light. But he was having none of it. After a short time, he got up and the two left the building.

“He doesn’t seem to care much for his wife, I should say. I wonder why he should have singled me out for ire.” Charlotte said, not realizing she was speaking out loud.

Frances caught what she was saying and quickly corrected her. “No, you goose, that’s his sister. As to you, I have no idea. Did you do or say something?”

“Nothing of the kind!” She was about to ask more questions, when Captain Bannister returned with more punch and conversation. She forgot the matter entirely, giving in to her first decent dance in some time and wondered why every outing couldn’t be so wonderful.

*****

It had been some days since she’d seen and danced with the Captain when Frances sent a message proposing an outing. Any excuse to spend time away from her family was welcome, and there was the added incentive of possibly replacing the ribbons stolen away from her. She agreed readily enough.

They’d been through many of Baths fine shops and were debating what to do next. “We could actually visit the baths themselves, you know.” Frances proposed. Although Charlotte had lived in the area much of her life, she had to remind herself that Frances’ family had come to the west country from London, some years before.

“You know that I never mind such trips. History and ruins holds a certain appeal for me.”

“Yes. Always buried in a book, as I recall from our youth. Do you still read as voraciously as ever?”

“As ever, I confess. And do you still write as though the muses held a personal grudge against your idleness?” Charlotte asked with a smile.

“I only write a novel per day, I promise.” The girls shared a laugh. It had been a long-running joke between them; Charlotte the overly ambitious reader, Frances the aspiring writer. Between the two of them, they had pledged to conquer the literary world on opposite ends of the reading and writing spectrum.

Before visiting the baths from the shopping district, one might take a stroll along the River Avon, as the girls did, until reaching the baths situated near to Bath Abbey. The Roman baths were a popular tourist destination in a town that was currently in something of a boom; Bath was, in 1820, one of the larger towns in the Britain. With the baths as the town’s primary claim to fame, it had been decided to renovate the destroyed Roman baths several times over the centuries. Ten years ago, it had been presumed that the hot springs for the bath had failed. This was not so; it had merely found a new channel, which then had to be restored.

As they strolled along the Great Bath, Charlotte mused at the additions to the structure. “You see the columns here,” she noted, pointing them out. “Everything above the base has been added for our amusement.”

“That seems rather less authentic than I had imagined.” Frances replied, disappointment in her voice.

“I fear imagination isn’t what it once was, I fear. Personally, I think it would have been perfectly fine to simply show the public actual ruins.” Charlotte agreed, then froze in her tracks. Across the water, she spied the tall, red-haired Duke staring at his own reflection on the opposite side of the rectangular pool. He looked up and caught her glance. Instead of showing the same ire he’d doled out at the party, he looked away, blushing.

“Look!” She whispered urgently to Frances. “It’s him, again!”

“Oh. Him!” Frances replied, not hiding her scorn. “What a cad. To treat a stranger such as yourself so rudely. Let’s ignore him and press on.”

They continued their tour, inspecting statues and rooms until it became impossible to ignore him. George Mandeville was stepped directly next to Charlotte as she was reading an inscription and bowed. “Forgive me, ma’am. I apologize for this intrusion.”

“Yes?” She asked coldly. She didn’t like him to begin with, and being addressed in public when there had never been introductions made was too rude.

“I- I do say, please forgive my impertinence. I have come to offer my sincere apologies for my behavior at the dance the other evening. I have no way of knowing if you were aware of my actions or not, but I feel I owe you that much.”