Lady's Wager Read Free Page A

blockade.
    The landau turned onto Bond Street where it came to a halt
in the morning crush of carts and hackneys.
    “There’s no use forcing the carriage to Hookham’s front
door. We’ll walk,” Lady Treadwell announced to her driver who descended to help
the women out.
    Fashionable gentlemen and ladies crowded the sidewalk as
they went about their business, ducking into the jewelers to order a bauble or
strolling to Sir Thomas Lawrence’s studio to admire the latest portraits.
    Charlotte hugged her books to her chest, smirking at the
thought of Sir Lawrence’s work.
    “What do you find so amusing?” Elizabeth asked, holding Charlotte’s
arm so as not to be lost in the crush of people as they followed Lady Treadwell
toward Hookham’s.
    “Sir Lawrence’s studio. The old society crones enter there
with the ravages of time only to be carried out on canvas the very image of
youth and vitality.”
    “Charlotte, you shouldn’t say such things,” Elizabeth
softly scolded.
    “Why? It’s the truth.”
    “Yes, but you shouldn’t say it in public.”
    Lady Treadwell suddenly stopped and stepped in between
them, taking their elbows and turning them toward a small group of well-dressed
men talking animatedly together. “Fate has favored us today. Do you see the man
there, the tall one in the dark blue coat with brass buttons? That’s Beau
Brummell and the man standing next to him is the Prince.”
    “The fat man?” Charlotte asked.
    “Now is no time for sharp words, Charlotte,” Lady
Treadwell warned. “Mr. Brummell and the Prince are the epitome of fashion in
London.”
    Charlotte had heard about these men in Paris but seeing
them in the flesh proved a great disappointment. As she studied the Prince, he
caught her eye then exchanged a few quiet words with Mr. Brummell. She stifled
a laugh as Mr. Brummell turned his head toward her, his chin struggling to get
over his great, starched cravat. He raised his jewel encrusted gazing glass to
examine them and Charlotte heard a small breath of shock escape Elizabeth’s
lips.
    “You mustn’t stare,” Elizabeth said. “His gazing glass is
the wickedest in London and could ruin the Season for both of us.”
    “I must introduce you,” Lady Treadwell announced.
    “We shouldn’t intrude,” Charlotte resisted.
    “It won’t be an intrusion. Ever since my dear husband and
I supported the Whigs against Pitt I’ve enjoyed quite an acquaintance with His
Highness. And if either of you wishes to make an impression on the Lady
Patronesses and obtain a voucher to Almack’s I must introduce you.”
    “I have no desire to attend Almack’s,” Charlotte protested,
and Lady Treadwell fixed her with a stern look.
    “Of course you do and with your uncle involved in
shipping,” she whispered shipping as though it were obscene, “you’ll
need a recommendation from no less than Mr. Brummell himself to secure your
invitation. I’m afraid there’s no other way.”
    “But aren’t you friends with two Lady Patronesses?”
Elizabeth asked.
    “When it comes to Almack’s, even friendship is no guarantee
of admittance.” Lady Treadwell waved at the Prince. “I’ve caught his attention.
Now we must greet him or I’ll be considered quite rude. Come along, and
Charlotte, please mind your tongue.”
    “I’ll be the very picture of a polished London lady.”
    Charlotte and Elizabeth trailed behind Lady Treadwell as
she started off toward the gentlemen. Elizabeth gripped Charlotte’s elbow with
an anxiety Charlotte didn’t share. This wasn’t the first prince Charlotte had
met.
    “What will Grandmamma say?” Elizabeth worried.
    “I think she’ll be quite pleased. After all, what harm can
there be in a simple introduction, in the middle of Bond Street by someone as
well respected as Lady Treadwell?”
    The Prince closed the distance between them, Beau Brummell
following languidly behind him. The other gentlemen kept a respectful distance
but remained within hearing of