Free The Temptation of the Night Jasmine by Lauren Willig

really am glad to have you back. I would never want you to think otherwise. You were all that made that time bearable.’
    ‘The feeling was mutual,’ he said soberly. Robert thought of Medmenham and Staines in the other room, of the sour smell of spilt port, and the hideous dark holes being burnt into his soul, and realised with surprise that he hadn’t given a thought to any of them the whole time he had been in the gallery. ‘It still is.’
    Charlotte’s face lit with such gratitude that Robert found himself, for once, entirely at a loss. He wanted to tell her that he didn’t deserve that kind of approbation, he wanted to tell her that he wasn’t worthy of such simple, uncritical affection, but his throat closed around the words.
    Instead, he did what he did best. He pasted an easy smile across his face, held out his arm, and said teasingly, ‘Shall we see about finding you that hat?’
    ‘Yes, let’s,’ said his lady with the unicorn, and she walked out with her arm tucked trustingly through his.
     

Chapter Four
    ‘H ow goes the Parade of Eligibles?’ demanded Lady Henrietta Dorrington, flinging herself into a chair beside Charlotte.
    They were in the Gallery of Girdings, where all the furniture had been pushed back against the walls to make room for dancing. Tonight’s was only an informal dance, a prelude to the grander festivities that would take place the following day. Some of the local families from the county had been invited. They stood in their own little groups around the edges of the room, the red-faced squires and their fresh-faced daughters looking like the characters in Charlotte’s books.
    Tomorrow, a larger party would be coming up from London, replacing the locals and augmenting the house party. There would be proper London musicians, champagne flowing down the centre of the table, and hothouse flowers blooming improbably out of immense marble urns. There were rumours that the Prince of Wales himself might make one of the party, rumours that Charlotte suspected her grandmother had put about herself for the sheer fun of watching people scrounging around corners, looking under sofas for misplaced royals.
    Henrietta and her husband had only joined the house party that afternoon, just in time for the Twelfth Night celebrations, having spent the bulk of the holiday with Henrietta’s family in Kent, engaging in what Henrietta blithely referred to as ‘a spot of parental placation.’ Charlotte was ridiculously glad to see both of them. She was bursting to discuss the last week with Henrietta, to present everything that had occurred to her more assured friend for dissection and analysis. Not that Charlotte was sure there really was anything there to dissect, short of her own imagination, but it was rather nice to be the one with something to dissect for a change.
    ‘Eligibles?’ demanded Miles, following Henrietta into their little corner and tripping over a small gilt chair in the process. ‘You mean this lot?’
    Charlotte smiled and scooted over, making room for Miles to stand next to Henrietta. Scorning the chair and the equally dainty benches, Miles chose instead to prop his broad shoulders against the pale blue silk of the wall, towering comfortably over his wife and her friends.
    Penelope pulled her chair away, too, but not to make room. Penelope made no pretence of her feelings about her best friend’s marriage. In anyone else, her attitude would have been called sulking. In Penelope, it was more like a slow smoulder. If looks could char, Miles would have long since gone up in flames.
    ‘They have no charm, no conversation, and most of them have no chins,’ put in Penelope caustically. ‘Other than that, it’s been just scrumptious.’
    ‘They’re not the most inspiring collection of humanity,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘I’m not sure why Grandmama chose them.’
    ‘Because,’ said Penelope, ‘all the good ones have already been taken. All we’re left with are the louts