What Not to Bare: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Megan Frampton
Authors: Megan Frampton
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in time to get married off to the poor widower.
Ugh. She couldn’t think about that now. She had a column to write. One where she could dispense all the advice she knew must be running through people’s minds when they saw her—that was it. She would just have to pretend to be someone she was not.
Maybe for the first column, she would pretend to be Emma—what had she said? Yellow like jaundice?
She picked the rebuking pen up and began to write, the words pouring out of her onto the page as she giggled in glee.
She could do this. She
could
.
By the time she was finished with the first one, she’d almost persuaded herself to try to look like everyone else. Just to see what it would be like.
At least the column had kept her from dwelling on what her mother had said in the carriage—only a few weeks left of the Season, and she had to make somethinghappen. Something other than getting married to Mr. Goddard.
It was enough to make her wear boring colors and not eat. She’d barely choked down a few cookies at tea, and they were her favorite, similar to the ones her aunt sent from Scotland every Christmas. Her mother had smiled approvingly at her as she declined more of the treats, but Charlotte wasn’t doing it because she aspired to a sylphlike shape; she was simply too agitated to eat anything.
She had to show some sort of effort, or her mother would just get her betrothed right away, without waiting. And who knew? Perhaps there would be someone out there who might fall in love with her and not with her fortune.
She knew she was witty and intelligent and loyal, after all.
Although the same could be said of some dogs and many spinsters all across England.
When her maid, Sarah, arrived to get her dressed, Charlotte didn’t pick her favorite gown. In fact, she chose her least favorite gown, a soft rose color with barely any ribbons. And then allowed her maid to pick out the shawl to match, not anything Charlotte herself would choose.
She slipped tiny pearl earrings onto her ears and drew the matching necklace around her neck.
Meanwhile, her maid was busy brushing and styling her hair.
When she was done, she looked like every other young woman in Society. Not the Abomination; not a beauty like Emma; just plain Charlotte.
She hated it.
“You look so elegant, Lady Charlotte,” Sarah uttered with an incredulous tone. Of course, Charlotte had refused enough of Sarah’s wardrobe suggestions in the past. The woman must wonder what had happened to make her mistress be so amenable.
The sad truth was that it was a man. Or
men
, actually, because without the looming threat of Mr. Goddard, Charlotte would continue to be as she was: the Abomination, the blunt speaker with no chance of finding a husband. Now she had to give herself a chance. Which meant, she thought as she gazed at her plain, boring self in the glass, that she would tamp down her own self and allow this … this farce to appear in Society.
That it might give her perspective on writing the column was something she needed to keep in mind, as well. She couldn’t be another person if she still dressed like herself.
“Thank you for your help, Sarah. We’re attending the theater tonight, no parties after, so we shouldn’t be too late.” She stood as Sarah smoothed whatever errant wrinkles had dared to emerge in the fabric.
And looked at herself in the glass again. And frowned.
That how she looked would please her mother only added to her bitterness. That she was hoping ultimately to thwart her mother’s plans made her disguise a smidge more tolerable. Even if she felt like a fake. A tolerable fake.
Would anyone find her tolerable at all?
***
“Lord David.”
He heard her voice before he saw her. And then he didn’t see her—was she hiding behind a curtain or something?
The theater was filling up, but he should have been able to spot her right away.
“I’m right here,” she added in an exasperated tone. He looked to where the voice came
Ugh. She couldn’t think about that now. She had a column to write. One where she could dispense all the advice she knew must be running through people’s minds when they saw her—that was it. She would just have to pretend to be someone she was not.
Maybe for the first column, she would pretend to be Emma—what had she said? Yellow like jaundice?
She picked the rebuking pen up and began to write, the words pouring out of her onto the page as she giggled in glee.
She could do this. She
could
.
By the time she was finished with the first one, she’d almost persuaded herself to try to look like everyone else. Just to see what it would be like.
At least the column had kept her from dwelling on what her mother had said in the carriage—only a few weeks left of the Season, and she had to make somethinghappen. Something other than getting married to Mr. Goddard.
It was enough to make her wear boring colors and not eat. She’d barely choked down a few cookies at tea, and they were her favorite, similar to the ones her aunt sent from Scotland every Christmas. Her mother had smiled approvingly at her as she declined more of the treats, but Charlotte wasn’t doing it because she aspired to a sylphlike shape; she was simply too agitated to eat anything.
She had to show some sort of effort, or her mother would just get her betrothed right away, without waiting. And who knew? Perhaps there would be someone out there who might fall in love with her and not with her fortune.
She knew she was witty and intelligent and loyal, after all.
Although the same could be said of some dogs and many spinsters all across England.
When her maid, Sarah, arrived to get her dressed, Charlotte didn’t pick her favorite gown. In fact, she chose her least favorite gown, a soft rose color with barely any ribbons. And then allowed her maid to pick out the shawl to match, not anything Charlotte herself would choose.
She slipped tiny pearl earrings onto her ears and drew the matching necklace around her neck.
Meanwhile, her maid was busy brushing and styling her hair.
When she was done, she looked like every other young woman in Society. Not the Abomination; not a beauty like Emma; just plain Charlotte.
She hated it.
“You look so elegant, Lady Charlotte,” Sarah uttered with an incredulous tone. Of course, Charlotte had refused enough of Sarah’s wardrobe suggestions in the past. The woman must wonder what had happened to make her mistress be so amenable.
The sad truth was that it was a man. Or
men
, actually, because without the looming threat of Mr. Goddard, Charlotte would continue to be as she was: the Abomination, the blunt speaker with no chance of finding a husband. Now she had to give herself a chance. Which meant, she thought as she gazed at her plain, boring self in the glass, that she would tamp down her own self and allow this … this farce to appear in Society.
That it might give her perspective on writing the column was something she needed to keep in mind, as well. She couldn’t be another person if she still dressed like herself.
“Thank you for your help, Sarah. We’re attending the theater tonight, no parties after, so we shouldn’t be too late.” She stood as Sarah smoothed whatever errant wrinkles had dared to emerge in the fabric.
And looked at herself in the glass again. And frowned.
That how she looked would please her mother only added to her bitterness. That she was hoping ultimately to thwart her mother’s plans made her disguise a smidge more tolerable. Even if she felt like a fake. A tolerable fake.
Would anyone find her tolerable at all?
***
“Lord David.”
He heard her voice before he saw her. And then he didn’t see her—was she hiding behind a curtain or something?
The theater was filling up, but he should have been able to spot her right away.
“I’m right here,” she added in an exasperated tone. He looked to where the voice came
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