“Exactly!” Charlotte cried, laughing at being so neatly understood in such a simple thing. “I can never walk with my friends for that exact reason. They do tend to lag so.”
Mr. Riley chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in the most delicious manner Charlotte had ever heard. “Would that be your friends from the Spinster Chronicles?”
Charlotte sobered just a little, nerves flaring at the question. “Yes,” she replied with some hesitation. “Yes, it would.”
Her mother reached for her hand and squeezed tightly before releasing.
“I have tried to my utmost,” he went on, his dark eyes staring down at the path before them, “to identify which lady has written which article in the column, and upon my life, I have never managed it yet. Of course, I cannot be quite sure of the identity of the so-called Spinsters at any given time, so that surely does not help.”
Relief surged through Charlotte’s veins, nearly taking the strength from her legs. He did not disapprove, then. He did not judge nor harbor resentment, and he spoke of them as naturally as though they were any other set of women in the world.
What a find indeed was Mr. Jonathan Riley!
“You do not know who we are?” Charlotte inquired with a quick grin. “Mr. Riley, everybody knows who we are, you need only ask.”
“And where would be the fun in that, Miss Wright?” he returned easily. He glanced down at her from his nearly towering height, smiling in a way that showed his nearly perfect teeth.
One must always appreciate nearly perfect teeth.
Charlotte hummed a laugh. “You take delight in trying to identify us? How did you know I was part, then?”
“Simple,” he stated. “When I inquired about you, I was told. Imagine my surprise and delight that I could come to know one of the gifted writers of the column I’d been so fascinated with.”
He could have proposed on the spot, and Charlotte might have accepted him. Such lovely words and opinions were so uncommon after the early strife they had faced from their column. While everyone in London, and several other parts of England, certainly read the issues as they came out, the writers of those issues had almost always faced criticism. That she was not doing so here was extraordinary.
Of course, he could have been giving her a false impression. It had been done before, and she had no doubt it would happen again. She only prayed it would not be here.
“And why would you wish to come to know me, hmm?” she asked him, keeping her voice innocent and light.
“Charlotte,” her mother hissed, “what a direct question!”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Mama, if you intend to insert yourself into every moment of this conversation between Mr. Riley and myself, I’ll thank you to take four steps behind us like a trotting chaperone instead of my dear mother.”
Mr. Riley laughed heartily beside them, yet another uncommon trait in a gentleman of Society. “But it is precisely because of the direct questions, and your unflappable candor, that rendered me all the more curious about you, Miss Wright. And I take no offense, Mrs. Wright. I can assure you that I have had far worse in my own family, and I am quite comfortable holding my own.”
“You must allow me to be a little embarrassed about my daughter’s unconventional ways,” her mother protested weakly, smiling at them both. “Not out of shame, but only because I am much less so.”
“I will not think less of you for your motherly feelings,” Mr. Riley assured her. “I only wish to reassure you that you need not fear my opinions or your daughter’s reputation where I am concerned.”
Charlotte’s mother stared at him, then looked at Charlotte directly. “Well, then. Give him a hint on the Chronicles, Charlotte, and see if he is as loyal a follower as he claims.”
Mr. Riley coughed a laugh as Charlotte giggled at the suggestion. “And you say you are not as unconventional as your daughter, ma’am? Upon my word, your very vocal support of her outspoken column betrays you there.”
“I am quite proud of the Chronicles, sir,” Charlotte’s mother informed him. “And of my daughter and her friends for putting them out. I hope one day to write an article for them, if Charlotte will permit me.”
“Mama,” Charlotte groaned playfully, shaking her head. “She has been begging for years to do so, Mr. Riley, and will not give it up.”
He only shrugged. “Then I say let her. What a lark would that be, eh?”
Perhaps, Charlotte thought to herself. Perhaps.
“Which article in the last issue was your favorite?” Charlotte asked him, moving on to the test her mother had suggested, and that Charlotte had considered administering herself.
“The trials of country dancing,” he said at once.
“And what did you like best about it?”
He grunted. “It was spot on. I agreed with every word, and it had me laughing as well. I tend to prefer anything that makes me laugh where laughter is appropriate. The other articles were entertaining and good, to be sure, but that one was my personal favorite.”
Charlotte hid a smile, flicking her eyes at her mother, who returned it. “And the issue prior?”
Without hesitation, he answered. “Quotes and Quirks. I haven’t laughed so earnestly in ages, and I would swear I could pick exactly which member of Society had said what.” He shook his head, smiling at the recollection, then looked at Charlotte in speculation. “Did you write either of those?”
“I did not,” Charlotte was pleased to admit. She gave her mother a triumphant look. “I think we might have a true and loyal follower here, Mama. I did not write either article he praised, so this cannot be flattery.”
“I concur, my dear,” she replied with a
