“Charlotte!”

Half of the house looked over as Caroline’s outraged shriek pierced the din of conversation.

Charlotte snapped open her fan and proceeded to languidly stir the heated air before her. “You’re just never happy unless you can cause a scene, are you?”

“I…you…Charlotte…” Caroline sputtered.

“Yes, now that you have the question of pronouns and proper nouns settled, perhaps you would care to tell me what news you have?”

Caroline glared at her with a regrettably mutinous look in her eye. Charlotte was just about to point out that ladies who wore mulish expressions ran the risk of their faces freezing in that manner, but was kept from that opinion by Caroline’s furious whisper. “I shouldn’t, I truly shouldn’t tell you, you don’t deserve to know at all after threatening me with such a blatant untruth—”

Charlotte leveled a critical glance on her friend’s bosom. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that’s all you.”

“My bosom is neither here nor there,” Caroline said with dignity as she opened her fan in a manner that hid the bodice of her dress.

“My point exactly—it’s nonexistent.”

“But I shall tell you,” Caroline continued, albeit somewhat snappishly, “because your husband doesn’t deserve to suffer. Dearest Algernon told me tonight that the wagers on the betting books are to do with Mr. McGregor, specifically, whether or not he is…he can…if he has the ability to…”

“What?”

“If he is impotent,” Caroline whispered with a fiery blush.

“Impotent?” Charlotte asked, at a loss for what was making Caroline act in such a goose-ish manner. Perhaps she was carrying. Everyone knew women who were breeding were exceptionally goose-ish about things.

“Shhh!”

“Lord, Caro, Algernon must be quizzing you. Why on earth would anyone care if Alasdair was impotent with me? If you want to know the truth, I’m probably just as impotent as he is, more so in fact. Mama always did say I was shameless.”

Caroline stared at her with googled eyes—or goggled, Charlotte couldn’t remember which was the correct word—her mouth once again hanging slightly ajar. Suddenly Caro choked and fanned herself quickly, her gaze on the tips of her slippers as she leaned toward Char and hissed, “Impotent, not impudent. Impotent means physically unable to do your manly duty.”

Charlotte felt her own jaw sag at the implication. She thought for a moment she might actually swoon as a result of the burst of fury that roared to life within her, and it was all she could do to moderate her voice so the word she spoke came out as a quiet demand, rather than a howl of wrath. “Who?”

“Dearest Algernon says it’s no one person. The wagers are on all the books at all the gentlemen’s clubs…Charlotte, where are you going?”

She gathered her cloak from the chair behind hers, unable for a moment to speak. In a distant, isolated part of her mind she noted interestedly that her hands were shaking, although she was neither cold nor frightened. “Alasdair has taken our carriage; might I use yours?”