“Trivial!” Charlotte recoiled from such blasphemy. “Trivial! Cousin, marriage has addled your brains! There is nothing trivial about one’s appearance. Why, without a comely countenance, one would have no suitors! No inamoratos! Society would shun one! No invitations to balls and routs and breakfasts would be forthcoming! One simply could not attend the opera nor the theater, nor expect to be received by anyone of discerning taste…”

Gillian was nodding even before the words dried up on Charlotte’s lips. “Exactly. You are the picture of loveliness, and yet you find yourself in a position exactly as you describe, hence my comment on the trivial nature of something so shallow as beauty. What you need is to focus on your assets, namely, your status as a widow, your good breeding, your congenial manner, and”—she took a deep breath—“your willingness to marry again.”

“Marry?” Charlotte blinked in surprise at her cousin’s words. “Who said anything about my marrying? You just said my widowhood was an asset, why would I want to give it up?”

Gillian cast a quick glance at the door. Voices could be heard in the hallway beyond. “Charlotte, you have limited choices. You can either resolve the argument with your family…”

“I’ve tried. Matthew is just as bullheaded as Father was.”

“…or come with us to the West Indies…”

Charlotte made a moue of disapproval. “It’s hot there. I would perspire all the time, and I cannot think of anything worse than being in a continual state of perspiration.”

“…or find a position as a companion to an elderly lady…”

An unladylike snort answered that suggestion.

“…or you can marry again.”

A frown wrinkled Charlotte’s brow as she smoothed out the drab olive-green traveling gown her limited funds had forced her to buy en route to England. “Marry. I hadn’t thought to marry. All I wanted to do was to come home. Marriage means…well, there would have to be a husband, wouldn’t there? I’m not sure I want another husband.”

“Well, what do you want?”

Charlotte tried on a little pout. “I want what I had before Antonio swept me off my feet and dragged me to that godforsaken castle in Italy. I want to be the Season’s reigning Incomparable, I want my court of suitors, I want lovely gowns and dancing and stolen kisses in the garden!”

“But you’re not eighteen anymore, Charlotte,” her cousin protested. “You’re a grown woman. Surely you want something more meaningful than the mere glitter of life in the ton?”

“There’s nothing wrong with glitter,” Charlotte objected, her pout dissolving into another frown. “It’s bright and pretty and it entertains.”

“It’s also shallow, unsubstantial, and unimportant. Oh, Char, I want you to be happy, but I don’t see how that’s possible if all you want—”

“WIFE!”

Gillian rose as the voice in the hall took on a strident note. “Blast! I really have to go now. I’m sorry I can’t help you. Crouch and the other staff will take care of you here at Britton House for as long as you like, and I’ll have the household funds put at your disposal. If you get in a terrible bind and need advice, write to me.”