“She did. But her interference will work in our favor this time,” I said, and outlined the plan.

“Well, I shall enjoy playing the frustrated lover, and it will have the added benefit of diverting Emelia’s attention away from Mrs. Carter and Miss Dashwood,” Charlotte said. She picked up the gown her maid had laid out for her to wear—a green silk column with pleating at the bust—and raised a droll eyebrow. “Considering my new role, perhaps I should choose something with more décolletage.”

I considered the green silk. “Any more and you may as well forgo the dress completely.”

Charlotte snorted. “I am no Caro Lamb. Did you hear about that?”

“I did.” Lady Caroline Lamb had literally served herself naked upon a platter at a party to celebrate the birthday of Lord Byron, her lover. Dear Caro had no concept of discretion. I felt sorry for her husband, but one had to admit to a small amount of admiration for her total disregard for convention.

Thinking of flouted husbands, I asked, “What about Porty? It is a poor trick to play upon him. What if he takes exception?”

“My husband is not one for recognizing undercurrents or indeed any kind of emotional nuance,” Charlotte said dryly. “Besides, we have an arrangement. I will inform Lord Evan of our liaison before dinner. I am sure he will be interested to know of our affair.”

As it happened—or perhaps it was a swift change made by Charlotte—I was seated next to Evan at the dining table. Porty, of course, sat at the head, Charlotte opposite her husband at the other end, and Mr. and Mrs. Ellis-Brant on the other side of the table. A small gathering in such a huge dining room. Due to the party’s size, Charlotte declared we were to dine en famille: instead of only conversing to the person beside us as was custom, we could converse across the table too. Although I was not sure that would be to our advantage.

“May I serve you soup, Lady Augusta?” Evan asked as the footman positioned the tureen upon the table.

Charlotte had ordered a fine repast: the first remove consisted of soup à l’oignon, duck rillettes, a casserole of rabbit, a cheese tart, green beans, fricassee of mushrooms, salmon vol-au-vents, and a turbot awaiting its place once the tureen had been withdrawn.

“Yes, please.” I tried to keep the warmth from my voice. I was, after all, playing the part of Charlotte’s judgmental friend.

Evan took my bowl and ladled out the rich broth, placing it in front of me. “And for you, Lady Davenport?”

“Thank you, yes, Mr. Talbot,” Charlotte said, managing an excellent simper. I stared down at my bowl, pressing back a snort of laughter; I had never seen my friend simper before. A glorious sight.