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pay?
    “If I might, my lord?” The shopkeeper was back, gesturing to a low bench where other men were sitting and having their feet measured. David made to move forward, still holding on to her arm, but she didn’t walk.
    “I appreciate your kindness, my lord, but I should return to my mother.” They both glanced to where her mother was still talking with the stout gentleman. She hadn’t said parents, so perhaps the man was not her father. She added, “That is, you’ve just returned, and you certainly have other friends to see. I wouldn’t want to keep you from them.”
    David raised an eyebrow at her. “Yes, I can see that my legions of friends are all waiting to get a word with me, daunted by you.” Her face flushed, and he felt like an arse. Until she spoke.
    “Has it occurred to you, my lord, that perhaps I do not wish to stand here and gawk at you as you shop?” Her face flushed more, making her cheeks turn a vivid scarlet. “Forgive my blunt speaking, but you are you, and I … am me. I do not wish to have the inevitable comparisons made, the assumptions that I am even thinking I could make a match with you.” Thankfully, she was speaking in a whisper, so no one could hear. She withdrew her hand from his arm and stepped back. “Good day, my lord,” she said, whirling around and marching toward her mother.
    David stood and watched her go, his mouth dropped open in surprise. No woman had ever refused his company. Much less one to whom he’d been assigned.
    ***
    “I told you about Lord David, did I not?” Charlotte’s mother didn’t bother to lower her voice, and a few people around them looked as she spoke.
    Charlotte tried to calm her breathing. “You did, Mother. And here I am. Tell me, have you found anything to
purchase
?” She emphasized the last word, knowing her mother would be irked at her tone, but she was too agitated to care.
    Why was he so determined to make conversation with her? Ask her for her opinion on clothing, of all things? It couldn’t be that he was attracted to her—he’d told her she was not ugly, of course, but that was hardly anything close to a compliment. Shehad elicited that gorgeous smile a few times, the crooked one where one side of his mouth went up higher than the other. But that didn’t mean he liked her.
    He probably found her amusing, like the rest of the
ton
did, only he was amused by her words, rather than her clothing. That was an improvement of sorts, at least.
    Never let it be said Charlotte was not an optimistic sort. When she was not turning her heel on the most stunning man she’d ever seen. Had that really been her?
    “Charlotte, may I present Mr. Goddard?”
    Apparently her mother had found something to purchase after all.
    The widower bowed and smiled at Charlotte in a way she found most uncomfortable—not as though he were smiling at her, but as though he was already counting her money and relishing the thought of spending it. That kind of smiling.
    Ugh. Was it possible to form an instant dislike of someone?
    “Lady Charlotte, how delightful. Your mother has spoken of your excellent manners, your solicitousness for others, your enjoyment of quiet pursuits.”
    All fine things, but not really descriptive of Charlotte.
    Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but her mother grabbed her arm and headed toward the door. “We should be on our way. Mr. Goddard, Charlotte will save you a dance at the next party, certainly. Charlotte, your father is expecting us.”
    Mr. Goddard didn’t seem to mind, or even notice, that Charlotte hadn’t spoken. That was likely the kind of woman he was looking for—one who would be seen and not heard. The kind of woman Charlotte most definitely was not.
    He held the door open for them and nodded at Charlotte as though he were already in control of her—a feeling that chafed worse than new shoes.
    As she left, she couldn’t help herself and snuck a look back at him. Not Mr. Goddard, of course; Lord David. And she