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Keppel Street, Bloomsbury, where they had moved after Pitt’s recent promotion. Until this moment, for Charlotte at least, it had been a very ordinary day. This news was astounding. Had he no conception of the amount of preparation necessary for such a weekend? The answer to that was simple. No, of course he hadn’t. Growing up on a country estate had made him familiar with such houses, probably with the number and duties of the staff, and perhaps with the daily routine when there were guests. But it had not given him any knowledge of the number and type of clothes those guests were expected to bring. A lady might wear half a dozen dresses on any given day, and certainly not recognizably the same gown for dinner every evening.
    “Who else will be there?” she demanded, staring at him in dismay.
    The expression in his face made it obvious he still did not grasp what he was expecting of her.
    “Ainsley Greville’s wife, Moynihan’s sister and McGinley’s wife,” he replied. “But Emily is the hostess. All the duties will fall on her. You haven’t any need to worry. You will be there simply to lend me credibility, because you are Emily’s sister, so it will seem natural for us to attend.”
    Frustration boiled up inside her. “Oh!” She let out a cry of exasperation. “Thomas! What do you suppose I am going to wear? I have about eight autumn or winter dresses to my name! And most of those are rather practical. How on earth can I beg or borrow ten more between now and Thursday?” Not to mention jewelry, shoes, boots, an evening reticule, a shawl, a hat for walking, dozens of things which, if she did not have them, would instantly make her conspicuously not a guest but a poor relation. Cornwallis’s idea of making the party appear like any other would be defeated before it began.
    Then she saw his concern, and his doubt, and instantly she wished she had bitten her tongue before she had spoken. She hated the thought that her blurted words had made him feel as if he should have provided better for her, to keep up with Emily. Occasionally she had longed for the same pretty things, the glamour, the luxury, but at that moment, nothing had been further from her mind.
    “I’ll find them!” she said quickly. “I’ll call Great-Aunt Vespasia, and I daresay Emily herself can lend me something. And I’ll visit Mama tomorrow. How many days did you say it was for? Shall I take Gracie? Or shall we have to leave her here to care for Daniel and Jemima? We are not taking the children, are we? Is there any real danger, do you think?”
    He still looked a trifle mystified, but the anxiety was clearing from his eyes.
    “We need to take Gracie as your maid. Is your mother at home at present?”
    Caroline had fairly recently remarried, most unsuitably—to an actor seventeen years her junior. She was extremely happy though she had lost several of her previous friends. She had made numerous new ones and traveled a great deal since Joshua’s profession took him out of London at times.
    “Yes,” Charlotte said quickly, and then realized she had not actually spoken to her mother for over a fortnight. “I think so.”
    “I don’t think there is any danger,” he said seriously. “But I am not sure. Certainly we shall not take Daniel and Jemima. If your mother cannot care for them, we shall leave them with Emily’s children in her town house. But you can call Aunt Vespasia tonight.”
    Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould was Emily’s great-aunt by her first marriage, but she had become ever closer in friendship to both sisters—and also to Pitt, frequently involving herself in those cases which concerned high society, or social issues in which she had a crusading interest. In her youth she had been one of the outstanding beauties of her generation. Now in age she still preserved a timeless elegance and the bearing and dignity of one of England’s great ladies. She also had a tongue she no longer felt the need to curb, because her