Chapter 9

“He’s horrid! What a wretched, wretched man,” Georgianna fumed as her maid dragged a brush through her hair. “Why he would take on so over a mealy mouthed little thing like Charlotte Mulberry is quite beyond me.” Arliss had gone for a walk, but she knew he simply wanted to be away from her and her temper. Such displays made him uncomfortable. It was something else to lay at Miss Mulberry’s door.

“She doesn’t even have a maid,” the servant said, clearly scandalized. “I would hazard that she cannot afford one.”

Georgianna smiled. “No, she cannot. Poor as a church mouse, as I understand it.”

“Orphaned as a young girl, I believe, and raised by her uncle. Though I think there has been speculation that he may not be her uncle at all. She could be a by-blow passed off as a ward. T’wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened.”

No, indeed it would not. “This is the first I’ve heard of the gossip. How did you come by it?”

“Mrs. Whitlow’s maid, ma’am. She had a bit of brandy in her tea last night thinking no one else would notice,” Seivers said with a cool smile. “She’s a bit of a talker when she’s in the drink.”

“Hmmm. If she gossips to you, she gossips to others,” Georgianna said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “And those servants in turn gossip to their employers!”

“Indeed, ma’am. Relaying pertinent information is half of our duties,” the maid agreed.

“How remarkable, Seivers! You’ve given me the perfect idea. No man wants to be married for his wealth alone. And certainly no man wants to be married to a woman who might be… unchaste. And certainly no man certainly wants the scandal of being attached to a woman who is a known fortune hunter.”

“Ma’am, forgive me for saying so, but Miss Mulberry is well known to everyone here. Most would never think such things of her.”

Georgianna met the maid’s gaze in the mirror, her expression one of smug satisfaction. “Yes, and that is where you and the other servants have a part to play. You will talk to Mrs. Whitlow’s maid, when she’s had a bit of brandy, of course. Then she will pass the gossip to everyone else. If it comes from her, it will be quite believable. No one will trace it back to us. Most will assume that the servants got it from their own individual employers.”

Seivers nodded. “It could work. What sort of gossip? Surely not just about her parentage. That alone would not cast doubt on her character since it’s old gossip.”

“No, it would not! But Miss Mulberry has been jilted only recently. Her betrothed taken from her. Would it surprise anyone that such terrible events might alter her in some way? If I can provoke her into losing her temper, into saying and doing even one thing that is out of character in front of witnesses, that plants the seed. Between that and the gossip you will help spread—she will soon be a pariah. A spinster pariah!”

“That is devious, ma’am,” the maid replied, but it was not censure. If there was one thing that had swayed Georgianna when it came to taking Seivers on as her ladies’ maid it was the servant’s own somewhat villainous tendencies. She loved a good plot and loved even better to be in the thick of it.

“It is devious,” Georgianna agreed. “Whatever maid Mrs. Whitlow has assigned to her, make friends with. We’ll need to know exactly where she is and what she is doing at all times.”

“Oh, I’ve already done that,” Seivers answered. “I anticipated there might be some plot or scheme afoot. Miss Mulberry will be strolling in the garden this afternoon… likely with the Marquess. And in the morning, they are set to go into Blackpool and see the town’s sights.”

“Just the two of them?”

“No. It’s an outing arranged by Mrs. Whitlow. Everyone is welcome to attend… I’ll let the other servants know you mean to join.”

“No! Do not. Let them know that I wished to attend, but that I feared Miss Mulberry’s vitriol… In order for her to be labeled a villain, I must first look like a victim.”

Seivers nodded, but before she walked away, she said, “There is another way to stir dissent, ma’am. His lordship is the only truly eligible bachelor in attendance… but Miss Mulberry is not the only available young lady. Were she to be passed over by yet another gentleman, it would raise questions as to why.”

“Miss Dearborn? Does she have her cap set for the Marquess?”

Seivers eyes widened and with less than her normal servile deference, she replied, “He’s an unmarried Marquess, madam. Every cap is set for him.”

Georgianna’s smile widened. “I’m going to pen her a note and ask her to take a turn with me. Would you deliver it?”

“Certainly, ma’am. With pleasure.”

Charlotte was seated in the garden, enjoying the lovely vistas it offered. There was something about being so close to the sea. The sky was different, she thought. The colors richer and brighter and the sky itself seemed to stretch on forever.

“There you are… I thought perhaps you were hiding after that ugly business in the dining room.”

Charlotte glanced up to see Mrs. Whitlow hovering nearby, wringing her hands in a worried fashion. “It was unpleasant, but hardly worth note. And Eth—the Marquess seems to have it all well in hand.”

At her near slip of the tongue, Mrs. Whitlow’s eyebrows rose with curiosity. Then she moved closer, settling onto the bench beside her. “If it becomes too much, I will ask them to leave. I should never have invited them if I had known she would be so…petty. That’s hardly the word for it, though I can think of none better.”

Charlotte couldn’t either. Likely, she thought, because she did not know words foul enough to describe Georgianna Cranford or her behavior. “I will be perfectly fine, Mrs. Whitlow. I will do my utmost to avoid further confrontations with her and no doubt his lordship will do the same.”

“He is quite taken with you… our Moody Marquess, that is,” Mrs. Whitlow noted. “Is there some sort of understanding between the pair of you? I would not ask, but I do feel some degree of responsibility for you. While his sister’s presence does meet the requirements for propriety, she’s hardly what one could call an attentive chaperone.”

Charlotte wondered briefly how much to reveal and ultimately decided that she needed an ally. She needed someone who would, at least quietly, cheer her on. “He’s stated that he wishes to marry me. And I have taken it under consideration.”

“Rubbish. Say yes,” Mrs. Whitlow said, her eyes alight with glee. “Immediately. We’ll announce your betrothal here, have the banns read on Sunday. Better yet, you all can head for Gretna Green and elope. The scandal would make me the hostess of the Season!”

“We hardly know one another!” Charlotte protested.

“You’ve known one another for seven years!”

Charlotte shook her head. “We’ve known of one another for seven years.”

Mrs. Whitlow eyed her skeptically for a moment. “That isn’t what this is about. You’re afraid, Charlotte. Because you did know Arliss Cranford for all those years and still he betrayed you.”

Her immediate discomfort at that statement was an inescapable indication that it was, in fact, true. Charlotte recognized that immediately. She didn’t want to be a coward. She didn’t want to let fear stop her from seizing what could be a good future—a happy life for herself. “I am frightened. I don’t think I could bear another disappointment.”

“Then reach out and grasp this opportunity. You may not feel that you know him well enough, but I know you both. And I know that for seven years I have watched him watch you when he thought no one else was looking. That is a man in love, Charlotte. One cannot blame you for not recognizing it given than Arliss Cranford has been your only basis for comparison.”

It was a rather harsh assessment, but not an unfair one. Arliss had never really loved her. That was becoming more apparent all the time. She’d simply met the criteria that he’d identified as desirable in a wife, namely that she was manageable. He’d hardly found that with Georgianna. Perhaps he hadn’t really known what he wanted at all. She certainly had not. Life with Arliss would have been very much like life with her uncle—lonely and laborious.

Having spent the entirety of her life being the proper young lady everyone expected her to be had certainly not yet yielded the rewards that it ought to have. The entirety of her youthful years—her marriageable years—had been wasted on a man who’d elected to marry another. Maybe it was time to stop playing the game by the rules when everyone else was so content to ignore them.

For just a moment, Charlotte allowed herself to imagine what married life with the Marquess would be like. The truth of the matter was that she could not imagine it. Not because she didn’t want to or because it was out of her reach, but because Charlotte had never, in all of her life, anticipated that she would have a marriage with someone whom she had such a passionate response to. She certainly hadn’t imagined that she would marry a man who seemed as devoted to her as the Marquess professed to be. Seven years of simply waiting and hoping that an opportunity would com. It boggled the mind.

Imagining such a life was impossible, but if she were brave enough, Charlotte thought, she might just live it. Throwing caution to the wind, she met Mrs. Whitlow’s speculative gaze, and with much more decisiveness than such an impulsive decision would typically provoke, Charlotte said, “I’d need to speak with him. Privately, of course. But I do not think we will elope. But we can marry either by special license or common license and make that happen very quickly.”

Mrs. Whitlow sat back, all but crowing with delight. “Wait here. I shall see that he comes to you. The garden should offer enough privacy without being so private that scandal might ensue. Though, in all honesty, a bit of scandal would be very good for me.”

Charlotte didn’t voice her agreement on the subject, but she thought perhaps a bit of scandal might be just the ticket for all of them.