Chapter 8

The ride to Mrs. Whitlow’s estate on the outskirts of Blackpool had been an eye opening experience for Charlotte. Ethan had touched her constantly. Not inappropriately, of course. Well, not always inappropriately. But his shoulder had brushed hers, his powerful thighs had brushed against her, as well. He’d often held her hand, his thumb tracing delicate circles over her skin in a way that had made her shiver. And then there had been the kiss he’d pressed into her palm. How could such a simple gesture produce such a complex response? Her whole body had suffused with warmth. If such a chaste gesture could have that result, what might more carnal activities do to her? For someone who had only ever been proper and well behaved, she was certainly eager enough to try out impropriety for a change.

Now, as they disembarked from the carriage, and were greeted by their hostess, Charlotte found herself blushing beneath Mrs. Whitlow’s speculative gaze. She busied herself with straightening her skirts, which, in truth, were not all that rumpled. The coach had been very spacious. So spacious, in fact, that they hadn’t necessarily had to sit so close to one another. But she’d made no move to put distance between them and neither had he.

“I declare, Charlotte, traveling even such a short distance leaves me pale, wan, and quite exhausted,” Mrs. Whitlow proclaimed. “But you appear fresh as a daisy and quite… invigorated. Or perhaps it was the company that is responsible for the roses in your cheeks, my dear.”

“It was an easy journey and the Marquess’ carriage is very well appointed. I could not have asked for better,” Charlotte replied, hoping to deflect the other woman’s curiosity.

“Ah, well, you must come in and refresh yourselves. Your rooms have been prepared and you will find all you need to tidy up. Then a small repast has been laid in the dining room…a buffet, as arrivals cannot be timed so closely for a seated meal,” Mrs. Whitlow said as she linked her arm with Charlotte’s. “I’ll show you to your room myself. Hartman will show his lordship and Mrs. Cavender to their chambers.”

Charlotte would have groaned had it not been impossibly rude to do so. It wasn’t hospitably which prompted Mrs. Whitlow’s offer. It was her love of good gossip. Arriving as she did in the company of the Marquess and his sister would raise curiosity and many, many questions. She wouldn’t have minded sharing details with Mrs. Whitlow had she fully comprehended them herself. He had all but proposed, after all. There was an understanding between them that such a possibility lay ahead. Of course, if the debacle with Arliss had taught her anything it was that one should not count one’s chickens before they hatched.

“What an interesting turn of events, Charlotte,” Mrs. Whitlow said as they climbed the stairs. “The Marquess seems quite taken with you. He avoids society at all cost and parties such as this have always been beneath his condescension. Whatever have you done to the man?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’ve done nothing. Nothing other than be myself. I cannot— It’s all terribly confusing.”

Mrs. Whitlow let out a sigh as she patted Charlotte’s arm sympathetically. “I do tease you terribly, dear, but I am quite pleased to see the Marquess’ pointed interest in you. It’s high time a gentleman paid the sort of attention to you that you deserve. And on that note, I must tell you that Mr. And Mrs. Cranford will be here. Mrs. Barrington announced this party to everyone at that fateful soiree she hosted last week, not thinking that to make that announcement and then not having an invitation issued to them would be viewed as a cut. Naturally, I find his behavior toward you beyond reprehensible, and she is barely tolerable at best. I still could not deal such a slight to them. Society here is quite small and despite their behavior, I could not be so unkind as to mark them outcasts.”

“Of course, you could not. I’m coming to understand that, while his methods were less than ideal, Mr. Cranford’s actions have actually been a blessing in disguise,” Charlotte admitted. “In truth, I would rather not be married at all than married to a man who loved another… or who simply could not love me.”

“Then you are not heartbroken?”

Charlotte shook her head. “Not in the least. My pride has been bruised a bit and the whole of it was a bit embarrassing, but that is not insurmountable.”

Mrs. Whitlow smiled with satisfaction. “Excellent. I’ve broken with tradition a bit. While etiquette demands certain things from me, matchmaking supersedes all of that. You’ll be seated by the Marquess at every meal. And there will be several opportunities for the two of you to steal away for a few private moments together.”

“That is most improper, Mrs. Whitlow!”

The older woman grinned mischievously. “Oh, I certainly hope so. If a mere miss, and one who is a spinster no less, can get herself ever so slightly compromised and wed to a Marquess at one of my parties… I would be the toast not only of Blackpool’s society but of the Ton in its entirety!”

It was shocking and calculated beyond belief. But Charlotte could not help but laugh. “You are a very wicked woman, Mrs. Whitlow.”

“Do you mind?”

“No,” Charlotte said. “I think I might enjoy a bit of wickedness myself from time to time. After all, being good hasn’t gotten me very far, has it?”

Mrs. Whitlow eyed her speculatively for a moment. “I’m not certain about that, my dear. I have the sneaking suspicion that you are precisely where you are supposed to be.”

After washing the dust of the road from his person and dressing in clean clothing, Ethan felt marginally more fit for company. But as he descended the stairs to the dining room, he realized that the company he desired was absent and in her place was something altogether different. Mr. And Mrs. Cranford had arrived, it seemed. And, as always, Mrs. Cranford was making a spectacle of herself.

“It’s in terribly poor taste for her to be in attendance,” Mrs. Cranford said, not bothering in the least to lower her voice despite knowing that the woman of whom she spoke so poorly had been his traveling companion.

One of the ladies who was being regaled with one of Mrs. Cranford’s myriad opinions cleared her throat loudly—an urge to caution that her words were being overheard by someone they ought not to be. But the newly married harridan continued on, oblivious to any warnings.

“Dear heavens, it’s not as if she has any prospects!” Mrs. Cranford laughed. “She’s nearing thirty, you know!”

“Nearing thirty is not thirty. Nor is your assessment accurate,” Ethan corrected her quietly.

Mrs. Cranford turned to him, outwardly confident, but there was uncertainty in her gaze. The smile pasted on her lips was far too bright and patently false. “My lord! I wasn’t aware you had arrived yet.”

“Weren’t you?” As he was fairly certain the woman she had been speaking of was his traveling companion, he found such ignorance highly unlikely. But if she wished to play that game, it was not up to him to stop her. It was clear to him that she had not anticipated he would be so bold as to defend Miss Mulberry openly. And, indeed, he was cautious. Charlotte had not yet agreed to marry him and what he said could have ramifications should she elect not to. “Mrs. Cranford, there are women in this world who will be beautiful at any age.”

“Are you so well acquainted with Miss Mulberry, my lord, that you observe her birth date?”

“Not so well acquainted, but I do know she was a young lady just out when I arrived in Ambleside and I’m perfectly capable of recalling the date of that very clearly… And should there be any question about whether or not Miss Mulberry’s age is of any significance, I will only say that I can think of any number of women who possess such beauty that not even time can mar it. Miss Mulberry, for instance, is one of them. While the symmetry of her features would be enviable to any lady, I would imagine, it is the light of her inner beauty—based in her kind nature— which sets her apart.”

Mrs. Cranford’s smile tightened perceptibly. “You are full of pretty compliments, my lord. I daresay Miss Mulberry is quite appreciative of that. The poor thing.”

At that, Ethan laughed outright. “The poor thing? I hardly think so. I would hazard to guess, Mrs. Cranford, that Miss Mulberry has an enviable future before her, as well.”

Mrs. Cranford stiffened as her smile transformed into an expression of suspicion and no small amount of dismay. “You seem very certain of that, my lord.”

Knowing that his reply could either fuel or snuff out gossip, Ethan considered his response carefully. In the end, he elected to be completely honest. “Hopeful, Mrs. Cranford. Hopeful,” he replied smoothly.

At that moment, Regina approached him, linking her arm with his. “My goodness, brother, you rarely speak more than a handful of words, but when you do, you certainly make them count. Now, I’m famished… let us see what sort of tempting morsels Mrs. Whitlow has prepared for us, shall we? Something skewered, perhaps. Or should I say, something else that has been skewered?”

There were a handful of tittering laughs camouflaged behind fans as Regina smiled triumphantly and Mrs. Cranford gaped like a landed fish. The doors opened then, and conversation halted entirely as the subject of conversation walked in. Ethan turned in her direction, letting his gaze travel over her. He made no attempt to hide his appreciation. He wanted it well noted by everyone. If they wished to gossip about Charlotte, it ought to at least be truthful and not whatever manufactured narrative Mrs. Cranford chose to put forth. They could speculate about a wedding, betrothal, courtship, or aught else between them as long as they liked and so long as they said nothing inappropriate about her within his earshot. He was not inclined to allow such slights to go unchecked. Very few people had ever stood for Charlotte because there had been, prior to Cranford jilting her, no need. But he would stand for her. Always.

“Miss Mulberry, you look quite lovely. May I get you something to drink? There is lemonade or tea if you prefer,” he offered.

“Lemonade would be lovely, my lord. Thank you,” she replied. On the surface, it was a perfectly polite exchange. But the blush that stained her cheeks was quite telling, both to him and to the nosey nellies that were present.

Leaving her in Regina’s capable hands, he went to fetch her libation. There was little doubt that if Mrs. Cranford chose to attack, she’d be met barb for barb by someone who didn’t mind drawing blood.