Chapter 15

Charlotte counted the money in her box a third time. It was a respectable amount, but not nearly as much as she would like it to be. Would it ever be enough?

Her mind had explored every possible scenario of the future, from her exposure and ruination to Lillian and Tabitha making matches. In the first event, this money would certainly help, but only for a short time. Charlotte would have to find another way to make a living.

In the event that Lillian and Tabitha both wed, the money would ensure Mama could live comfortably on some of it, in addition to whatever Tabitha’s and Lillian’s husbands could spare.

And if Lillian and Tabitha wed well, Charlotte’s sisters and Mama would be completely taken care of, and Charlotte could use her saved money to start some new endeavor of her own.

Ironically enough, as an engaged woman, marriage for herself felt like a distant and unlikely option. Who would want her after she had been discarded by Anthony Yorke? Perhaps someone, but would Charlotte want him?

“Charlotte!” Lillian’s voice called from downstairs.

Charlotte hurried to conceal the box under the loose floorboard, then went to open her door and peer down the stairs.

Lillian held a letter. “This just came for you. Private messenger.” She cocked a brow.

Charlotte’s stomach tumbled and turned as she went down the stairs. Anthony had written her again? The last letter had only been sent because he had assured her he would give her information for the caricature. What reason could he possibly have for writing a few days later?

“The best part about the amount of post you are receiving,” Lillian said, “is that Mama has stopped worrying quite so much over the letter.”

Charlotte retrieved the letter, and Lillian went back to her book on the parlor sofa. Charlotte rather thought Mama’s lessening fear of the dreaded letter was centered in the fact that she believed her second daughter to be on the verge of marrying a gentleman. How little did she know.

Charlotte broke the seal and unfurled the paper, then frowned. It was not from Anthony; it was from his aunt.

Her eyes raced curiously over the fine script.

Tabitha’s head peeked around the doorway from the dining room, and her gaze went straight to the letter. “What is it?” she asked, coming over to look over Charlotte’s shoulder.

Charlotte shifted to prevent her from seeing the letter, and Tabitha went still.

“Ah,” she said, the warmth in her manner all but disappeared. “Another secret letter from Anthony, is it?” She walked toward the sofa and took a seat next to Lillian.

Charlotte shut her eyes. The distance between her and her sisters grew ever wider. The entire purpose to everything she was doing was to protect them, and yet somehow, their friendship was suffering more than ever.

“Here.” Charlotte took a seat beside Tabitha and handed her the letter. “It is from Anthony’s aunt.”

Tabitha searched Charlotte’s face, then took the paper. Her gaze flew over the lines, and her eyebrows crept up.

“What, all of us?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Mama!” Tabitha called. “We are to go to London again!”

Charlotte snatched the letter right back. “That is why I keep secrets,” she hissed, “for you certainly cannot.”

“May I see?” Lillian asked.

Charlotte reluctantly handed her the letter.

“Why should I not tell Mama?” Tabitha asked. “She must pack just as the rest of us must.”

“Because I am not at all certain we should accept,” Charlotte said.

“Why ever not?” Tabitha asked.

Charlotte had no ready response for this, for she could not say the truth: she hardly thought Anthony would appreciate having to devote more time to keeping up the appearance of their engagement—and Charlotte agreed with him. Mostly, at least.

“I see no reason not to accept, either,” Lillian said, handing the letter back. “It is a very generous offer, and naturally, you must wish to spend more time with Anthony.”

“Naturally,” Charlotte said in what was surely the least natural voice she had ever used. She had enjoyed being in London, though, despite the chaos of everything that had happened. If it had not been for the stress of the caricature, she might have even been a bit sad to come home.

But the more time she and Anthony were required to spend amongst their families and the ton, pretending to be in love, the more likely they were to make an error—or strangle one another.

Mr. Digby had not been wrong when he had said a tongue can slip, and such a slip from Charlotte or Anthony would have grave consequences.

“But what an imposition we would be,” Charlotte said, grasping for an excuse.

“If that were so,” Tabitha said, “why would she have made the offer in the first place? Come, Charlotte.” She grasped her sister’s hands. “Do not deprive us of a month in London over such a qualm.”

“What qualm?” Mama asked from the doorway.

“Charlotte wants to turn down a perfectly kind and warm letter from Mrs. Ashby inviting us all to stay with her for a few weeks, because the girl worries about imposing.”

Mama’s brows went up, and Charlotte sighed before handing her the letter to read for herself. So much for private correspondence.

“Kind and warm indeed.” Mama said as she reached the end. Her brow furrowed as she looked at Charlotte. “Do you not wish to go?”

“It is not that,” Charlotte lied, “but it seems such a long time for her to feed and house us. And what if important post were to come while we were away?”

Mama smiled. “Oh, Charlotte. Of course we will have any important letters sent on to London. As for the length of the stay, I cannot think she would have offered if she felt it would be a burden. She does not seem the type of woman to put herself in a position she would dislike.”

Charlotte could not argue with that. Nor could she argue at all unless she wished to cast suspicion upon her feelings for Anthony. What woman in love would not jump at the opportunity to spend time nearer her beloved?

Besides, to decline would be an act of selfishness. Her sisters clearly desired to go, and it was the perfect opportunity for them to pursue the acquaintances they had made at the party—and develop other promising ones.

Charlotte forced a smile. “Very well, then. I shall respond favorably.”

Tabitha stood. “That is well, for I would have taken you forcibly if you intended to refuse. Though, why you would need persuading to accept an invitation that will bring you and your dear Anthony nearer, I cannot fathom.”

No. She could not fathom, nor could Charlotte tell her.

Loaded with an alarming number of valises and portmanteaux, the Mandeville carriage rolled to a stop in front of The Crown and Castle.

“Must we truly stop here?” Lillian asked.

“Perhaps,” Tabitha said with a glint of mischief in her eye, “Anthony has been so long away from his beloved that he intends to travel to London with us.”

“I trust not,” Lillian said, “for we are cramped enough as it is.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Charlotte said testily, pulling the hem of her skirt from under Tabitha’s foot as she worked her way toward the door.

“It is not ridiculous, though,” Tabitha insisted. “Did you not say he came to the house because he could not help himself after too long away from you?”

Charlotte’s hand paused on the door handle. She was feeling irritable today, but she needed to compose herself. “I only meant it would be ridiculous of him when we shall be in London later today.”

“Then why stop here at all?” Lillian asked again.

She and Tabitha were both eager to be in London again. Heaven help Charlotte if everything went awry and she had given her sisters a taste for London, only for it to be snatched away from them when their family name was dragged in the mud.

Charlotte thrust her pride all the way down to the soles of her half-boots. “I am expecting a letter from him, if you must know.”

Tabitha covered a laugh with a hand.

“Ridiculous for him to come,” Lillian said with a cocked brow, “but not ridiculous for him to send a letter when you shall see one another in two hours?”

Mama smiled indulgently. “Go on, Charlotte.”

Nostrils flared, Charlotte opened the door and stepped down. She would have not a shred of dignity left when all of this ended.

Mr. Digby was just inside, conferring with a manservant, and his brows went up at the sight of Charlotte. He dismissed the servant and smiled at her, inviting her to his small office. How she hated that false smile.

“What can I do for you, Miss Mandeville?” he asked.

“Nothing at all,” she said. “I only wished to inform you that I shall be in London for the next few weeks.”

“London . . .”

She nodded.

“And what of our agreement?”

The caricature of Sir George had generated a great deal of talk as well as an increase in custom for the inn. One piece of gossip inevitably generated more, and people were eager not only to discuss it accompanied by food and drink, but to see if they could garner more information from fellow guests.

“I shall send them by post,” Charlotte said, keeping her chin up. She might not think much of Anthony, but others apparently did, and a woman engaged to him should hold her head high.

Mr. Digby frowned. “And how am I to be certain I shall receive them?”

The last thread of Charlotte’s threadbare patience snapped with a twang. “Because I am giving you my word that you shall.”

The man stared blankly at her.

Through her gloves, Charlotte’s nails pressed into her palms, giving her a bit of sympathy for Anthony. “Would you prefer I send Anthony to provide his word? He will do it, but I cannot vouch for the pleasantness of the visit.”

“No, no, no,” Mr. Digby said hurriedly. “That will not be necessary. Enjoy your time in London, Miss Mandeville.”

“You can be sure I will.” She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned on her heel and left.