Chapter 9

Swift intakes of breath rippled through the audience on the other balcony, followed by the hum of whispered chatter. Mrs. Mandeville and her daughters covered their mouths with hands.

“Your ... affianced wife?” Aunt Eugenia repeated in a colorless voice.

Anthony gave a nod, switched the diary to his left hand, and reached for Charlotte’s with his right. Hers felt limp and clammy as she stared at him absently, as though she was only half-present. “Miss Charlotte Mandeville has done me the honor of agreeing to marry me.” Never had he felt so near to retching as a result of mere speech.

His aunt let out a strange, breathy laugh. “Well! This is beyond anything!” She turned to those behind her. “Did you hear? My nephew is engaged to be married!”

A few people congratulated her as Charlotte’s nails dug into Anthony’s hand. He squeezed back, and she stopped. The dream-like look on her face had been replaced by flared nostrils and an intensity that, quite frankly, frightened him.

But what else could he have done? The situation and position in which they had been found ... the girl would have been ruined, not to mention that Aunt Eugenia would have disowned him. Had she not said she would countenance no more scandal amongst his brothers?

“I thought those two smelled of April and May,” exclaimed a man jovially.

Good heavens.

Charlotte’s nails dug more deeply into Anthony’s hand until he was certain they would draw blood. The ungrateful vixen. If she had only given him the diary as she had promised, they would not be in this situation.

Anthony smiled at their audience. “Charlotte smells a great deal better than April or May, I assure you.”

“Anthony, dearest,” Charlotte said, her mouth arranged in the least convincing smile Anthony had ever seen, “may I speak with you in private for a moment?”

“Of course,” Aunt Eugenia said before Anthony could protest. She positively glowed. “Come, everyone. Let us leave the lovers in peace.”

Another wave of nausea crashed in Anthony’s stomach as the crowd turned away, a few of them shooting knowing smiles at Charlotte and him.

“Not too terribly long now,” Aunt Eugenia said with a little wink. “But make good use of the time.” Before either of them could answer, she pulled the door closed behind her.

The latch click was deafening.

“Are you mad?” Charlotte seethed, wrenching her hand from his.

“I have been asking myself the same question for the past two minutes.”

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

Anthony clenched his free fist. Did she not realize what an enormous favor he had done her? Or how heartily he wished he could go back in time and redo the past hour? Nay, the past year. “I was thinking,” he said harshly, “that I needed to save your reputation. Would you prefer I had allowed it to be ruined?”

“Yes!”

Anthony’s jaw hardened. “Very well.” He turned toward the doors, but Charlotte grabbed his wrist.

Reluctantly, he faced her.

She clamped her mouth and eyes shut, as though she was trying to summon patience. “I did not mean that. But ... why, oh, why did you insist we meet here? Surely there was a better place—without an audience so near.”

“Perhaps I would have had I known you would be so insufferably impossible! I thought we would be here for two minutes at most. I was not planning for a lengthy tête-à-tête.” He spat the last words.

“Nor I for an engagement!”

He scoffed. “And you think I was? You think I am pleased about this?”

“You were the one who orchestrated it, so I certainly hope so! That would make one of us at least.”

He began pacing, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Believe me, Miss Mandeville, marriage is the very last thing on my mind—to say nothing of marriage to you.”

“A sentiment entirely reciprocated by me, I assure you,” she said hotly.

He shot her a darkling look but continued his pacing. Of all the disastrous things to happen ...

“What’s done is done,” he said. “We have no choice but to make the best of it now.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Make the best of ... you mean we must marry in earnest?”

“Of course not,” he said with annoyance. Confound his sense of honor!

Men like you are everything that is wrong with this world. Nothing matters but your own selfish desires. Those words had stung, for were they not true? It was Anthony’s selfishness, after all, that had led him to abandon Silas that night.

And the revelation that Charlotte’s family was left with nothing, desperate for invitations? Sympathy had weaseled its way into his heart—a sympathy she clearly did not appreciate or deserve. It was the deuce of a situation.

“What, then?” she said. “We are to simply be engaged forever?”

“Would you care to help come up with a solution? Or do you prefer to point out—quite needlessly, I assure you—just how wretched all of this is?”

Her lips pressed together in a line, but she remained quiet. For a brief, heavenly moment, at least. “Can we not put an end to the engagement?”

“And have you labeled a jilt? A woman of unstable character and changing affections?” He let out a laugh and put out a hand, inviting her to go inside. “Be my guest.”

She chewed her lip silently, apparently not fond of that option. Neither, in truth, was he. He would look a fool if she cried off immediately after he announced their engagement. It was the sort of scandal he had been trying to avoid in the first place when he had uttered those silly words.

He hit the diary against his palm, frowning. “We must bide our time.”

“Bide our time?”

He gripped the diary firmly and met her gaze. “Yes. We carry on with the engagement for a few weeks, then quietly end things, claiming we have discovered we do not suit.”

She scoffed lightly. “I discovered as much within a few seconds of meeting you.”

He offered her a disingenuous smile. “Then you will have a few weeks to solidify the opinion.” He set to pacing. “It will elicit some talk—that is inevitable—but less than if we ended it sooner.” He glanced at her, and his tone turned dry. “No doubt you will manage to find some titillating piece of gossip to turn into a caricature, drawing everyone’s attention away.”

Charlotte blinked. “You mean to say you think we should carry on with the engagement for a few weeks?” She said the word as though it was synonymous with eternity.

“Shall I simply repeat everything I say? Or do you prefer to do it for me?”

“Forgive me,” she said with nothing like the penance he thought the situation merited, “but I am still trying to grasp this ... this ... nightmare.”

“Whilst I am flitting around like a contented butterfly in paradise?” He shook his head and resumed his pacing, his mind inspecting the circumstances he found himself in to determine the best path forward. There was no best path, though; there was only the least terrible one—the one that did both of them the least damage.

No matter how he looked at things, though, he came back to a prospect that made him want to throw the diary at the closest window. He released a resigned breath through his nose. “If we are to be engaged, we must act the part.”

Charlotte shook her head immediately. “No, no, no. This”—she gestured between them—“is most certainly a marriage of convenience. People in such marriages often cordially dislike one another.”

He stopped short. “Forgive me for speaking frankly, but, pray tell what convenience there would be for me in such a match?”

She swallowed, and he felt a sliver of regret for offering the insult to her pride, but he could tell his comment had hit home. If protecting their reputations was their aim, they needed to make this a credible engagement, and that meant—he could barely stand to think the words—a love match, for Charlotte Mandeville had neither money nor connections to make anything else reasonable.

“Miss Mandeville,” he reasoned, “you wish for your sisters to make smart matches, correct?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. Without wishing to sound arrogant, our being engaged may serve them well in that regard.”

She laughed caustically. “By which you mean to say that a connection with someone as lofty as you will elevate us to a level more acceptable to Society?”

“Is that not the reason you insisted on my helping you obtain an invitation tonight?”

She met his gaze, her gloved hand fiddling with the fabric on her skirts. Somewhere inside—somewhere deep, deep inside—he felt a sliver of sympathy for her. This was the last thing either of them wanted, and yet here they were.

“Very well,” she finally said. “We pretend to be well and truly engaged, and whatever that entails”—she nearly shuddered—“but only until I can find some piece of gossip to overshadow the talk that will result from ending the engagement.” Her eyes grew suddenly wide. “What am I to tell my family?” She looked to him, as though he had the answer.

He lifted his shoulders. “Whatever you must to guard the secret.” Anthony himself would have a great deal of explaining to do. A great deal. But that was a problem for him to address in the future. Albeit the very near future.

“But ... but I cannot lie to them!”

“Are you not already? I gather they have no notion of your arrangement with Digby.”

Charlotte stared at him, unmitigated dislike in her eyes. “Must you always be so ... so?—”

“Correct?”

“Intolerable,” she spat.

“Let us hope you can find a way to tolerate me, or we will have much explaining to do—and your sisters may kiss their chances with anyone in attendance tonight goodbye.”

She clenched her eyes shut.

Strange how he felt the same frustration and reluctance as she did to play the part required of him, yet seeing her struggle piqued his pride. He had never been hated so passionately.

“The longer we remain here, the more ...” He faltered, but the way her cheeks tinged with pink told him she understood. The longer they stayed alone on the balcony, the more people would assume ... things.

It seemed impossible anyone could assume the two of them to be doing anything of a romantic nature on this balcony. Charlotte was infinitely more likely to claw his eyes out than press her lips to his. And yet, they would have to give the impression of two young people in love.

This was not the distraction Anthony needed now that he finally had the diary in hand.

“Shall we go in?” he suggested.

She nodded and came up beside him, searching his face for a moment with an unreadable expression.

He offered her his arm, and with a large intake of breath Anthony might have expected from someone about to walk off a cliff, she accepted it.