CHAPTER ELEVEN

Following dinner, after the ladies and gentlemen had separated for a brief time, they came back together for cards. Much to the joy of everyone present, Colin, Elizabeth, Lord Preston, and Lady Wentworth found themselves at a table for Whist.

The rest of the room around them was lively. Several groups were raucous in their celebrations with every trick that was won. Colin could feel his shoulders relax as Elizabeth settled beside him, and Lady Wentworth sat opposite.

Colin was rather amused to observe the tension in Lord Preston’s manner around his cousin. Elizabeth was harder to read, but Colin thought that she might care for Lord Preston more than she was letting on.

I cannot judge Preston for his manners. I can hardly keep my eyes off my playing partner, either.

It was a joy to be seated in relative privacy opposite Lady Wentworth. He was afforded plenty of time to take in her beautiful features, the light speckling of freckles over her nose, and her long, luscious eyelashes.

Colin felt as though he had been staring at papers and piles of documents for so long that he had forgotten the beauty in the world. It seemed, much to his surprise and joy, that he had found a great deal of it in Lady Wentworth.

As Charlotte observed her hand, she was aware of the duke’s eyes upon her and attempted to prevent the easy blush that his presence always triggered in her.

“I have quite forgotten what trumps are again,” Malcolm said, looking genuinely embarrassed. Charlotte huffed a laugh and received a glare from him—Malcolm was terrible at cards.

“Hearts,” she said helpfully, and Malcom’s shoulders lowered just a fraction.

Perhaps he should look at his playing partner to remind him, Charlotte thought with amusement. ‘Hearts’ are certainly in play at this table already.

For her own part, Charlotte was enjoying the game immensely. She was finally free of Kilby and could look at the duke all she liked without it being remarked upon. He did not speak a great deal, concentrating on the game and did not seem to be overly competitive.

“Are you fond of Whist, Lady Wentworth?” he asked eventually as Malcolm sighed loudly when he had only a very low card to play. Charlotte and the Duke were winning by a rather enormous degree.

“I do not usually win,” Charlotte confessed, “but today, I am enjoying it a great deal,” she said with a wide smile. When she looked up at him, the expression on his face was quite different from any she had seen thus far. He was almost grinning in delight, his white teeth flashing, eyes crinkling pleasingly. It was unguarded and happy, nothing like the polite mask he wore so often in public.

Charlotte’s heart began pounding in her chest at the sight, their eyes meeting in shared secret pleasure as they won the next trick.

Elizabeth laughed good-naturedly as Malcolm apologized profusely for being ‘utterly useless’ at the end of the game. The room was quietly clearing as the hour was late, and Charlotte found herself laughing heartily with Elizabeth at her cousin’s dejected expression.

They all rose together, making their way out of the room, at which point the duke offered his arm to Elizabeth. He gave Charlotte a rather brief farewell, but she fancied that his eyes lingered longer than was usual.

She wished they could somehow meet in the gardens again. It seemed that many secrets could be revealed by moonlight.

A few minutes later, she met her father in the entryway, his cloak about his shoulders, his eyes glassy. They climbed into their carriage and left.

Despite the time Charlotte had spent with Lord Kilby, which had seemed to drag on for hours and hours, she had had a wonderful evening. A few games of cards had lifted her spirits beyond measure, and she was now quite certain that any illusions she had had about her feelings for the duke were rather foolish. She liked him a great deal. It seemed strange to find such pleasure in his company when they had spent so little time together, but it was no longer something she could deny.

As her father’s snores filled the carriage, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, replaying every interaction with the duke in her mind.

At the same time, as Charlotte’s carriage was pulling away, Colin sat in his own, his mother asleep opposite him, while he was thinking of Lady Wentworth. His mind was filled with the gentle softness in her face as she played cards opposite him, the glances they had exchanged all through the evening, and the kindness at the back of her gaze.

But duty and obligation were ready to smother the small spark of joy he found in her presence. His jaw clenched as he considered the revelations he had discussed with Edward. He did not know what the future would hold, but any future with Lady Wentworth was dwindling in the face of his investigations and how the marquess may be tied to his father’s dealings.

***

The following morning, Charlotte was summoned early to her father’s study.

As she entered the room, she found him standing opposite the fire, watching the flames leap up the chimney. She could tell from his reddened and heavy-lidded eyes that he had over-imbibed the night before. His skin had a grayish parlor to it, and as she came to stand beside him, she was unsure if he had heard her enter the room.

“Papa?”

He jolted, turning to face her.

“How was the ball last night?” he asked.

For a wonderful moment, she thought he might genuinely care how she had found it. She considered telling him of the connection she felt for the duke and her excitement as they had played cards—perhaps even that she might have found an alternative match to Lord Kilby…

But that would be madness.

“It was a diverting evening,” she hedged carefully.

“Did Kilby ask you to dance?”

Her heart sank. “He did.”

“And did he speak to you of his intentions? Was there anything more discussed between you?” The marquess ran his hands through his hair, looking more unhinged as each minute passed.

“Not as such, no,” Charlotte said carefully, watching him with a growing worry in her chest.

“You know of the importance of a suitable match,” her father continued.

“I do.”

“And you know that Kilby is an excellent option for you. It is more than I could have hoped for so soon after we had returned to London. You have done very well to keep his interest.”

Charlotte tensed, knowing that there was an insult mixed into her father’s words somewhere but unable to pinpoint it.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said coldly.

“He is a very wealthy and well-connected member of society. You would want for nothing. We would—” he stopped, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “I hope you know that if he were to approach me, I would have no objection.”

Charlotte’s fingers began plucking incessantly at the edge of her dress, the room feeling darker and more threatening all of a sudden, the walls closing in around her. Not a month out in society, and her father was already intending to marry her off to the first man who came calling. Why the urgency? Why could she not be given the time that all other women were granted? It was not her fault that she had had to miss the previous seasons to care for her mother—she had had no alternative.

“Papa, I barely know the man.”

“Know him? You have spoken to him on many occasions.”

“And I was not overly sure that I would wish to marry him.”

The marquess stopped, spinning around to face her. “On what grounds? What is wrong with him?”

Charlotte paused, choosing her words delicately. Her father was volatile at the best of times, and she did not wish for the vein in his head to explode, but she could not allow him to run away with this without voicing her reservations.

“Papa, I am not ready to find a match yet. I have barely been in town for a month. I know that you like Lord Kilby for me, but I must be given time to get to know him.”

“He is an excellent fellow; I know him, that is all that need concern you.” Charlotte opened her mouth, but he interrupted her before she could voice another objection. “You are young, and you do not understand the way of things between a man and a woman. You have no notion of the unsuitable men who mingle about society and prey on young women such as yourself who are still learning the intricacies of it all. You would be wise to consider Kilby seriously. You have no idea what it is like to be destitute, to be burdened with debts, and unable to adequately provide for yourself.”

Charlotte frowned. What on earth is he talking about?

“I do not understand, Papa.”

“You will consider his proposal. Is that clear?” his voice rang out against the books all around the room, echoing inside the walls like a thunderclap. Charlotte wanted to protest that no proposal had even been spoken of, but she knew it was futile.

“As you wish, Papa.”

“Good. Now, leave me in peace. I have much business to take care of, and I have already wasted too much time this morning.”

As she left the room, Charlotte’s spirits lowered with every step. She had to find a way out of this situation; there must be a way. Once more, her mind moved to the duke, and whether she might dare to hope that he had designs upon her. Surely, her father would find the prospect of a duke in their family preferable to an earl.

Why is Papa so certain that Kilby is a good man? Why is he the only person I am permitted to consider?

The same unease rolled through her chest as she thought of Kilby and her father’s final words to her. Why would he speak of being destitute? What was he so frightened of?

She stopped in the corridor, looking back at the study door. That was what was different about her father of late. He was frightened. She had not recognized the emotion until now, but that was certainly how he had acted.

The question she could not answer was why , and she went up to her room, the feeling of unease growing with every step.

***

Later that day, Charlotte was standing on the box in a fitting room.

The modiste was kneeling at her feet, pinning the hem of her dress. It was a beautiful new silk gown, dark green with a golden lace. It was by far her favorite dress of the season so far.

This was a part of her life in London that she was getting used to. It was pleasant to be dressed in such finery after so many years in plain dresses to ensure she could care for her mother without spoiling her finer gowns.

Sarah was walking idly about the shelves, picking out fabrics that might complement it, and they were chatting happily together as the modiste interjected with the current fashions of the season—of which Charlotte knew next to nothing.

While the modiste continued, Charlotte was distracted by voices from the adjoining room. As Sarah heard them too, she paused in their discussion, and Charlotte strained to hear. It sounded like a very urgent conversation and one that perhaps was private—but the walls between the rooms were thin, and Charlotte could not help but hear.

The voice was undoubtedly that of Lady Norwell.

“… it is imperative, my dear.”

“I know, Mama. You have told me a thousand times, and I am doing my best.”

“Your best is not good enough. The duke will not just fall into your arms; he is known for his austere ways. You must force his hand.”

Charlotte stiffened as she stared at her reflection. She pretended not to be listening to every word, but upon hearing the duke’s name, her breath came more quickly, her fingers flexing before her as her anger grew at Lady Norwell’s clinical assessment.

“ If you must, use every trick in the book, I shall teach you—”

But any further eavesdropping was cut short by the bell above the door jangling loudly and admitting a new group of women.

Charlotte was shocked to see Lady Ludlow enter, followed by Lady Elizabeth and the duke’s mother. Lady Elizabeth gave her a friendly smile as she nodded to her, and Charlotte attempted to return it, hoping that her presence would not be loudly spoken of and alert the Norwells that she might have overheard their discussion.

Charlotte was brought up short when she looked into the mirror to find the dowager duchess watching her keenly, her calculating gaze running over Charlotte’s figure and back again. Charlotte stood up a little taller, hoping that whatever Colin’s mother saw in her was not simply fresh meat for the hounds of society to rip to pieces.

The modiste went to greet the three women, and Charlotte turned back to the mirror as Sarah approached her.

“Is that the duke’s mother?” Sarah asked.

“I believe so,” Charlotte said softly. “Why do you ask?”

Sarah handed her some lace to hold against her new dress, and Charlotte did so, watching her friend as a small smile flitted across her face.

“I have no reason other than that she seemed to know you. You have been introduced?”

“We have not.”

“As I thought.” But Sarah said no more, and the modiste returned to see to the last of Charlotte’s alterations.