A Properly Conducted Sham (Most Imprudent Matches #5)

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

84 brOOK STREET, LONDON - JUNE 9, 1816

LEE

“Yes,” Lady Charlotte—or Lady James, more accurately—nodded, bronze curls brushing the pale column of her throat with the movement.

She perched primly across from me in the same sitting room where I made my offer a few days ago. This time, she wore a fetching butter-yellow dress that did less to conceal her belly. I, too, made no efforts to conceal my scars. That choice left me peevish, uneasy.

“Yes?” I reiterated, demanding confirmation.

Her response was entirely predictable. I had all but expected it when I gave full consideration to her situation during each sleepless night since her attempted seduction. She had been desperate, truly desperate, to come to me. And to forge ahead when she had gazed upon my scars… She would not change her mind.

Still, I appreciated that she had taken the time I offered. She may have found herself in such lamentable circumstances, but she had considered this solution carefully. I would not complain about a sensible wife.

“Yes, I would like to marry you. We should marry. If you are still amenable to it, that is.” She picked at her fingernails warily in a discomfited display that I suspected was uncommon for her.

I nodded. My education hadn’t addressed this situation, and I hadn’t the foggiest idea of the protocol for such a moment. And I certainly hadn’t anticipated leaving London a married man. But it seemed I would.

“Very well.” I dipped a hand into my pocket, pulled the ring out from where it was hiding, tucked away for days, and held it aloft on an open palm. “I suppose you’ll be needing this.”

Elegant fingers with feminine nails plucked the band out of my hand but didn’t slip it on. Instead, she eyed the carved gold and diamond cluster thoughtfully. It wasn’t the largest in the collection, but it was the least garish.

“There are others if you prefer something more ornate,” I added.

“No, it’s lovely. I wasn’t expecting…”

“It was my mother’s or grandmother’s possibly.” Speaking mostly to fill the silence, confusion overtaking me when she held the ring back out to me.

“You’re supposed to do the honors,” she explained, one corner of her mouth tipping up in a teasing smile.

I groaned. “Do not tell me you’re one of those.”

“One of those?”

“A romantic.”

A little chuckle escaped her. “I attempted to seduce you on that very settee not three days ago. Hardly the actions of a romantic. It is only that I prefer things to be done properly.”

“And properly involves the entire rigamarole? Do I need to get on one knee as well?”

“The ring will do.” She held her hand out expectantly, and I slipped the jewel onto the appropriate finger. It slid on easily but fit securely. That was good. One less thing to worry over.

“There. That is taken care of. Is your father in town?”

She snatched her hand out of mine, a frown marring her lovely face. “Yes, but it is entirely unnecessary. I am four and twenty and widowed. I hardly require his permission.”

“Lord, you are a child.” I sighed. “ I prefer things done properly as well. His name?”

“I am hardly a child. And you are what? Nine and twenty?” She snapped, still evading.

“Add six. And do not think you can distract me so easily.”

She flicked her gaze to the window, refusing to meet mine. “He is Lord Francis Belleville—St. James Square, Belleville House. But should you find yourself regretting the decision to pay him a visit, you have only yourself to blame.”

“I’ve regretted nearly every decision I have made since I returned to town. Why should this one be any different?”

She rolled her eyes. An irritating habit I would clearly need to accustom myself to.

I handed her the pile of documents from the side table. “Have a look through these and see if they meet with your approval before I show them to your father.”

“You had settlements drawn up?” A divot formed between her brows as her head tipped to the side like a befuddled spaniel.

“I like things done properly as well. Of course I had settlements drawn up.”

“My dowry is… not significant.” Her head tipped down to the parchment clasped in her hand as she avoided my gaze.

“You have a dowry? I had a man look into your late husband. I presumed he lost the lot of it at the gaming tables.”

“You—Why would you?” Her eyes shot to mine.

“I agreed to wed a complete stranger. You thought I wouldn’t look into your past? Confirm you were who you said you were? Speaking of, your Christian name is Charlotte, right? My solicitor had some difficulty confirming it..”

“Allow me a guess, Wayland?”

My lifted brow earned another eye roll.

“ He takes great pleasure in refusing to learn my name. Or feigning ignorance. He could not rest with swindling my husband’s entire fortune—he must mock me as well.” Most of that speech was muttered under her breath while she flipped disinterestedly through the settlement agreement.

I refrained from listing the more amusing options that had been thrown about. Clementia was my favorite.

The exact moment she reached the section regarding pin money and funds to be settled on her child was apparent in the way her eyes widened. Leighton was right. I was being more generous than was common. I bit the corner of my lip to keep from smirking, waiting to see if she would protest the amount.

“This is…” She cleared her throat. “This is acceptable.”

“I hoped it would be. Do you have any other conditions?”

“No, none.”

“I suppose I should be off to your father then. Do you have a preference for a date?”

“As soon as possible. You said you can get a special license?”

“Yes, your father’s house is near the bishop. It should be an easy thing. I assume he still has no idea of your… condition.”

“He does not.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty peach.

“And you would prefer it to remain that way?”

“I would, yes.”

“Very well. I will do my best.” She caught the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. “I will be off then. You are welcome to stay and tour the house with Crawford, my butler. Or I can send you a note when I’ve finished. Whichever you prefer.”

“I think I will stay if it is all the same to you.”

With a nod, I set off. The day was nice enough to justify the walk, though I fully intended to use the carriage. Or I had, until the precise moment I was faced with it.

Instead, I pulled my hat low and my collar up, tucking my chin like an absurd turtle, and walked. It was closer to a scurry, truly—as quick as I could manage without drawing undue attention.

At Belleville House, I was shown in by a rotund butler who eyed me warily when I removed my hat. My fingers itched for a peppermint. How had I forgotten them?

The man collected himself admirably but nearly collapsed when I stated my purpose.

This was to be a long afternoon.

At length, I was led into a cramped, poorly lit study. The man, Lord Belleville, stood to greet me but his face sparked no memories.

He was tall with formerly dark, now graying, hair, and his eyes tripped along my scars. Fortunately, he gave no more overt reaction.

“Take a seat, Lord?”

“Champaign.” I settled into the chair across from him, my back ramrod straight, legs crunched up beneath me, too long for the furnishing. This room was too small and too dim as well. Typically, I preferred the dark, but something sinister lurked here. Nothing I could identify, but I sensed it all the same.

“Higgins mentioned you would like a private audience. I must admit to some confusion, my lord.” The man spoke carefully, measuring his words, his gaze still caught on the knotted skin of my cheek.

“Yes. I’ve recently made the acquaintance of your daughter, Lady James. I find her charming and I feel that we would suit well. With your permission, I should like to ask her to be my wife.” I, too, spoke with caution, reciting the words I had practiced with Brigs that morning, and every morning since Lady James arrived at my door.

Desperate for a break from the eyes locked on my cheek, I turned toward the window, offering him the left side. The velvet curtains were closed, light streaming through only at the edges—the exact way they did in a carriage.

My stomach gave a tentative revolt but I swallowed and clenched my jaw.

“I see,” he said, his gaze finally moving to examine the whole of my person. I fought back the urge to fill the silence with inane chatter. That inclination was unlike me, accustomed as I was to silence. “You find her charming,” he repeated.

“Yes…” I replied tentatively, turning back to face him.

“You wish to wed her.”

Was this man determined to rehash the entirety of my speech?

“Yes.”

“Fine,” he replied without the slightest indication of his opinion on the subject.

“Fine?” Lord, now he had me doing it.

“You may have her.”

“You do not—there is nothing you wish to know? About me? About my situation?”

“Not particularly,” he replied dully, his eyes tracing over my scars again, mouth twisted into something like disgust.

“Because I assure you, I am more than capable of providing financially for your daughter.”

“Good for you.” Condescension dripped from his voice and the curve of his upper lip.

“Do you wish to see a copy of the settlements?” I pulled the folded parchment from my pocket and handed it over. He took it with an eye roll—the mannerism not at all charming on his visage. Flicking through the pages of the document with even less attention on it than his daughter, he, too, paused in the same place. His gaze flicked to mine with a raised brow.

“You’re overpaying.”

“It is what is due to my bride.”

A derisive snort escaped him before he snatched a quill out of the nearby inkwell and signed his name with a disinterested flourish.

“My felicitations, my lord,” he graveled, a sneer on his lips.

“You—I don’t… You do not care?—”

“I can see why she chose you. Best of luck.” He folded the document back up and set it on the edge of his desk with a snap. “You may go now.”

I snatched the document off his desk and strode toward the door. I made it all the way to the alley beside the house before my breathing turned ragged and desperate.

It was the work of nearly a quarter of an hour before I was in a state to visit the bishop. Of course, that was the moment I recognized I had forgotten my hat. Again.

Brigsby hadn’t been pleased to have to retrieve it from Wayland’s a few days past. If I asked him to fetch it from that house, it was entirely likely he would give notice. Nor did I particularly wish to walk the entirety of London without it, scars bare for the viewing.

With a sigh, I returned and knocked on the damn door again. The butler answered, my hat in hand, shoved it at me, and slammed the door shut.

At least I couldn’t say that I hadn’t been warned.