Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Mr. Charles Shepherd.”
The butler announced his name, and Charles rounded the corner, entering the Oakleys’ parlor and coming face-to-face with a room full of expectant eyes.
He bowed, then took in the sight before him.
His first impression was that of the space being stiff and rigid, not only in appearance, but in atmosphere, as well.
The air was chilled despite the fire, and the color of the walls a drab brown—made even more so due to gray light filtering in through the window at the back of the room.
The people were no more exuberant.
Charles took a few steps within the room, pulling on a pleasant expression as he eyed his parents exactly where they said they’d be. Mother’s smile was tight, Father’s nearly non-existent.
Obviously, they wanted this meeting to go well. Charles would be the perfect gentleman they expected, but he already knew this meeting was not going to result in love-at-first-sight—as his parents so clearly desired.
Still, he had to admit he was curious to see Miss Oakley, if only to celebrate his accuracy in predicting her extended age.
When he finally turned to face her, he found her entirely hidden behind the stiff and imposing figure of her father.
Before anything was said, Mother rushed toward Charles, delivering a gentle embrace. “My darling son. How pleased I am to see you.” Then she whispered into his ear, “You have made my heart…so happy.”
Her voice broke between her words, and when she pulled back, tears shone in her eyes.
Crying? That was a bit dramatic, considering all he’d agreed to do was meet the woman.
“Anything for you, Mother.”
She gave a little laugh. “Your recurrent protesting would say otherwise.”
“Son,” Father greeted next with a clasp on his shoulder, “happy to see you’ve safely arrived.”
“As am I, Father.”
Charles glanced once again to the Oakleys. Miss Oakley was still slightly hidden, only her black hair visible and the top of one arched brow. Mrs. Oakley stood at the side of her daughter, short, thin, and staring with a slightly absent-minded smile.
She and Mr. Oakley certainly didn’t look old enough to have an aging daughter.
If only Charles could see Miss Oakley for himself.
Was her father unaware that he was hiding her from Charles’s view?
Or was that his intention—putting off Charles’s inevitable disappointment at the discovery of Miss Oakley’s age and appearance?
“Come,” Mother said, urging Charles farther into the room, “you remember Mr. and Mrs. Oakley, do you not?”
“Of course. Lovely to see you both again.”
Mr. Oakley held no hint of a smile on his features. “And you, Mr. Shepherd.”
Charles had met Mr. and Mrs. Oakley at Westburn last year after returning home for a few days. He had liked the couple well enough. Mrs. Oakley still had that unchanged distant look about her, but Mr. Oakley had appeared much less…examining.
Miss Oakley had been in Bath with her aunt at the time, and Charles had missed his opportunity to have met her—a disappointment only due to not overcoming this issue months earlier.
Thirteen minutes left.
“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Mr. Oakley continued. “We are indebted to you.”
Indebted? For Charles meeting his daughter? Was Mr. Oakley as desperate as Mother to see their children married?
His stomach tightened. Mother had to have told them of Charles’s aversion to arranged marriages. If she hadn’t, this was not going to end well for any of them.
“It is my pleasure to come here,” Charles responded, as politeness dictated. He held his hands behind his back, clenching his fingers together to avoid fidgeting.
Mr. Oakley scrutinized him again.
“Son…” Mother paused with an anxious glance at Charles, “this is Miss Marie Oakley.”
Finally, the Oakleys shifted to the side like a curtain being drawn, and Miss Oakley was revealed.
Well, she certainly wasn’t fifty.
With her hair in an elegant chignon, dark curls gracing smooth, pale skin, and red, curved lips, Miss Oakley had to be one of the most bewitching women Charles had ever seen.
She watched him with eyes as dark as the night’s sky and a subtle smile that somehow caused her lips to appear even fuller than before.
“Mr. Shepherd,” she greeted with a smooth tone, “how lovely to finally make your acquaintance.”
Charles had to take a moment to recover. She could not be beyond much of his own age, and—as far as first impressions went—she appeared perfectly and refreshingly normal, holding herself with regality, though her eyes retained a kindness to them that was undeniable.
For once, Mother had not exaggerated.
He cleared his throat, shifting his feet. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Oakley.”
He’d been about to say more, something about how their parents were determined to bring the two of them together, or perhaps how pleased he was to see she was not an aged spinster or feral squirrel.
But when Miss Oakley scrutinized him as her father had, eying him up and down, Charles’s words dried up. Had he passed muster? Unfortunately, her expression remained impassive.
Perhaps he’d extend the quarter of an hour.
Spending a few minutes more with a woman who appeared as lovely as the portraits in the Royal Academy of Arts was hardly a chore.
At least this way, he’d be able to satisfy his curiosity—and vanity—to see if he was a disappointment or a pleasant surprise to her.
Another moment passed by in silence before he realized all eyes were on him. Expectant eyes. Watchful eyes.
Right, he was supposed to be the gentleman here.
He settled his desire to pace across the room—an urging he had to quiet often in social settings, for the mark of a gentleman was stillness.
“It is strange, is it not, Miss Oakley, that we have not met before, essentially living next door to one another? Although, I suppose it is to be expected, what with how often I am away.”
“Indeed. Time and circumstances have certainly not been on our side.”
She said nothing more, taking up her staring again as they all remained stiffly standing about the room. She didn’t appear absent-minded like her mother, nor judgmental like her father, but Charles could see how deeply her thoughts ran, and he shifted beneath her gaze.
He didn’t like how anxious she made him feel. He wanted a woman who made him feel loved, even admired. Not…intimidated.
Mother would tell him to give her a chance. But was that not what Charles had already done? Miss Oakley was beautiful. But already, he could see she was too withdrawn. Too quiet. Too…calculating. He preferred living life to its fullest, and clearly, Miss Oakley was not of the same breed.
And first impressions were always worth listening to.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I fear our meetings will continue to be few and far between, as I do live a rather vagabond life. And that life, I have no intention of leaving behind quite yet.”
It was as if Charles had called the woman a potato.
All eyes fell on him with varying degrees of frowns. Mother pulled back with a subtle but fierce shake of her head, Mr. Oakley’s lowered brow nearly hid half his eyes, and even Mrs. Oakley’s airy appearance shifted to slight confusion.
Could they truly be so astonished that he and Miss Oakley had not matched the way they had all hoped?
Miss Oakley was the only one who remained mostly unchanged, her eyes only slightly narrowing.
That put paid to it. He could never be with a woman who did not emote. Such a dull life, he could not stomach.
He fought the desire to pull out his pocket watch. Once again, a quarter of an hour seemed far too long. He might last another five minutes, but even that was pressing his patience, especially when no one else was speaking. What was the matter with everyone?
Father met his gaze, then subtly motioned toward the Oakleys once more. Apparently, Charles was the only one allowed to speak in this circumstance. Stupendous.
“So,” he said, trying again, “lovely weather we are having.”
Thunder rumbled outside.
No one made a response.
“Do you enjoy walks in the sunshine, Miss Oakley?” Heaven help her to know he was not requesting they do so together.
“I suppose.”
He fought the urge to frown. She supposed? Who didn’t enjoy walking in the sunshine?
A woman who was not for him, that was who.
He gave his parents a look that very clearly stated, “I am finished. I have done my duty. It is now your turn.”
However, Mr. Oakley spoke instead. “I apologize for the delay. You must be wondering why we have not yet begun.”
Charles looked between his parents and Miss Oakley’s, confusion parting his lips. Begun? Begun what?
“I have already shared this with your parents, Charles,” Mr. Oakley said, “but Mr. Berryman extended the time this morning by a quarter of an hour. He ought to arrive any moment now.”
Mr. Berryman? The vicar? Why on earth was the vicar invited to their simple introduction?
But as Charles glanced at each person about the room—noting their looks of expectation and recalling their strange behavior—ruminations began to stir within him before pieces fell into place, forming a very unsettling picture.
“Mother,” he began, his polite smile vanishing.
But his words ended as boots thudded outside of the door and Mr. Berryman appeared, holding in his hands a large copy of the Book of Common Prayer.
There was only one reason a vicar needed such a book in such a place, and Charles and Miss Oakley were clearly the main parts in this equation.
Blast it all. Mother had tricked him again.