Chapter Seven
When not participating in the social whirl, Charlotte found herself particularly fond of visiting the circulating library to which her family had a subscription.
Books were a wonderful way to pass a quiet afternoon, something she was grateful her father appreciated as well, as it meant she was granted both access to books and time in which to enjoy them.
Two days after their most recent venture to the theater, she and her father made the short journey to the circulating library to select new volumes for their enjoyment.
They made their way along one of the rows of books, at the end of which was a gathering of chairs placed at a cozy distance from a low-burning fire.
The proprietor of this particular library took pride in creating a place where his patrons would linger.
Father found a volume that captured his interest, and Charlotte followed him to the chairs and the warm fireside to see him seated, meaning to search out a volume of her own once he was comfortable. But her father asked her to sit beside him.
“You are nearing the end of your fourth Season,” he said.
She nodded, suspecting with a drop of her heart that she knew where this conversation was headed.
“I believe it is time you were settled and beginning the next chapter of your life.”
Even anticipating the topic, she was still a little surprised. And unexpectedly nervous.
“Have you made arrangements already?” she asked.
Father shook his head. “Not yet, but the Season is nearly over.”
Making matches was far more difficult outside of the London Season. If her father didn’t arrange a marriage for her soon, he’d likely struggle to do so until the ton gathered again the next year.
She had known this. It was the reason she had done what she could to turn her father’s attention to gentlemen who were not objectionable. But the thought of being wed to either of them now felt more than “unobjectionable.” She felt something far nearer to dread.
Dread.
“I realize the Season is ending soon, but could we possibly delay this until after Louisa’s wedding?
” If she didn’t know with certainty her friend would not mind Charlotte using her wedding as a means of delaying this monumental decision, she wouldn’t have done so.
But she needed time. Time to sort herself out.
Time to determine how to best move forward.
“I wish so much to celebrate with Louisa free of distractions.”
He reached over and patted her hand. “Of course, dearest.” He then turned his attention to his book and was quickly lost in his reading.
Until after Louisa’s wedding. That was only a matter of days. She didn’t think it likely her father could be put off again.
To her surprise and dismay, emotions rose in her chest, thickening in her throat. She was not an unfeeling person. Neither did she require herself to keep her emotions tamped down. But she did not often find herself unable to maintain her composure in public.
Charlotte rose. “I will go find a volume for myself,” she told her father, keeping her tone light.
Father nodded but kept his attention on his reading.
Charlotte tucked herself down the other row created by a different set of shelves, this one more to the back and out of sight of anyone wandering in. She breathed in and out, slowly, deliberately.
It is time you were settled and beginning the next chapter of your life.
Settled. It was about as promising and enthusiastic a description as she felt she could reasonably apply. But it wasn’t what she wanted. Not any longer. She wanted to be able to think on her approaching nuptials with some degree of joy and happiness. Surely that wasn’t so much to ask.
“Lady Charlotte?” A quiet voice spoke her name in a tone of concern and uncertainty.
Lord Wesley.
He joined her beside the shelves she had not even attempted to peruse.
“I saw you and your father through the front windows and stepped inside to offer my greetings.” He was watching her with such a look of tenderness that it nearly undid what little composure she’d managed to retain. “You’re upset about something.”
She shook her head. “Nothing I have any right to truly be upset about. It is expected and ordinary and . . .” She stopped at the break in her voice, swallowed against the burning in her throat. “I oughtn’t complain.”
“You aren’t complaining, dear; you’re crying.”
She brushed moisture from her cheek, moisture she hadn’t even realized was there.
“Please tell me what’s upset you,” he said, “and what I can do.”
She was not an inherently untrusting person, but neither was she one to spill all her troubles in another’s ear.
Yet, she told him immediately and without hesitation.
“My father has decided it is time I married, and he means to see that arranged and final before the end of the Season. I’ve known he would soon enough; I’d even guessed that this would be my last Season unattached.
But facing the reality of it is proving rather dreadful, I’m afraid. ”
“Has he chosen someone awful?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Not that I know of. I’ve been trying to influence any list he might be forming in his mind in the hope that he would choose someone at least pleasant.”
Lord Wesley offered her his handkerchief, and she dabbed at the tears that continued pooling on her lashes. “Your birthday is near to the end of the Season, is it not?”
An odd question. Odder still that he knew her birthdate. “Yes, it is.”
“Is Lord Tarrant a gambler, by chance?”
Odder still. “Not beyond the ordinary. An occasional wager over cards or a small, harmless one between friends.”
“You insisted it was possible for me to grow angry with you,” Lord Wesley said. “I think it more likely that you are soon to become angry with me.”
Apprehension tiptoed over her. “Why do I get the impression you are not speaking in general terms?”
“There is a wager I recently learned of, and the mystery of who placed it has been eluding me.”
“You think my father might be the wagerer?” She didn’t know whether to be intrigued or insulted. That would depend on what the wager was about, she supposed.
“Actually, no.” That seemed to be a sudden realization. “Though, I had wondered.”
“What is this wager?” How quickly she had been distracted from her previous difficult topic of worry.
He hesitated. That did not seem a good omen. “I must emphasize that I was surprised to hear of the wager and had nothing to do with it being made.”
Decidedly not a good omen.
“A wager was recorded in the books at my club”—he spoke quickly and quietly, all the while watching her with uncertainty—“which I discovered quite by accident and have not ever heard spoken about. An anonymous wagerer has staked ￡1,000 on . . .” He took a breath, then pushed forward.
“That you would be married by your twenty-first birthday.”
It was decidedly unexpected. “That I would be married?”
Lord Wesley nodded.
“I suppose that is better than a wager being made that I would not be, or would never be.”
“You aren’t offended that you were the subject of a wager?” Lord Wesley asked.
“Not offended, no. There is some annoyance mingled with my amusement, but I know perfectly well that gentlemen make odd wagers quite regularly.” She found she could even smile a little.
“And for someone to be so confident in my matrimonial prospects as to place so large a wager is—” Oh.
“That is why you wondered if the wagerer was my father, because he would have that confidence, being the one arranging that marriage.”
“But that is also why I have dismissed him as the wagerer. I don’t think he would make his own daughter the subject of so potentially embarrassing a wager, nor one he could force to play out in one way or another. He seems a man of greater integrity than that.”
She also couldn’t imagine her father doing something so questionable. “If you know who would be paid the forfeit, that would at least give you one half of the wagering duo.”
“It usually would, but not in this instance.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the one declared to be the recipient of the forfeit was not involved in the wager. Indeed, he was utterly shocked to discover his name in the betting books.”
In a flash as sudden as the pop of an untrimmed candle wick, she understood what he was struggling to say. “You will receive ￡1,000 if I am not married by my birthday?”
He looked embarrassed. “I didn’t place the wager.
I only learned of it by chance.” He held his hands up in a show of frustration.
“I haven’t told anyone. Franklin knows, but he was there when we saw the wager in the book.
I would never embarrass you that way. And I wouldn’t wish to prevent you from being courted or treated with kindness or warmly accepted by the ton out of a wish to see the wager play out. ”
Another flash of understanding. “This is why you quite suddenly showed an interest in knowing me better. You were intrigued by the wager.”
“Yes.” But it emerged as a dangling sentence rather than a complete one.
“I would kindly request that you finish your confession, Lord Wesley.”
With a look of utter misery, he said, “We were able to discover that your birthday was not terribly far distant, and neither of us had seen any announcements regarding an engagement. We thought that likely meant you were not on the very cusp of marriage. I am embarrassed to say we hatched a plan to discover if any gentlemen had made progress in capturing your interest or were at all positioned to make an engagement probable. If we did, I . . . I thought I might prove myself a bit of a thorn in the side of romance and delay things a little.”
“Until my twenty-first birthday, you hoped.”
He sighed even as he nodded. “Not enough to cause you embarrassment or prevent an engagement if one were imminent, but perhaps manage to secure that ￡1,000 if doing so without being a complete blackguard was possible.”
“Are you in particular need of ￡1,000?” she asked.
“I am, unfortunately. Your father’s assessment of my family was not entirely without merit.
I inherited more of a mess than I wish I had.
” A look of determination entered his eyes.
“I never intended to hurt you, and I hope that I haven’t.
And I have long since abandoned the effort at being an unmitigated annoyance.
But it was badly done of me, and I will understand if you find it unforgivable. ”
She swore he was holding his breath. Seldom had she seen a man look more miserably contrite.
“Do you think you could resume those efforts?”
His misery turned to shock. “Resume them?”
She nodded. “You found a means of delaying an engagement, and I would very much like to not find myself engaged any time soon. And if you are in a position to receive a much-needed windfall while doing me such a welcome favor, that would be a fine thing. Seems we would do well to combine our efforts.”
“Then you aren’t— You don’t— You don’t despise me for my interference?”
“Despise you?” She grinned. “Heavens, I am all but begging to join forces with you. I am in need of your unique skills.”
His smile slowly returned, and she was beyond pleased to see it. “What skills would those be?”
“Your knack for being very conveniently annoying.”
His smile turned to a grin, and she knew an answering one settled on her lips.
“My annoying nature is entirely at your disposal, Lady Charlotte.”