Chapter 18 #3
Anthony’s mouth twitched.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked with narrowed eyes.
He shook his head, but he could not contain his growing smile.
She kept her suspicious gaze on him for a few seconds, then continued. “What I need is an opportunity for me to pursue my acquaintance with Lord Drayton.”
“With vigor?”
She shot him a look and ignored his comment. “If I have at least the opportunity, that will be sufficient. Can you manage it?”
Anthony’s smile dissipated. “Charlotte, you cannot be serious.”
She met his gaze, her own clear and unflinching.
“What, then? You gain an invitation for yourself to Drayton’s estate, where you will promptly bamboozle him?”
“An invitation for us,” she corrected. “We are engaged, remember?”
“Drayton falsely accused my brother of murder. If you think I will ever be amongst those he chooses to entertain in his home, you belong in Bedlam, not at Barrington Hall.”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t be invited.”
Anthony gave a nod. “Bedlam it is.”
She stood and began pacing in front of him, the hem of her dress grazing the grass and making the blades tremble as they emerged from beneath her skirts. “It seems to me that the general consensus is that your brother is, indeed, guilty. Even your aunt and brothers seem to think so, do they not?”
Anthony grimaced. “They do. Silas and Langdon had a strained relationship, and people were aware of it. And then, when Silas fled . . .”
“It made him look guilty,” Charlotte finished with a grimace. “Well, it shouldn’t be difficult to persuade Lord Drayton that you are of the same opinion. Perhaps you can even apologize to him for—”
“I would rather die.”
Charlotte stopped her pacing, and their gazes held. “I understand your reluctance, Anthony, but if we are to obtain that diary and vindicate your brother, is it not worth a bit of sacrifice?”
Anthony’s jaw worked and worked. She was right. He knew she was. But his pride balked at the thought of trying to ingratiate himself with Drayton.
What other option did he have, though? He had no promising avenues to explore. And, even supposing Harris found anything new to pursue, who was to say it wouldn’t end in failure, just as their other hopes had?
“It is dangerous, Charlotte,” he said, frowning deeply. “I cannot let you take that sort of risk.”
She came to sit beside him again, smiling slightly. “I thought that might be an incentive to you. If things were to go poorly, the ensuing scandal would be an easy way to rid yourself of me.”
His brows snapped together. Did he wish to be rid of Charlotte?
“But if you would rather,” she said, “you can go in search of the journal. I can be the pretty face required to gain entrance.” Her eyes twinkled at him, daring him to contradict her.
He couldn’t help a soft chuckle.
“If he leaves as soon as you say, though,” she said, “time is of the essence. I need enough opportunity to persuade him to extend us an invitation.”
Anthony’s heart began to beat more quickly. Charlotte was determined, already planning and plotting. He couldn’t help but be carried along on the wave of her boldness and resolve. Something told him she could achieve whatever she set her mind to, no matter how mad.
Could they truly manage this plan of hers? Just as importantly, could they do it and keep their own reputations intact?
He had to believe they could.
Charlotte rose, returning to her quick pacing.
Anthony’s heel tapped anxiously on the ground, and he stood too, trying to think through the strategy such a plan would require.
Much rested on Charlotte’s shoulders, for Anthony had no confidence at all that, left to his own devices, he could manage to elicit an invitation from Drayton.
It would be difficult enough to play his own part. But for Silas, he could swallow his pride. Silas deserved that from him.
“If the house party is in less than a fortnight,” Charlotte muttered to herself, “and we are there”—she looked to Anthony.
“A week,” he said.
“A week. That leaves but one more week until our return to Stoneleigh. News of Drayton’s crimes will be all over London by then, of course, which”—her eyes brightened—“will provide the perfect distraction from—” Her footsteps halted, and their eyes met. “The end of our engagement,” she finished.
They stood a few feet apart, gazes fixed on one another.
“Yes,” Anthony said, speaking past the odd blockage in his throat. “The perfect distraction, as you say.” Why, then, did he feel a sliver of regret at the prospect?
Charlotte swallowed, nodding. “Then, we are agreed.”
“We are,” he said, ignoring the way he felt.
These emotions, they were only there because he had finally unburdened himself to someone. It was only natural his heart would revolt at the prospect of losing that confidant so quickly. It had nothing at all to do with wanting to be engaged.
As long as the end of their betrothal coincided with the end of Silas’s exile, all would be well. Better than well. It would be everything Anthony had been wishing for.
It had to be all he wished for.