Chapter 27
Lord Stanley grasped Charlotte around the shoulder and drew her firmly to his side.
Despite her utter shock, a frisson of pleasure ran through her at the sudden closeness.
Unfortunately, the other ladies were gasping at the gesture, and Charlotte, mortified by the spectacle of it all, jabbed her elbow sharply against his ribs in an effort to regain some distance.
But he only tightened his hold, as though entirely unbothered by her protest.
Charlotte stared at him.
Wife?
For one utterly deranged moment, she wondered if perhaps he had finally lost his senses.
She felt overwhelmed by his proximity: the scent of sandalwood, the solid strength of him against her side, the maddening steadiness of his breathing compared to her own near hysteria.
Engaged.
To Lord Stanley.
Mrs Wilberforce staggered backwards and collapsed onto the nearest sofa, clearly on the verge of a swoon. Lady Bainbridge, ever prepared, produced a vial of smelling salts from her reticule.
As the pungent scent revived her, Mrs Wilberforce gasped, ‘Ah—oooh—how could you, Henry? And Miss Lucas! Here? In the library, of all places!’
‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Minerva,’ Lady Bainbridge said brightly. ‘Can’t you see they’re in love? It’s terribly romantic.’ She clapped her hands together with delight. ‘Congratulations, my lord.’
Lord Stanley bowed. Taking Charlotte’s trembling hand in his own, he declared smoothly, ‘I have been in love with Miss Lucas for some time now, Minerva. I hoped you would be pleased to see me finally persuaded to settle down. She has bewitched me—body and soul.’
Charlotte nearly sank through the floor.
His tone was so sincere. So utterly convincing.
Mrs Wilberforce blinked rapidly. ‘When—how—did this happen? She’s our governess, Henry! And what about Miss Pearson? She was under the impression—just this morning—that you intended to offer for her.’
Charlotte looked at him sharply, but he was looking resolutely ahead, avoiding her eyes.
Did he truly mean to propose to Miss Pearson?
The realisation stung rather more painfully than she cared to admit. Of course—of course he would choose the paragon Miss Pearson to be his Baroness. No one—least of all Lord Stanley—would choose Charlotte to be his wife unless he were forced into it.
Her mother’s voice rang unpleasantly in her ears. Who would choose a clumsy spinster over a beauty?
And Charlotte had just stepped directly between them.
Lady Bainbridge merely smiled wider. ‘A change of heart, clearly.’ She looked like a woman who had not merely stolen the cream, but churned the entire dairy herself.
‘But how could you choose her—a mousy little governess—over the beautiful Miss Pearson? And an heiress, no less!’ Mrs Wilberforce cried.
Charlotte’s head whipped around, colour rising painfully at the insult.
‘She is no longer a governess,’ Lord Stanley said sharply. ‘And I would thank you not to insult my bride-to-be. If you cannot be pleased for us, Minerva, then you may hold your peace.’
Charlotte could not entirely blame Mrs Wilberforce. Next to the elegant and accomplished Miss Pearson, the comparison to a mouse hardly seemed unjust. Beside Lord Stanley himself—all hauteur, broad shoulders, and carved like some infuriating Greek statue—she must appear woefully dowdy indeed.
And yet his arm remained firmly around her.
Mrs Wilberforce stared helplessly between the two of them before finally rising with all the stiffness of a marionette.
‘I’m... happy for you both, of course,’ she managed at last.
She embraced her brother, then Charlotte in a manner so rigid it barely qualified as affection, before withdrawing in a cloud of disbelief. Lady Bainbridge followed with serene delight.
Miss Hill and Miss Underwood, by contrast, embraced Charlotte with far greater enthusiasm.
Miss Hill whispered—quite audibly—‘Bravo, Miss Lucas—you nabbed a baron whilst we were trying to set you up with the Captain.’
Charlotte’s gaze darted instantly towards Lord Stanley.
He frowned.
Only briefly—but it was enough.
A dreadful thought struck her.
Would he now believe she was some harpy who had been scheming with the spinsters all along? Manipulating someone—anyone into proposing?
The idea was intolerable.
‘No, no, it is not like that, I—’
But her denial failed entirely as his expression grew weary.
The ladies withdrew at last, leaving the room in a hush broken only by fading footsteps and Mrs Wilberforce’s distant sobs, accompanied by Lady Bainbridge’s soothing tones.
The moment the door clicked shut, Charlotte yanked herself free.
‘How could you do this?’
‘Shall I take it you are displeased with our impending union, my lady?’ he asked. ‘I apologise if I thwarted your plans with the Captain. I had not realised matters had progressed so far, otherwise...’
He did not need to finish.
Charlotte bristled at the insinuation. ‘You misunderstand, my lord. The spinsters have been insistent upon my marrying, despite my objections. I ceased resisting only because it was futile.’
‘I see,’ he replied, looking unconvinced.
She lifted her chin. ‘I assure you I have no designs upon the Captain.’
He hesitated.
‘Well, in that case,’ he said slowly, his mouth curving as his cool stare gave way to mocking amusement, ‘you’re welcome, my dear. I have just saved you from ruin.’
Surely he could not be serious. Marry the Ice Baron?
It was utterly ridiculous for Lord Stanley to marry her merely because they had nearly been discovered moving a corpse. She could not allow such madness to become permanent.
She scowled at him, momentarily at a loss for words.
‘No need to glower, my dear.’
‘I do not glower. I am merely exasperated,’ she said. ‘You have left me no choice but to play along with this foolhardy charade. Now I shall be the subject of endless gossip.’
‘Inconvenient, certainly,’ he agreed, stroking his jaw as though they were discussing the weather.
‘Not only that, but I am quite sure the Odd Fellows will suspect me of helping you.’
‘I think they will be more confused than anything else.’ He gave a sardonic smile.
She shot him a withering look. ‘You could have chosen any number of explanations,’ she went on, pacing now in earnest. ‘Any number. And yet you chose this.’
He leaned back against the desk, arms folded, watching her with infuriating composure for a man who had just altered both their lives.
‘You cannot possibly mean to go through with it. What of Miss Pearson? Is it true that you intended to propose to her?’
He paused before answering.
‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘I did.’
Charlotte’s mouth fell open. She forced herself to snap it shut.
So she truly had stepped between them.
Poor man. First assassination attempts, then being framed for murder, and now she had apparently ruined his courtship besides.
However calmly he spoke now, however convincing his performance before the others, she could not forget that he had made himself abundantly clear from their very first meeting that he despised marriages made under duress and false pretences.
Under ordinary circumstances, she was quite certain their relationship would never have extended beyond employer and employee.
And now he felt obliged to act honourably for her sake. Only because they had been caught alone together in a dishevelled state.
A sacrifice on his part to preserve her reputation. Nothing more.
The thought unsettled her.
She forced herself to speak. ‘Have you not always objected to being entrapped into marriage?’ she demanded. ‘Yet here you stand remarkably calm.’
He straightened to his full height, his presence seeming to fill the room entirely. Instinctively, she took a step back.
‘I do object,’ he said quietly.
‘Precisely,’ she shot back. Pointing an accusing finger towards him, she added, ‘And yet you find no issue with being forced into matrimony with a penniless, mouse-like governess?’
He tilted his head slightly and closed the distance between them until her finger rested against his chest.
‘You are far from a mouse, Miss Lucas.’
His gaze lingered upon her a moment too long.
‘If anyone behaved recklessly tonight,’ he added quietly, ‘it was I.’
Charlotte stepped back once more, more convinced than ever that he would eventually regret this. Honour, sacrifice, chivalry—it all sounded very noble in fairy tales, but reality was seldom so romantic. Once the chaos subsided and sobriety returned, he would surely see matters differently.
She too recoiled from a marriage born of convenience and duty rather than affection—her parents’ union being proof enough of the misery such arrangements produced.
She would not let him make such a mistake. Nor would she endure a lifetime of growing resentment at being foisted upon him.
Lifting her chin in defiance, she said, ‘You forget, sir, that I have no intention of marrying you.’
The words hung between them.
His mouth curved into a wry smile. ‘Oh, I see. But you are not opposed to matrimony altogether. For instance, it has not deterred you from conversing repeatedly with the Captain.’
A flicker of irritation crossed his expression.
She bristled at once. Why should she be required to justify her friendship with the Captain when he himself had spent the entire house party attached to Miss Pearson?
‘And what of it? He is the only gentleman who sought me out when I was new here and made me feel at ease—which is more than I can say for you.’
‘Oh?’ His brows lifted slightly. ‘I had no idea he was such a favourite of yours and that I was so distasteful,’ he said impatiently—and was that contempt? She could not tell.
Charlotte’s emotions were hanging by a thread, and at those words she snapped.
Why should he care what she thought of him all of a sudden when he had made it abundantly clear, countless times before, that she was nothing but a nuisance to him?