Chapter 9
Charlotte paced the length of her bedchamber, her slippers whispering against the carpet as she tried—without success—to reconcile herself to the fact that she was now engaged.
To Lord Luca Dexter, of all people. What madness had overtaken her?
She had spent years cultivating the perfect identity—the diamond of the Season, cool, poised, untouchable—yet all her careful work now lay in tatters.
And for what? Because she could not stomach the idea of marrying the Duke of Brackenford?
Her hands balled into fists as she thought of him.
Many in Society would have called her fortunate for having the opportunity to be a duchess.
But Charlotte knew better. Marriage to him would have been nothing more than a gilded cage.
She would have withered there, her spirit ground to dust beneath the weight of his expectations.
No. She had been right to refuse him. Yet, in doing so, she had allowed Luca to step forward and boldly claim an engagement that did not exist.
Now she was trapped in a different snare.
Everything she had built, everything she had worked towards, was ruined.
She would never marry Lord Luca. She could not.
And when their false engagement was broken, she would be left in shreds.
Not even the glittering title of diamond would shield her from the ruin that would follow.
A sharp rap at the door startled her. Before she could answer, it opened and her maid stepped in. “The dinner bell is about to be rung, Miss,” Sally announced.
Charlotte halted mid-stride, spinning towards her. “What am I going to do?” she demanded, throwing her hands up in desperation.
Sally merely grinned. “I suggest you go down and eat dinner.”
Charlotte dropped onto the settee in a decidedly unladylike fashion. “What about my life? It is ruined.”
“Your life is hardly ruined.”
Leaning her head back against the edge of the settee, Charlotte stared at the ceiling’s plasterwork, willing it to offer her some wisdom. “All my efforts were for nothing. Once this sham of an engagement collapses, I shall be utterly disgraced.”
Sally approached, voice gentler now. “Would it be so dreadful to marry Lord Luca?”
“Yes!” Charlotte sat up straight, her voice sharper than intended. “He is infuriating.”
“And handsome.”
Charlotte let out a huff. “Yes, but he is intolerably aware of it, and his arrogance knows no bounds.”
Sally eased down beside her. “Then perhaps take it one day at a time, Miss. Come what may.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. Compare our lives if you doubt me. I rise before dawn to scrub and polish while you can hardly be coaxed from your bed before noon.”
Charlotte straightened, affronted. “I would be a terrible maid.”
“That you would,” Sally agreed. “But you are not a maid. You are the daughter of a viscount and the envy of the ton.”
Charlotte gave a bitter laugh. “And yet none of that will save me when Lord Luca and I fail to wed within three weeks.”
“A great deal can happen in three weeks.”
“Nothing could possibly happen that would convince me to marry him.”
Sally only shrugged, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “You spend a remarkable amount of time thinking about a man you claim is intolerable.”
Charlotte opened her mouth to retort, but the dinner bell echoed through the townhouse. Rising, she said, “I must go. But only because I will not dignify your comment with a response.”
“You don’t need to,” Sally replied with a knowing smile.
Charlotte made for the door, then paused and whirled around. “I do not spend an enormous amount of time thinking about Lord Luca.”
“Yes, Miss,” Sally answered, all innocence.
Charlotte sniffed and left the chamber, though a tiny prick of doubt wormed its way into her chest. In the corridor, she found her brother waiting, his arms folded and expression unreadable.
In a calm, clipped voice, Alistair asked, “You are engaged?”
“Yes, but—”
“To Lord Luca?”
“Yes, however—”
“I was under the impression you despised him.”
“I do—”
“Then why, pray tell, are you engaged to him?”
Charlotte arched a brow. “May I speak now?”
Alistair inclined his head. “By all means, enlighten me.”
Taking a steadying breath, she explained, “The Duke of Brackenford offered for me, and Lord Luca intervened by declaring we were already engaged.”
“And how precisely is that ‘saving’ you?”
“The duke would not have accepted my refusal. It was the only way to deter him.”
Alistair frowned, rubbing his jaw. “Well, I suppose Jane must begin planning your wedding luncheon, then.”
Charlotte’s heart lurched. “Oh, I have no intention of actually marrying him.”
“Pardon?”
“It is merely a ruse.”
Her brother’s brows drew together. “Surely you are not that na?ve?”
Charlotte lifted her chin, though doubt clawed at her insides. “It may appear impossible, but Lord Luca will have a plan.” Or at least, she prayed he did.
“Well, by all means, I look forward to hearing it,” Alistair said, gesturing down the corridor. “We should go down for dinner.”
Charlotte linked her hands together to steady them as they began walking side by side. Every step down the corridor felt heavy with the weight of what she had confessed.
“How was your carriage ride with Lord Luca?” Alistair asked, his tone far too casual.
“It was… uneventful.”
Her brother gave her a skeptical glance. “Lord Luca is a good man. You could do far worse.”
Charlotte pressed her lips together. If only Alistair knew how maddening the man could be. “We would not suit. I am sure of that,” she insisted.
Thankfully, Alistair chose not to press her further, and they soon reached the top of the grand staircase. Charlotte’s eyes, almost against her will, sought out Luca’s form below. He stood in the entry hall, deep in conversation with Jane, his posture relaxed yet assured.
She allowed herself a fleeting moment to study him unnoticed.
He truly was handsome—there was no denying it—with his finely tailored blue jacket, buff trousers, and dark hair brushed forward in the fashionable style.
But his appeal went beyond mere appearance.
There was something in his presence that unsettled her, something that drew her in despite her better judgment.
Around him, she felt… seen. Perhaps even safe.
And that, more than anything, terrified her.
As if sensing her gaze, Luca turned his head.
Their eyes met across the distance, and for the briefest of moments time seemed to pause.
Something flickered in her chest, a spark of—affection?
Attraction? Whatever it was, it was dangerous.
She quickly tore her gaze away, scolding herself.
She could not—would not—allow herself to feel anything for him.
When she reached the last step, Luca bowed. “Miss Winslow.”
“I do believe we are past standing on formality, considering you two are engaged,” Alistair interjected, before greeting his wife with a kiss on the cheek. “It is only a matter of time before this sham engagement is mentioned in the Society pages.”
“You know?” Luca asked.
Alistair slipped an arm around Jane’s waist. “Yes, and I hope you have a good plan to save my sister’s reputation.”
“I do have a plan,” Luca replied, though his tone lacked any hint of conviction.
Charlotte nearly groaned aloud. That was hardly reassuring.
Jane’s voice broke in. “Perhaps we should discuss this over dinner. We wouldn’t want the food to grow cold.”
“You are right,” Alistair agreed, guiding his wife towards the dining room.
Luca turned to Charlotte, offering his arm. “May I escort you?”
She placed her hand lightly on his sleeve, though her words were laced with dry humor. “You do realize I know where the dining room is, since it is my home.”
“I am attempting to be a gentleman,” he said, his lips curving in that insufferably confident way.
As they moved together down the corridor, Charlotte lowered her voice so only he could hear. “I wrote an article about our engagement. It will appear in the Society pages tomorrow.”
His head tilted slightly. “Do you think that is wise?”
She gave him a knowing look. “Our engagement is precisely the sort of thing Mr. Fairchild would report on. It would look suspicious if he did not.”
“You make a fair point,” Luca conceded. “But I would have preferred if you had written the article for my newssheets.”
“I will,” she murmured, allowing the promise to linger, “in good time.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a confidential tone that sent a shiver up her spine. “I spoke to my reporter. He will be watching the building in hopes that Mr. Griffin comes to retrieve his mail tomorrow.”
“That is good,” she whispered back.
They entered the dining room and Luca drew out her chair for her. She murmured her thanks and reached for her napkin. Once all were settled, the footmen glided forward with the first course, setting steaming bowls of soup before them.
Alistair’s voice broke the silence. “Now, what exactly is this plan of yours?”
Luca shifted in his seat. “Be warned, I never said it was a good plan, only that it was a plan.”
“That bodes confidence,” Alistair muttered.
“Charlotte is the diamond,” Luca announced, his words deliberate.
“And we are going to use that to our advantage. We will try to get an audience with the queen and explain our situation. It is common knowledge that Her Majesty is no friend to the Duke of Brackenford. With any luck, she will support breaking the engagement.”
Alistair’s brows shot up. “That is your plan?”
“It is,” Luca said. Then with a glance in Charlotte’s direction, he added, “But if worse comes to worst, I intend to do the honorable thing and marry Charlotte.”
Charlotte scoffed. “The honorable thing? Meaning you are stuck with me?”
“You are twisting my words,” Luca remarked. “I merely meant that if we must marry, I would not object.”