Chapter 10
Charlotte descended the stairs, wholly unprepared for the spectacle that greeted her in the entry hall.
She stopped on the last step, her mouth parting slightly.
The hall had been transformed into a veritable jungle of blooms. Tables overflowed with vases stuffed with roses, tulips, peonies, and flowers she could not even name—bright, fragrant, and altogether excessive.
Where in heaven’s name had all these flowers come from?
She caught sight of Malone speaking to a footman in hushed tones and stepped towards him. At once, the butler dismissed the footman and turned to her, a twinkle in his eye that Charlotte did not trust.
“Where did all these flowers come from?” she asked.
“They are for you, my lady,” he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. “They arrived with this note.”
For me? Charlotte’s stomach twisted as she accepted the folded paper. The sight of the bold scrawl upon the front confirmed her suspicion even before she read the words inside: I wasn’t sure what your favorite flower was, so I merely bought out the store, my dear diamond.
Luca. Of course.
She pressed her lips together, unwilling to let Malone see the way her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. It was—she loathed to admit—even thoughtful. But thoughtful or not, it did not erase the sting of what he had said to her the night before.
“Lord Luca also had these delivered,” Malone added, gesturing towards a side table.
Charlotte turned—and blinked. Three pineapples sat in regal glory upon a silver tray, their spiky crowns like mocking tiaras.
“Pineapples?” she asked, incredulous. She was well aware of how dear such delicacies were and how coveted, especially out of season. To see three before her was nothing short of absurd.
“I suspect he knew of your fondness for pineapple tarts,” Malone remarked.
Her brow furrowed. “How did he know?”
“I told him,” came Jane’s amused voice from behind.
Charlotte whirled to face her sister-in-law. “Why would you do such a thing?”
Looking entirely unapologetic, Jane merely lifted a shoulder. “Lord Luca wished to do something nice for you, and I saw no reason to dissuade him.”
“I do not want them,” Charlotte lied, crossing her arms.
Jane’s laugh was bright and merciless. “Yes, you do. And do not even attempt to deny it.”
Charlotte pressed her lips into a thin line, but her betrayal was the faintest tug at the corner of her mouth. “Fine,” she conceded. “I shall keep them and instruct our cook to make pineapple tarts. But you, Jane, shall not get one.”
“I would not dream of stealing your pineapples.”
Charlotte glanced around at the sea of flowers, unwilling to admit that they softened her. “I daresay Lord Luca overestimated how many arrangements our hall can hold.”
“I think it was sweet,” Jane replied. “Now, we must speak of your engagement ball.”
“My what?”
“Your engagement ball,” Jane repeated with infuriating cheer. “Naturally, the match of the Season must be celebrated.”
Charlotte lowered her voice so as not to be overheard. “But this is not a true engagement.”
“The ton need not know that,” Jane countered. “They will expect a ball.”
“I want no ball, nor do I wish to acknowledge this engagement.”
Jane clicked her tongue. “A pity, then, considering the invitations have already been sent out.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “You what?”
“It needed to be done,” Jane responded. “We should call upon the dressmaker to commission a new ballgown.”
Charlotte smoothed her pale green gown with defiance. “This gown will be sufficient enough.”
“That is an afternoon gown,” Jane remarked. “Not attire for a ball. Do try to muster some excitement—you are engaged, after all.”
Charlotte refused to dignify that with a response. She swept past Jane, her chin lifted high, though her insides burned with irritation. The scent of flowers followed her like a mocking chorus until she entered the dining room.
Her relief at escaping Jane was short-lived. There, seated at the head of the table, was Alistair, and beside him—of all the injustices—sat Lord Luca himself, grinning like a boy who had pulled off the most daring prank.
Could this morning possibly become any worse?
Luca was on his feet before she could retreat, rushing to pull out a chair. “Good morning,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever rise for the day.”
Alistair gave her a look that told her he enjoyed this far too much. “Charlotte may sleep the day away, if she wishes.”
“There is no shame in enjoying one’s rest,” Charlotte replied as she sat.
“True,” Alistair said, “but you could make a sport of it.”
Luca leaned close, his voice dropping low for her alone. “Dare I hope you dreamed of me?”
Charlotte flicked her hand at him as if brushing away a gnat. “Why would I dream of a thorn in my side?”
“You wound me, yet again,” Luca said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.
“You will live,” she muttered, unwilling to meet his eyes for fear he would see the way her pulse had quickened.
As Luca returned to his seat, Alistair slid the newssheets across the table. “Your engagement has made the Society page. Mr. Fairchild has written of it.”
Charlotte accepted the newssheets with feigned disinterest. “Wonderful.”
Alistair’s gaze lingered. “Is something troubling you?”
Without looking up, she unfolded the newssheets. “Is it too much to ask that we dine in silence?”
Alistair shifted and, with a long-suffering sigh, turned to Luca. “You must excuse Charlotte. She is not at her best until she has had her morning chocolate.”
“Duly noted,” Luca replied.
Charlotte snapped the newssheets open, hiding her face behind them. If she could not banish Luca with words, she would at least shield herself with print.
But the silence did not last long.
A footman stepped forward and placed a plate of eggs and toast before her, the scent wafting up, though Charlotte’s appetite had already fled.
“May I ask what your favorite flower is?” Luca inquired.
Her eyes flicked up to him over the edge of the newssheets. “If you must know, I don’t have one,” she replied. “I enjoy all flowers equally.”
Luca’s eyes sparkled with amusement, his lips curving. “Then I am glad I bought out the store. I wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint you.”
Heat crept up her neck. He was baiting her, as always. “Just you being here is disappointing me,” she retorted, snapping the newssheets closed.
“And yet, I am here for our carriage ride,” he said, grin growing. “The one you promised me yesterday.”
She exhaled sharply and set the newssheets aside. “I suppose we can go now.”
“I can wait until you’ve finished breakfast,” he offered with mock gallantry.
“My appetite is gone,” she said flatly.
Luca shoved back his chair with a scrape and rose, coming around the table. “Then let us adjourn to the carriage.”
Charlotte rose, too, not waiting for his assistance. She refused to give him the satisfaction.
They walked side by side through the hall, and Malone opened the main door for them. Once outside, Charlotte allowed Luca to help her into the open-air carriage and settled on the bench, her back rigid. The vehicle lurched forward, wheels crunching on the loose gravel.
Luca, seated across from her, studied her face with unsettling intensity. “I want to apologize for yesterday.”
That was the last thing she wanted to discuss. She waved her hand dismissively. “There is no need—”
He shifted suddenly, moving to sit beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him even through the layers of fabric.
“There is a need,” he said, speaking over her.
His voice lost its teasing edge. “I would marry you today, tomorrow, or the next day—not because I am being forced to, but because I care about you.”
Charlotte’s chest tightened. “You hardly know me.”
“I know enough,” he said, holding her gaze steady. “You keep pushing me away, but I know you, Charlotte. I know the type of person you truly are. You may hide it, but it still shines through.”
“I won’t have you be forced to marry me,” she asserted.
He reached for her hand. “You’re so afraid of being hurt that you close off your heart. But I won’t hurt you. Ever.”
She yanked her hand back, more abruptly than she meant to. “You can’t promise that, nor should you.”
A small, rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “My favorite time to look at you is when you aren’t paying attention. Because then you’re not trying, you’re just being you, and to me, that is when you’re most beautiful.”
Her heart lurched painfully at his words.
For one treacherous moment she wanted to believe him, to lean into the warmth of what he offered.
But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Men left.
Promises broke. Even her own father’s affection had proven conditional.
Why would she think Luca would be different?
Better to shutter her heart now than to risk it splintering later.
“Let me in, Charlotte. Trust me,” he said.
“I do trust you, at least somewhat,” she replied, forcing herself to look away. “After all, I am in a carriage with you right now.”
“That is not the trust I’m talking about.”
“What you ask for is impossible.”
“Why?”
Charlotte stiffened. “Why must you be so infuriating?”
His grin returned, but it was softer now, almost vulnerable. “Because when I see something I want, I go after it wholeheartedly. And what I want is you.”
There was no hesitancy in his voice. And that was the worst part. It sounded genuine enough. She wanted to believe him. She almost did. But she caught herself.
“Luca…” she began, her throat tight. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but—”
He cut her off. “No buts, Charlotte. You can deny the attraction we both feel all you like, but I won’t stop trying to win you over.”
Charlotte turned her face to the passing scenery, blinking hard against the sudden sting in her eyes. She would not let him see her falter.