Chapter 2
Victor looked at Charlotte, “So, my betrothed, is it?”
Charlotte said softly, “I assure you, Your Grace, that I am no such thing.”
His brow lifted slightly, his amusement lingering. It had been a while since he had such an amusing moment. His gaze lingered over this curvy woman, and for a brief moment, he sized her up as if she had been presented to him as a prospect for marriage.
“Indeed?” He asked.
He watched her shift uncomfortably and a blush reached her cheeks. She looked up at him through dark lashes with her brown eyes.
Charlotte scoffed softly. “Pray do not make a joke at this time,” she said.
Victor restrained the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her, simply to receive more amusement at this new game.
He looked at his grandmother; the dowager looked between them, her confusion evident.
“Well,” she said slowly, “this is not at all how I imagined it.”
Charlotte straightened, composing herself with effort. “Nor I, Your Grace,” she muttered.
And yet, Victor stood there, acutely aware of his gaze on the curve of her full bosom.
This may serve to be far more diverting than I anticipated.
Victor regarded the scene before him with a quiet sort of amusement, one brow lifting ever so slightly as his grandmother beamed at Miss Charlotte Brown as though she had personally delivered a miracle.
He had expected composure, perhaps even polite patience, but not the spark of indignation that had so quickly followed the misunderstanding. It was refreshing, in its way.
“Grandmother,” he said smoothly, stepping forward, “this is Miss Charlotte Brown. Would you like it if she spent more time with you?”
The Dowager Duchess clasped her hands together, her delight entirely unrestrained. “I would like that very much,” she said warmly, her eyes never leaving Charlotte’s face. “Such a lovely girl, Victor, and with such fine manners.”
Victor allowed his gaze to flick briefly to Charlotte, noting the careful control in her posture, the faint tension in her shoulders, and the unmistakable intelligence in her eyes. He found himself rather curious.
He stepped closer, leaning just enough that his voice would not carry beyond her ear, and he could not resist the subtle satisfaction when she stiffened at once.
“Well,” he murmured, his tone low and edged with quiet amusement, “it is obvious my grandmother approves of you, which places you at a distinct advantage.” He paused deliberately.
“Why do we not go downstairs and discuss matters further?”
Charlotte turned her head just slightly, her composure admirable despite the faint tightening of her jaw. “Of course, Your Grace,” she said evenly.
She stepped away from him at once, turning back to his grandmother with a polite smile. “It was very lovely to meet you, Your Grace.”
She curtsied with practiced grace.
Victor inclined his head. “Miss Brown shall return to you very soon, Grandmother,” he said. The Dowager nodded, though her attention remained fixed on Charlotte as though she might vanish if left unwatched.
Victor led the way from the room, waiting only a moment before Charlotte followed. As they stepped into the corridor, he allowed himself a small, private smile. She was not easily flustered, though she clearly disliked being unsettled, which made the temptation to do so all the more appealing.
“You conduct your interviews in a rather unconventional manner,” Charlotte said after a moment, her tone composed but edged with something sharper.
“I find it efficient,” he replied. “One learns far more by observing a person than by listening to rehearsed answers.”
“And what have you observed of me, Your Grace?” she asked.
“That you are not nearly so timid as your position might suggest,” he said. “And that you dislike being misunderstood.”
Her lips pressed together briefly. “A reasonable preference, I should think.”
They continued along the corridor, and Victor slowed slightly as they approached a particular door. He gestured toward it with deliberate emphasis.
“This is the room I mentioned,” he said. “You are not to enter it.”
Charlotte glanced at the door, then back at him. “You have my word,” she said.
“I trust you understand the importance of it,” he added.
“I do not give my word lightly,” she replied. “You need not repeat yourself.”
He studied her for a moment, then inclined his head. “Very well.”
They descended the stairs together. Victor found himself unusually aware of her presence, of the way she held herself, of the quiet confidence that did not quite conceal the strain beneath it.
She was not merely seeking employment; she was fighting for something, and he could not help but wonder what.
“You may begin today,” he said once they reached the lower hall. “I shall have my driver arrange for your trunk to be brought here.”
Charlotte blinked, clearly taken aback. “Today?” she repeated.
“I see no reason for delay,” he said. “My grandmother requires consistency.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. Thank you, Your Grace.”
There was a brief pause before she added, “Are you not going to correct your grandmother?”
Victor raised a brow. “In what regard?”
Charlotte met his gaze directly. “In regard to her belief that we are betrothed,” she said.
He allowed himself a faint smile. “I could,” he said lightly, “but she would only forget she had been told.”
Charlotte frowned slightly. “That does not make it any less misleading.”
“On the contrary,” he replied, “it makes it entirely inconsequential.”
She studied him, clearly unconvinced. “I should prefer not to be mistaken for something I am not,” she said.
Victor’s smile deepened just slightly. “You have my assurance, Miss Brown, that no one of consequence will labour under that illusion.”
Her eyes narrowed faintly. “How reassuring.”
He chuckled softly, finding her resistance far more entertaining than he ought. “You will find, I think, that my household requires a certain flexibility,” he said.
“And you will find,” she returned, “that I possess a certain tolerance, but not without limits.”
He regarded her for a moment, intrigued. Most would have softened, deferred, or attempted to please him; she, however, met him as though he were merely another obstacle to be navigated. It was… unexpectedly appealing.
“I have work to attend to,” he said at last, stepping back slightly.
Charlotte inclined her head. “Of course, Your Grace.”
As she turned to go, Victor allowed his gaze to follow her, noting the determined set of her shoulders and the quiet strength in her step. She was not at all what he had anticipated, and he suspected she would not be easily dismissed or ignored.
“Well,” he murmured to himself, a faint smirk touching his lips, “this may prove to be a pleasure… or a disaster in the making.”
* * *
Charlotte returned to the parlour with a steadiness she did not entirely feel, though the moment Arabella rose at her entrance, her composure softened into something warmer.
“Well?” Arabella asked at once, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Charlotte allowed herself a small smile.
“I have been hired,” she said simply. “And I am to begin immediately; the duke has already ordered that my trunk be fetched.”
Arabella clasped her hands together in delight.
“I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “I knew you would prevail, Charlotte, though you insisted on looking as though you were marching to your doom.”
Charlotte let out a quiet laugh.
“I may yet regret that I did not,” she replied dryly. “The interview was… unconventional.”
Arabella’s curiosity sharpened at once.
“You must tell me everything,” she said, leaning forward eagerly.
Charlotte hesitated only a moment.
“I was interviewed by the duke himself,” she said. “And I suspect he enjoys unsettling people far more than is strictly necessary.”
Arabella’s brows lifted.
“How intriguing,” she murmured. “And is he as formidable as rumour suggests?”
Charlotte considered this carefully.
He is more handsome than any rumour could allow for, but I must not tell Arabella this. My low station does not allow such thoughts.
“He is… difficult to ignore,” she admitted. “And entirely too certain of his own authority.” She paused, then added, “I do not think I will get on with him at all.”
Arabella smiled knowingly. “That sounds promising,” she said.
“It sounds troublesome,” she corrected. “Which is quite enough for me at present.”
Arabella rose then, reaching for her gloves.
“Troublesome or not, you have secured the position,” she said warmly. “And I am exceedingly proud of you.”
“Thank you,” she said. “For everything.” They embraced briefly before parting, and Charlotte watched as Arabella departed, feeling both grateful and suddenly very alone.
With a quiet breath, she turned and made her way back upstairs, pausing only briefly before knocking on the dowager duchess’s door.
“Enter,” came the gentle reply.
Charlotte stepped inside, offering a polite curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said, “I wished to introduce myself properly. I am Charlotte Brown, and I have been engaged as your companion.”
Elizabeth regarded her with a warm, knowing smile.
“Of course you are,” she said kindly. “And what a sweet thing you are to pretend otherwise.”
Charlotte blinked, then attempted to clarify.
“I am not, in fact, the duke’s betrothed,” she said carefully. “There has been a misunderstanding.”
Elizabeth patted her hand. “Such modesty,” she said fondly. “It is quite refreshing.”
Charlotte resisted the urge to sigh, reminding herself firmly that patience would be required. “Very well,” she murmured under her breath, “one thing at a time.”
The afternoon passed more pleasantly than she had anticipated, despite the recurring confusion.
Elizabeth proved to be both charming and gentle, her moments of disorientation softened by a genuine warmth that Charlotte found immediately endearing.
They took tea together, and though the conversation wandered unpredictably, it never lost its kindness.
“You must tell me about your family,” Elizabeth said, her eyes bright with interest. Charlotte smiled faintly.
“I have three younger sisters,” she said. “And I have come here in hopes of supporting them.”
Elizabeth’s expression softened.
“How devoted you are,” she said warmly. “It is a rare and lovely thing to care so deeply for one’s family.”
Charlotte felt a surprising sting behind her eyes at the sincerity of the praise.
“You are very kind,” she said quietly. “Though I fear I do only what is necessary.”
“Necessary or not,” Elizabeth replied, “it speaks well of your heart.”
Charlotte found herself smiling more easily after that, though the conversation soon returned, persistently, to the same subject.
“And how long have you and Victor been courting?” Elizabeth asked with interest.
“We have not been courting,” Charlotte replied, as gently as she could. “I am not his betrothed.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, nodding. “And when is the wedding?”
Charlotte blinked. “There is no wedding,” she said, though she could not help a faint laugh.
Later, Elizabeth gazed longingly toward the window. “I should like to go outside on such a fine day.”
Charlotte rose.“Would you care for some air?” she asked.
Elizabeth brightened at once. “Oh, I should like that very much,” she said.
Charlotte hesitated only briefly before guiding her toward the door, resolving to remain close and attentive. As they made their way through the manor, she could not help but feel a quiet satisfaction at bringing the older woman such simple joy.
They had scarcely stepped outside when Charlotte noticed two figures nearby, their voices low but tense. The duke stood facing another man, tall, composed, and bearing a striking resemblance to him, though his manner was far more restrained.
The tension between them was unmistakable, yet it vanished the moment they noticed the ladies’ approach.
Elizabeth beamed. “Lionel!” she exclaimed. “Come and meet Victor’s betrothed.”
Charlotte froze. The gentleman’s brow lifted slightly, though his expression remained composed. “Is that so?” he said, his tone faintly amused.
Before she could protest, Victor stepped closer, his hand settling lightly at the small of her back.
“Indeed,” he said smoothly. “Miss Brown is my future bride.”
Charlotte stiffened instantly, her entire body rebelling at the casual intimacy. She stepped away at once, her expression sharpening. “I am not,” she said firmly. “And I should be most obliged if that misunderstanding were not encouraged.”
Lionel’s lips curved into a rare smile. “How refreshing,” he said. “I cannot recall the last time my brother was so thoroughly rejected.”
Victor did not look at him. His gaze remained fixed on Charlotte, thoughtful and unreadable.
“Do not stay too long outside. There could be an uncomfortable chill,” he said, his tone returning to its calm authority.
Charlotte opened her mouth to reply, but he had already turned away, Lionel following with a faint chuckle. She watched them go, her irritation rising.
How rude. The nerve of that man.
Elizabeth patted her arm. “Men are often so… curt,” she said wisely.
Charlotte exhaled, forcing herself to regain composure. “Come, Your Grace,” she said, offering her arm once more. “Let us enjoy the air while we may.”
And yet, as she walked beside the dowager, she could not quite dismiss the memory of his hand at her back, nor the way he had spoken as though the matter were already decided. Which, she thought with a faint scowl, made it all the more difficult to ignore.
It is infuriating, presumptuous, and entirely unacceptable. How shall I manage in such a place… with such a man?