Chapter 9
Victor sat alone at the far end of the dining room table, staring with deep resentment at a plate of roasted beef he no longer wished to eat.
Sunlight spilled mercilessly through the tall windows, turning the silverware painfully bright and making the steady ache behind his eyes considerably worse.
A half-finished cup of coffee sat untouched near his hand, long gone cold, while the remains of his late luncheon looked thoroughly unappealing.
At present, he regretted every glass of whisky he had consumed the previous night.
The headache was entirely self-inflicted.
In hindsight, spending hours at the gaming tables until dawn had been a remarkably poor decision, even by his standards.
Yet after kissing Charlotte in his study, remaining inside Mulford Manor had suddenly become intolerable.
He had needed noise, distraction, and enough alcohol to drown out the unsettling memory of her pressed against him.
Unfortunately, none of it succeeded.
Victor rubbed a tired hand across his face as frustration simmered beneath his exhaustion. The kiss should not have affected him so strongly. He was hardly some inexperienced youth undone by a pretty face and a pair of expressive eyes.
Still, he could not stop remembering it. The warmth of Charlotte’s mouth beneath his. The startled little breath she gave against his lips. The way she kissed him back for one dangerous moment before realizing herself.
Victor scowled faintly.
It meant nothing.
He was attracted to women constantly. Charlotte merely happened to be nearby and infuriating in ways that annoyed him more than pleased him. That was all.
The sudden sound of hurried footsteps shattered the quiet atmosphere of the dining room. A second later, the doors burst open.
Victor looked up sharply. Charlotte hurried inside, looking visibly distressed.
Her cheeks were flushed from haste, her bonnet slightly askew, and panic practically radiated from her entire person. She paused only long enough to catch her breath before focusing entirely upon him.
Interesting.
“You appear distressed,” Victor observed lazily, though his attention sharpened immediately.
Charlotte pressed one hand against her chest as though steadying herself. “We have a problem.”
Victor remained seated, entirely calm in appearance despite the faint wariness curling beneath his ribs. “Only one?”
“This is serious,” she exclaimed.
“That usually makes matters more entertaining.”
Charlotte stared at him. “Your grandmother told Mrs. Holly and her sisters that we are engaged.”
The room fell silent. Victor blinked once, slowly. Then again.
Charlotte began pacing almost immediately, clearly too agitated to stand still. “This was a mistake,” she muttered. “I should have listened to you about Hyde Park.”
Victor said nothing at first. Instead, something cold and instinctive stirred quietly within him.
Ah. So this was her plan.
The thought arrived swiftly and unpleasantly. Public gossip. Society spreading rumors faster than wildfire. An unmarried duke suddenly linked openly to a respectable young woman.
Marriage. She means to trap me into it. No. Absolutely not.
He had spent years carefully avoiding precisely this sort of entanglement. He had watched too many men trapped in miserable marriages through scandal, manipulation, or obligation. Freedom mattered too much to him to surrender it because society demanded he clean up gossip with a wedding ring.
No woman will ever corner him in matrimony.
Slowly, Victor rose from his chair. Then he smiled.
* * *
It was not the charming smile society adored, nor the playful grin he offered careless companions and willing ladies. This was the colder smile Charlotte first encountered in his study upon arriving at Mulford Manor, the one sharp enough to warn rather than comfort.
Charlotte immediately stiffened beneath it.
“Well,” Victor said smoothly, “I suppose we are engaged now.”
Charlotte looked utterly horrified.
“What?”
Victor folded his arms loosely across his chest, studying her carefully. “Society will certainly think so by evening.”
“I am so sorry,” she blurted immediately. “I did not mean for this to happen.”
“Did you not?” he said.
Charlotte stared at him in disbelief. “Of course not.”
Victor tilted his head slightly. “Convenient regardless.”
Hurt flashed briefly across her face before irritation swiftly replaced it. “I came here to fix the situation.”
“And how exactly do you propose doing that?”
“I shall write to Mrs. Holly immediately,” Charlotte declared. “I shall explain everything.”
Victor almost laughed aloud. “My dear Miss Brown,” he said dryly, “the ton has never once in history cared about the truth.”
Charlotte frowned stubbornly. “People will listen.”
“No,” Victor corrected calmly. “They will gossip.” He moved toward the sideboard, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “Your letter would simply become another amusing detail for them to discuss over tea.”
Charlotte looked increasingly panicked as the reality settled around her. Victor watched her carefully over the rim of his cup. If she orchestrated this, she was remarkably convincing.
“I still do not understand why you seem so calm,” she said suddenly.
Victor lowered the cup slowly. “Because there is an obvious solution.”
Charlotte eyed him warily. “Which is?”
“We allow society to believe we are engaged.”
Her mouth fell open instantly. “No.”
“Then,” Victor continued smoothly, “after an appropriate amount of time, we end the engagement quietly.”
“That is absurd.”
“Practical,” he corrected.
Charlotte resumed pacing. “People would talk endlessly.”
“They already are.”
She looked scandalized by his composure. Victor, meanwhile, found himself oddly entertained despite the situation.
“As not to damage your reputation,” he added, “I shall ensure society believes you were the one to end things.”
Charlotte stopped abruptly. Victor shrugged lightly. “Frankly, that would make you seem highly desirable.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“And your sisters would benefit from the attention as well,” he continued. “A broken engagement to a duke would elevate all of you socially. And you will get what you wanted.”
The words settled heavily between them. Then Charlotte inhaled sharply. “You truly think I planned this?”
Victor held her gaze evenly. “Did you?”
“I did not,” she said quietly.
This time, there was no outrage in her voice. Only wounded disbelief.
“I would never trap someone into marriage,” Charlotte continued carefully. “Particularly not you.”
Something about the sincerity in her expression gave him pause. She looked offended. Not triumphant. Not pleased. Certainly not like a scheming woman who successfully cornered a duke. Very slowly, Victor set down his coffee cup.
“Very well,” he said at last.
Charlotte blinked. “Very well?”
“At the next suitable opportunity,” he replied, “we shall publicly correct the misunderstanding.”
Relief crossed her face so quickly it caught him off guard.
“Yes,” she said immediately. “We must.”
Victor nodded once. “We shall attend some gathering together and clarify matters.”
Charlotte exhaled shakily. “Thank goodness.”
Victor watched her silently for a moment longer. No hidden satisfaction. No manipulation. Only genuine distress. Perhaps she truly had not intended any of this.
How inconvenient.
* * *
Charlotte had spent the better part of the evening pacing the length of her bedchamber in growing horror.
Every few moments, she stopped beside the fireplace only to resume pacing seconds later, unable to remain still beneath the weight of her humiliation.
By now, she was entirely certain half of London believed she was about to become a duchess.
The mere thought made her want to crawl beneath the bed and remain there permanently.
How had everything descended into such chaos so quickly?
Only days ago, she had been seeking respectable employment to support her family. Now, society apparently believed she was engaged to one of the most powerful men in England after a single promenade through Hyde Park.
Charlotte pressed both hands dramatically to her burning cheeks.
Worse still was the fact that Victor had seemed entirely unsurprised by scandal. Calm, composed, and infuriatingly practical, he behaved as though accidental engagements occurred every day before luncheon.
Men truly have no sense of consequences.
With a frustrated sigh, Charlotte finally sat at her writing desk and pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward herself. There was only one person capable of helping her survive this disaster without entirely losing her sanity.
She dipped her pen in ink and began writing swiftly.
My dearest Arabella, you must come to Mulford Manor for tea as soon as possible, for the most atrocious thing has occurred and I fear I shall perish from mortification before the week is out. You must come immediately and save me from despair. Your deeply distressed cousin, Charlotte.
Charlotte reread the letter twice before groaning softly into her hands.
It sounded completely absurd. Unfortunately, it was also entirely true. After sealing the letter carefully, she descended downstairs and found Mr. Baxter near the front hall arranging correspondence upon a silver tray.
“Mr. Baxter,” she said quickly, “would you please ensure this reaches the residence of the Duke and Duchess of Albury immediately?”
The butler accepted the letter with perfect composure. “Certainly, Miss Brown.”
* * *
By the following afternoon, Charlotte was anxiously awaiting Arabella’s arrival in the drawing room with enough nervous energy to unsettle even the footmen. The moment the carriage finally arrived outside, she nearly sprinted toward the foyer.
Arabella swept into the manor moments later, looking thoroughly alarmed.
“Charlotte!” she exclaimed. “I was most distressed by your letter. What has happened?”
Charlotte immediately rushed forward and embraced her cousin tightly. “I am so glad you are here.”
Arabella pulled back just enough to study her face. “Good heavens,” she said. “You truly do look near collapse.”
“I feel near collapse.”
Charlotte groaned softly and dragged her cousin further into the drawing room before any servants could linger too near. “Sit down,” she whispered urgently.
Arabella obeyed at once, eyes wide with anticipation. “Tell me everything.”
Charlotte lowered herself into the chair opposite her and leaned forward. “It was Hyde Park,” she said dramatically. “Mrs. Holly and her sisters approached us whilst Elizabeth and I were walking.”
Arabella blinked once. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Charlotte explained the encounter in rushed detail: the greetings, Elizabeth’s excitement, and finally the catastrophic announcement of their supposed engagement.
Arabella gasped outright. “She told all three sisters?”
“Yes.”
“Oh dear, they are the biggest busybodies of all of London,” Arabella said.
“And before I could explain anything, they were congratulating me.”
Arabella pressed a hand over her mouth, though Charlotte strongly suspected it was to hide laughter.
“This is not amusing,” Charlotte hissed.
“It is a little amusing,” Arabella admitted.
Charlotte slumped backward miserably. “By this morning, half the ton likely believes I have trapped a duke.”
Arabella’s eyes widened with scandalized delight. “Charlotte Brown, you wicked schemer.”
“I shall throw this cake at your head.”
Arabella laughed openly now before finally softening. “Very well,” she said kindly. “What is to be done?”
Charlotte exhaled slowly. “The duke said we shall attend some social event together and correct the misunderstanding publicly.”
Arabella visibly relaxed. “That is good news.”
Charlotte frowned faintly. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Arabella said firmly. “Because if the duke himself clarifies matters, society will listen.”
Charlotte hoped desperately that she was right.
Though somehow, she suspected society would vastly prefer the scandalous version instead.