Chapter 13
Charlotte poured tea carefully into Elizabeth’s porcelain cup. “One lump or two, Your Grace?”
Afternoon tea at Mulford Manor was treated with elegance.
The long parlor windows stood open to the mild spring air while pale sunlight spilled across polished floors and cream-colored furnishings.
A silver tea service gleamed atop the low table between Charlotte and the dowager duchess, accompanied by delicate cakes, thin cucumber sandwiches, buttered crumpets, and sugared biscuits arranged with perfect precision.
“Two,” Elizabeth declared happily. “At my age, one must take joy wherever one finds it.”
Charlotte smiled faintly as she handed over the cup. “A philosophy I greatly admire.”
Elizabeth took a pleased sip before sighing dramatically. “The opera was splendid.”
Charlotte nearly laughed into her own tea.
Splendid? The woman had slept through nearly all of it.
“Yes,” Charlotte replied carefully. “It was certainly… memorable.”
Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically. “Everyone admired Victor and his fiancée terribly.”
Charlotte nearly inhaled tea. She coughed delicately into her napkin while Elizabeth continued entirely unaware.
“It was high time Victor began introducing you properly,” the dowager added. “A gentleman should not hide his future bride away like a state secret.”
Charlotte’s cheeks warmed immediately. The guilt returned unpleasantly at moments like these. Pretending for society’s sake was one thing. Lying directly to Elizabeth felt far worse, particularly when the older woman looked so genuinely delighted.
Charlotte stirred her tea unnecessarily. “Your Grace, you know that… ”
“Oh, hush,” Elizabeth interrupted fondly. “You are both terribly shy about it.”
Charlotte bit back a sigh. Victor was many things. Shy was not among them.
She quickly sought safer ground. “Are you excited for the start of the season?”
The effect was immediate. Elizabeth lit up brightly. “Oh yes.”
Charlotte smiled as the older woman leaned forward eagerly like an excited girl instead of an elderly duchess.
“There shall be balls and musicales and garden parties,” Elizabeth declared. “And your sisters must attend everything.”
Charlotte blinked. “Everything?”
“Certainly. Victor is sponsoring them after all.”
Charlotte froze slightly. “He… told you about that?”
“Of course he did,” Elizabeth said.
Elizabeth looked puzzled by the question as she reached for another biscuit. “He said your sisters required proper introductions to society and that it was his responsibility to see them settled advantageously.”
Charlotte stared quietly into her teacup for a moment.
Victor said that?
Something warm and dangerous fluttered unexpectedly low in her chest. She had spent so much time thinking of the duke as arrogant and impossible that moments of genuine kindness continually caught her off guard. He could be rude, infuriating, maddeningly improper, and utterly insufferable.
Yet he had agreed to help my family without hesitation.
Charlotte felt herself softening all over again despite her better judgement.
Blast the man.
Elizabeth smiled knowingly. “You are blushing.”
Charlotte nearly dropped her spoon. “I am not.”
“You are,” she said.
“It is warm in here, that is all,” Charlotte said.
Elizabeth looked unconvinced but mercifully allowed the matter to pass.
Unfortunately, Charlotte’s own thoughts betrayed her next.
Without warning, she remembered Victor at the opera box leaning close enough that his breath warmed her neck.
She remembered the slow trail of kisses against her skin and the deep voice murmuring wicked things into her ear while she forgot entirely how to think properly.
Charlotte’s pulse quickened traitorously. Then immediately she recalled entering that forbidden room to discover him half-undressed with another woman.
Her stomach tightened at once.
There. That is the real Victor. A rake. A shameless rogue who likely flirted this way with every woman he encounters.
Charlotte straightened slightly in her chair. She absolutely refused to become another foolish lady sighing over the Duke of Mulford.
Elizabeth interrupted her thoughts suddenly. “I should like a new dress.”
Charlotte blinked. “A new dress?”
“Yes. Something blue, perhaps.” Elizabeth considered this carefully. “Or lavender. Lavender is elegant.”
Charlotte smiled warmly despite herself. “Well, as it happens, I am visiting the modiste tomorrow with my sisters.”
Elizabeth gasped softly. “Truly?”
“Indeed. You are welcome to accompany us if you wish.”
The dowager clasped her hands together delightedly. “How exciting.”
Charlotte laughed softly as Elizabeth immediately began discussing fabrics with alarming seriousness.
“I absolutely refuse excessive feathers,” Elizabeth declared. “They make women resemble startled birds.”
Charlotte nodded solemnly. “A reasonable concern.”
“And no orange silk,” Elizabeth said sternly.
“Certainly not,” Charlotte said, amused.
The older woman laughed warmly before reaching for another cake. Charlotte found herself relaxing entirely in her company as she often did now. Elizabeth possessed a sweetness that made affection come easily despite her confusion and forgetfulness.
It also made Charlotte ache quietly inside. Because one day Elizabeth would remember none of this.
“Your sisters shall enjoy London enormously,” Elizabeth continued happily.
“Oh dear heavens, yes, they will,” Charlotte said.
Elizabeth grinned mischievously into her tea. “Your sisters have spirit? Men enjoy spirit.”
Charlotte thought privately that men mostly enjoyed being obeyed. Victor certainly seemed accustomed to obedience. Though strangely enough, he also appeared to enjoy arguing with her entirely too much.
Her thoughts drifted toward him again before she could stop them.
She remembered his hand at the small of her back.
His fingers lift her chin gently. The heated look in his eyes before he kissed her.
The restless intensity that occasionally slipped through his careful composure when they stood too close together.
Charlotte pressed her lips together firmly.
This will not do.
It was dangerous enough pretending to be engaged without developing genuine feelings for the man.
Because Victor would never truly love anyone.
She knew that instinctively now. There was something lonely about him beneath all the charm and arrogance.
Some guardedness he hid carefully behind wit and flirtation.
And unfortunately, Charlotte found herself wanting to understand it.
A terrifying prospect.
Elizabeth interrupted her spiralling thoughts yet again. “You are thinking about Victor.”
Charlotte stared at her. “What?”
The dowager smiled serenely. “You make the same face whenever he enters a room.”
Charlotte felt genuine horror. “What face?”
“A very pretty one,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh dear God, do I?” Charlotte said, surprised.
Elizabeth laughed outright now while Charlotte covered her burning cheeks with one hand.
“You need not look so distressed,” the older woman teased. “You are only in love.”
Charlotte nearly fell off the sofa. “I most certainly am not.”
“Mmm. If you say so,” Elizabeth took a sip of her tea.
“I am serious, Your Grace,” Charlotte said.
“And so am I, for why else would you agree to marry my grandson?” Elizabeth said.
Charlotte pointed accusingly with her teaspoon. “You are impossible, just like him.”
Elizabeth merely sipped her tea, looking entirely satisfied with herself. Charlotte groaned softly and sank back against the cushions.
This household truly will be the death of me.
* * *
Charlotte spotted the duke the moment she stepped out onto the terrace doors and into the garden.
He walked slowly along the gravel path with his hands clasped behind his back, his dark coat fitting his broad shoulders far too well for her peace of mind.
The afternoon sun caught against his black hair, and Charlotte immediately regretted coming after him at all.
Still, she had come with purpose, and purpose was far safer than admiring a handsome man who kissed like sin and argued like Parliament.
She straightened her shoulders and walked after him beneath the arching hedges. “Your Grace, may I have a word?” she called.
Victor turned at once, and that dreadful, dashing smirk appeared upon his face. “Miss Brown,” he drawled, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “You approach me as though you are marching toward an execution.”
“I merely wished to speak with you,” she said.
“How fortunate for me, then, that I wished to look at you,” he said.
Charlotte nearly stumbled on the gravel. “You are such a rake.”
“And yet you came searching for me regardless.” He tilted his head toward the winding path. “Walk with me.”
She ought to have refused. Instead, she found herself falling into step beside him as though her feet had ceased belonging to her entirely. The hedges towered around them, shielding the path from the manor windows, and Charlotte became painfully aware of how private the garden suddenly felt.
Victor glanced sideways at her. “Well then, Miss Brown, what grave matter brings you here?”
Charlotte folded her hands tightly together. “Lady Elizabeth wished me to inform you that she shall accompany me tomorrow.”
“To where?”
“To the tailors in Bond Street,” Charlotte replied. “My sisters require new gowns for the season, and Lady Elizabeth has decided she would also like a new dress for the opening ball.”
Victor stopped so abruptly that Charlotte nearly walked into him. “No.”
She blinked. “No?”
“She is not attending a ball,” he said.
Charlotte frowned at once. “You have not even heard the entirety of what I wished to say.”
“I heard enough.” His voice sharpened. “The opera was manageable because we sat privately in our box for most of the evening. A ball is entirely different.”
Charlotte crossed her arms. “You cannot keep her hidden away forever.”