Chapter 15
The season has officially begun.
Mulford Manor bustled with unusual excitement as servants hurried through corridors carrying gloves, shawls, and while lamps glowed warmly against the evening dark.
Victor stood near the front hall beside his grandmother, already dressed in immaculate black evening clothes, though his patience steadily wore thin with every passing minute.
Elizabeth tapped her fan against his arm. “Stop glowering.”
“I am not glowering, grandmother,” he said.
“You look as though you are preparing for war instead of a ball,” she teased him as she smoothed her gloves.
Victor adjusted his cuffs. “Society often feels remarkably similar.”
Elizabeth laughed softly just as footsteps descended the staircase. Victor looked up absently. Then immediately forgot how to breathe properly.
Charlotte stood midway down the stairs in the burgundy gown Elizabeth had selected at the modiste, and for one entirely disorienting moment Victor genuinely understood why men wrote foolish poetry.
The rich colour clung elegantly to her curving figure while soft candlelight warmed her brown hair into deep chestnut silk.
She looks beautiful. No. Far worse than beautiful. Dangerous.
Victor stared openly enough that Charlotte slowed near the bottom step. “Your Grace?”
He realized belatedly that he had not spoken.
Elizabeth looked delighted. “Well?”
Victor cleared his throat lightly. “You look lovely tonight, Charlotte.”
A faint blush immediately touched her cheeks. That alone nearly undid him.
“Thank you, as do you both,” she replied softly.
Victor found himself absurdly pleased that his compliment affected her. He offered his arm before he could think better of it, and Charlotte accepted with careful grace. The warmth of her gloved hand against his sleeve distracted him far more than it ought.
This was becoming troublesome indeed.
The carriage ride to the Dawson estate passed in relative peace, thanks largely to Elizabeth enthusiastically discussing previous seasons while Charlotte smiled and listened attentively.
Victor mostly remained quiet because every time he glanced toward Charlotte, the burgundy silk threatened his self-control all over again.
I ought to regret purchasing that gown. Instead, he wanted to burn every other dress she owned.
The Dawson estate blazed with candlelight by the time they arrived. Elegant carriages lined the sweeping drive while music drifted faintly from the brightly lit ballroom windows.
A footman opened the carriage door immediately. Victor stepped out first before turning to assist Elizabeth and Charlotte. Moments later, another familiar group approached across the entrance steps.
Harriet Brown positively glowed with excitement while Joan, Irene, and Penelope looked near breathless, taking in the grandeur surrounding them.
Charlotte’s entire face softened at once upon seeing her family. Victor felt something unpleasantly warm shift inside his chest.
“Your Grace,” Harriet greeted warmly with a curtsy. “You are too kind to us.”
Victor bowed politely. “Lady Linfield.”
Charlotte quickly began introductions. “Your Grace, this is my mother, of course. This is Joan, Irene, and Penelope.”
Victor bowed toward each sister in turn.
Joan smiled boldly. “Your Grace.”
Irene offered a graceful curtsy. “Thank you again for your generosity.”
Penelope tilted her head mischievously. “You are taller than Charlotte described.”
Charlotte looked horrified. “Penelope.”
Victor fought a smile. “Did she describe me often?”
“She complained about you often,” Penelope corrected cheerfully.
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly as Harriet gasped in embarrassment.
Victor, unfortunately, found himself deeply entertained.
“She exaggerates terribly,” he said solemnly.
Charlotte shot him a glare. “You encourage her.”
“Certainly, it is more fun that way,” he said with a wink toward Charlotte.
Harriet clasped her hands warmly. “Your Grace, I cannot properly express how grateful I am for your sponsorship of my daughters.”
Victor glanced briefly toward Charlotte before answering. “It gives me pleasure to help Miss Brown’s family.”
Charlotte looked away immediately, though not before he noticed fresh colour rising softly along her throat.
Interesting.
Victor straightened slightly. “I shall escort my grandmother inside. The rest of you must enter with us.”
The sisters blinked in surprise.
“All together?” Irene asked.
“Since I sponsor you,” Victor replied simply, “we shall enter as one party.”
Joan nearly looked ready to faint from excitement while Penelope grinned triumphantly at Charlotte.
Elizabeth patted Victor’s arm proudly. “My grandson enjoys dramatic entrances.”
“I enjoy efficiency,” he corrected.
As they approached the ballroom entrance, Victor glanced sideways toward Charlotte and discovered her smiling quietly at her sisters’ excitement. The expression transformed her completely.
Something tightened unexpectedly in his chest again.
Good God.
The ballroom doors opened. “The Duke of Mulford,” the servant announced grandly, “the Dowager Duchess of Mulford, the Dowager Baroness Linfield, Miss Charlotte Brown, Miss Joan Brown, Miss Irene Brown, and Miss Penelope Brown.”
Conversation softened noticeably across the ballroom as they entered.
The Dawson ballroom glittered magnificently beneath crystal chandeliers while musicians played lively strings from an elevated gallery overhead.
Ladies in silks and jewels drifted across polished floors alongside gentlemen in dark evening coats, and every inch of the room buzzed with gossip, laughter, and whispered speculation.
Victor kept his head high as curious eyes followed their party. Especially Charlotte. He noticed that immediately. Men looked at her. Far too many men.
Charlotte stepped closer beside him as they paused near the edge of the dance floor. “What is the plan exactly?” she murmured quietly. “Do we attempt to clear up the engagement tonight?”
Victor sipped calmly from the champagne a servant handed him. “No.”
She blinked. “No?”
“At the opera, our denials merely convinced society further.” He looked faintly amused. “Apparently, we now resemble tragic lovers resisting happiness.”
Charlotte groaned softly. “This is dreadful.”
“It is pointless to fight it directly.” Victor lowered his voice slightly. “If someone asks, we deny it. Otherwise, we ignore the matter.”
Charlotte looked uncertain but nodded slowly. “Very well.”
Before Victor could say more, several gentlemen immediately approached.
His mood darkened at once.
“Miss Brown,” one young viscount greeted eagerly. “Might I request the first dance?”
Another stepped forward almost immediately after. “And perhaps the second?”
Charlotte looked startled by the sudden attention. Victor, meanwhile, experienced a strange and deeply unpleasant sensation tightening low in his stomach. He did not care for it. Not at all.
Charlotte smiled politely. “You are very kind.”
The viscount practically preened beneath her attention. Victor suddenly wanted to break his nose. An alarming thought.
Charlotte glanced briefly toward Victor as though silently asking permission. The very idea irritated him instantly.
She does not require my permission to dance.
So why did the thought of another man touching her waist during a waltz make his jaw clench?
“You should dance,” Victor heard himself say coolly.
Charlotte looked faintly surprised by his tone but accepted the invitation nonetheless. Victor watched the viscount lead her onto the dance floor. Then continued watching far longer than necessary.
“She is lovely,” Elizabeth remarked beside him knowingly.
Victor took another drink. “Mm.”
“And popular,” Lionel said as he approached.
“Oh my dear grandson, I thought you would not be able to attend,” Elizabeth said, putting her hand on Lionel.
“I had a change of plans. I am here and glad for it. It is has been too long since I've stayed in London long enough to enjoy a season,” Lionel said.
“And then you shall find a wife, as well,” Elizabeth said as she escorted Lionel toward the refreshment table. Lionel gave Victor a look pleading for help, but Victor merely raised his glass to him.
He turned his attention back to Charlotte on the dance floor. The viscount smiled down at her far too often during the dance.
I greatly dislike him.
Another gentleman approached before the first dance even ended, asking Harriet for introductions. Then another. Then yet another. Charlotte became surrounded. Victor’s fingers tightened slowly around his champagne glass.
What precisely is wrong with me? This is good news. It means that our, so called, engagement is not being taken seriously after all, for why would men lavish such attentions on her if they thought she was mine?
He had attended countless seasons watching beautiful women dance and flirt without caring in the slightest. He had encouraged such behaviour often enough himself. So why did seeing Charlotte laugh softly at another gentleman’s comment make him irrationally irritated?
Penelope suddenly appeared beside him like an evil little ghost. “You look murderous.”
Victor glanced downward. “Do I?”
“Yes.” She grinned wickedly. “It is terribly amusing.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” he said.
“Of course not, for it is a false engagement, is it not?” She giggled and walked away.
Victor narrowed his eyes slightly while Penelope laughed under her breath as she wandered away before he could interrogate her further.
Infuriating family.
Across the ballroom, Charlotte completed another dance and immediately found herself approached by two more gentlemen. One kissed her hand. Another complimented her gown. Victor’s jaw clenched harder. He recognised this feeling suddenly. Possessiveness. The realization hit him unpleasantly fast.
No. Absolutely not.