Chapter 18 #2
Her slippers tapped quickly against the polished floors as she marched toward his study. Charlotte lifted her hand and knocked firmly upon the heavy door. Silence greeted her. She frowned and knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
“Well,” she muttered under her breath, “that is hardly reassuring.”
“Miss Brown?” came a voice nearby.
Charlotte turned to see Mr. Baxter, the butler, approaching with his usual composed expression. He bowed slightly toward her. “His Grace departed early this morning.”
“Oh.” Charlotte tried not to sound disappointed. “Did he say when he would return?”
“No, Miss Brown.” Mr. Baxter folded his hands neatly behind his back. “His movements today appear rather… urgent.”
Urgent?
The word did nothing to soothe her nerves. Charlotte forced a polite smile anyway. “Thank you, Mr. Baxter.”
“Of course, Miss Brown.”
She walked back upstairs with growing unease curling in her stomach. Perhaps Victor regretted his declaration already. Perhaps he had fled London entirely in horror at what he had done. Perhaps he intended to return and tell her it had all merely been another performance for society’s benefit.
Charlotte pushed open the door to her chamber and stopped dead.
“Hannah?” she blurted.
The maid turned with wide doe-like eyes while holding one of Charlotte’s gowns.
“Oh! Miss Brown, I did not hear you come in.” Charlotte stared in disbelief at the half-packed trunk sitting open upon the bed. Dresses, gloves, ribbons, and books had already been neatly folded inside.
“What exactly are you doing?” Charlotte asked.
Hannah blinked at her in confusion. “Packing your belongings, miss.”
Charlotte’s stomach dropped. “Packing?”
“Yes.” Hannah smiled brightly. “His Grace said that seeing as you are now properly engaged, it would not do for you to remain under the same roof together before the wedding.” She lowered her voice excitedly. “How romantic of him to think of such a thing.”
Charlotte thought she might faint directly onto the carpet.
“He arranged for the carriage to take you to your uncle’s residence this afternoon,” Hannah continued cheerfully. “I hope I folded your blue muslin properly. It creases terribly.”
Charlotte stared at her in stunned silence.
So it is real. Real enough to send me away. Real enough for servants to pack my belongings and speak of weddings as settled fact. Victor truly intends to marry me.
“Miss?” Hannah asked nervously. “Have I done something wrong?”
Charlotte quickly gathered herself. “No, no, of course not.” Her voice sounded strangely distant even to herself. “Thank you, Hannah. I shall help you finish.”
Hannah relaxed immediately. “His Grace is very honourable, you know.”
Charlotte nearly laughed at the absurdity of that statement. The Duke of Mulford had once hidden women in forbidden rooms. Honourable was not the first word that came to mind when thinking of him. Yet now he intended to marry her simply because society expected it.
Perhaps that is honour after all.
As they packed, Charlotte found herself growing unexpectedly emotional.
Her weeks at Mulford Manor had begun as employment, nothing more.
Yet somewhere between tea with Elizabeth and endless bickering with Victor, the manor had started feeling dangerously close to home. She would miss Elizabeth terribly.
Worse still, I will miss him.
Charlotte immediately scowled at herself for the thought.
By the time her trunk was closed and tied securely, she had managed to regain most of her composure. She changed into a travelling dress of soft green wool and pinned her curls neatly beneath a bonnet. If Victor meant to treat this engagement as a practical obligation, then she would do the same.
Or at least I could pretend to.
Elizabeth was resting in her private sitting room when Charlotte entered. The dowager brightened immediately upon seeing her. “There you are, dear.”
Her smile faded slightly when she noticed the trunk being carried downstairs outside the door. “What is happening?”
Charlotte sat beside her and gently took her hand. “I am only going to stay with my uncle until the wedding, Your Grace.”
Elizabeth gasped softly. “The wedding!” Then her face lit with delight. “Oh, how lovely.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hand tightly. “I knew Victor would come to his senses eventually.”
Charlotte smiled weakly. “Yes. Eventually.”
Elizabeth patted her cheek affectionately. “Do not worry, dear. He looks terrifying, but he has always loved deeply.” Charlotte’s breath caught unexpectedly at those words. “Though he pretends otherwise,” Elizabeth added knowingly.
Charlotte looked down quickly. “I shall return soon.”
“As Victor’s wife,” Elizabeth said happily.
The words settled strangely in Charlotte’s chest.
Victor’s wife. A duchess. It all feels absurdly unreal.
“Yes,” Charlotte said softly. “As Victor’s wife.”
Elizabeth beamed. “Excellent. Now I may begin planning flowers.”
Charlotte laughed despite herself. “I believe weddings require slightly more preparation than flowers alone.”
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth declared. “Flowers are the most important part.” She leaned closer conspiratorially. “Men are mostly decorative at weddings.”
Charlotte burst into startled laughter. “Your Grace!”
“Well, it is true.”
Still smiling faintly, Charlotte finally rose to leave. Elizabeth hugged her tightly before allowing her to go downstairs. The moment Charlotte stepped into the foyer, however, her laughter vanished entirely.
Victor stood near the entrance, waiting beside the open front doors.
He looked maddeningly handsome in dark riding clothes, his black hair slightly windswept from the outdoors.
Nothing in his expression betrayed the things he had done to her in that library the night before.
He appeared perfectly calm and collected, as though pleasuring her breathless against a table had been no more meaningful than discussing the weather.
Charlotte felt irrationally vexed by that.
He was likely accustomed to intimacy. She was not. For him, stolen kisses probably meant very little.
For her, they meant entirely too much.
“Miss Brown,” he greeted smoothly.
“Your Grace.”
The servants discreetly busied themselves elsewhere while tension stretched tightly between them. Charlotte folded her hands together before she lost courage entirely. “This engagement…Is this engagement real this time?”
Victor’s gaze held hers steadily. “Yes.”
The single word struck harder than she expected.
“No more pretending for your grandmother’s sake?” she pressed carefully.
“No.” His voice remained calm. “This is real.” Charlotte swallowed hard. Victor stepped slightly closer. “I am a man of my word. What happened at the ball should not have happened, and I intend to make it right.”
Her heart sank instantly.
Of course. He is marrying me because honor demands it. Because he had compromised my reputation and now felt obligated to repair the damage. Not because… he wants to marry me.
Relief should have been her strongest emotion. Instead, disappointment curled in her chest.
He does not want me.
Still, she lifted her chin calmly. “Very well.”
Something flickered strangely across his expression then. Perhaps he had expected tears or dramatics. Instead, Charlotte merely nodded politely. If this marriage would secure her sisters’ futures, then she would endure it.
Victor motioned toward the waiting carriage. “I shall visit once the special licence has been secured.”
“How efficient of you.”
“I try.”
Charlotte almost smiled. Almost.
The footman moved to open the carriage door, but Victor reached for her hand first. His fingers closed around hers with startling warmth. Then, before she could react, he lowered his mouth to her gloved knuckles.
The kiss lingered far too long.
Heat rushed instantly into Charlotte’s cheeks. She saw the faintest smirk tug at the corner of Victor’s mouth as though he knew precisely what effect he had on her. The insufferable man.
She suddenly wanted both to kiss him and strike him with a parasol.
“Safe travels, Charlotte,” he murmured softly.
Her breath caught slightly at the sound of her name on his lips. “Goodbye, Victor.”
His eyes darkened faintly at that.
Then Charlotte gathered the remains of her dignity and stepped into the carriage before she embarrassed herself further. As Mulford Manor disappeared behind her, she pressed trembling fingers against the spot on her glove where he had kissed her.
And I hate myself for wishing it had lasted longer.