Chapter 10
TEN
CHARLOTTE
Charlotte was an engaged woman. An engaged woman walking into a drawing room on the arm of her affianced husband—a man she detested.
Oh, the cruelty of fate!
But if a temporary engagement to Anthony Yorke was what was required of her in order to ensure the happiness and future of her family, so be it.
“Where are you going?” she asked, pulling back on his arm as he tried to guide them to the left rather than the right.
“To the library,” he explained. “I must put the diary somewhere.”
Charlotte lifted her free arm, revealing the reticule, which hung limply, devoid of any contents now that the diary was in his hands.
He chuckled. “A valiant effort, but I think not.”
He pulled her forward, and she relented, walking with him to the door farther down the corridor. It opened to a square room lined with painted bookshelves. In the middle sat a large desk with a colorful globe atop.
Charlotte released his arm as he chose a spot on the first available shelf, slipping the diary between two like-sized books.
“Do not even consider trying to come steal it,” he said as he rejoined her.
“Why? What would you do? You wouldn’t dare harm the woman you are madly in love with.”
The corners of his lips pulled down at the sides.
“Our reputations are tied together now, Tony,” she said, emphasizing his name.
“Do not call me that,” he responded tersely as he offered his arm again.
“But you are my betrothed,” she said.
He sent a gaze heavenward as if in silent plea for God to grant him patience. “If you do steal the diary, I will find other ways to make your life miserable, I assure you.”
As she took his arm, she smiled up at him in a way she trusted would convey the sentiment I would like to throttle you. “How could I possibly be more miserable than I am now? If you must know, though, I have no wish to steal that diary. It has brought me enough trouble as is.”
“Finally, some sense from your lips. Now, are you ready?”
“Of course I am. You, on the other hand, look as though you are marching to your grave. If people perceive our secret, it will be your fault, not mine.”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “If I went into that room smiling like a buffoon, it would alarm everyone far more.”
“A terrifying prospect,” she agreed. “At least have the decency to look neutral, then.”
He heaved a sigh, but the furrow to his brow lessened slightly.
She faced the door, preparing herself for what lay ahead. If he wished for her to play the role of a woman in love, she would exceed his expectations—and make him regret the day he ran into her at the inn.
The quick pause he took before opening the door of the drawing room betrayed his nerves and just how little he relished this. He had no one to blame but himself.
As he pushed the door open, she removed her hand from his arm and threaded her fingers through his.
He sent a quick glance at her, but there was no time for further reaction. The din of conversation diminished, and every eye turned toward them. They were immediately flooded with warm wishes and congratulations.
“We were beginning to think you would never return,” said Mr. Naughton with a knowing raise of the brows.
“I admit to being tempted not to,” Anthony said with a half-smile that communicated one thing to Mr. Naughton and a very different thing to Charlotte.
It was skillfully done, she had to admit. To herself, of course.
They received felicitations and such a smattering of eyebrow wags and comments about their future family that Charlotte felt quite warm by the time Mama and her sisters reached her.
Mama kissed her on both cheeks, then brought her in for an embrace. “My dear, sweet Charlotte,” was all she could whisper in an unsteady voice.
The guilt nearly crushed Charlotte.
Watching Mama embrace Anthony and lovingly call him “her future son” made her feel sick in an entirely different way.
“You have much explaining to do,” Tabitha whispered hurriedly in her ear as they embraced. “But, my, how handsome he is!” She pulled away with a sparkle in her eye, making way for Lillian.
“Well,” Lillian said as she grasped Charlotte’s hands and kissed her cheek, “you always were full of surprises.”
Charlotte tried for a smile as Mr. Naughton emerged from the crowd. “I think we must hear the story—for a story there must be to have guarded your courtship so fully from so many.”
Charlotte laughed breathlessly and glanced at Anthony, who looked as though he had just swallowed a rotten fish whole.
Obviously, he could not be relied upon to save them.
It was terribly disagreeable of him to put them in this situation, insist she agree to act as though she was in love with him, then to leave her to do the explaining.
If that was his game, she would play it. With gusto.
“Well,” she said, entering into the spirit of it, “it would not have been such a secret if my Tony had had his way.”
His hand tightened on hers.
“It may be difficult for you to credit,” she pressed on, “for he is not wont to show this side to any but those he loves most, but he wanted to declare his love publicly. On the High Street in Stoneleigh.”
Charlotte smiled as a number of people exchanged whispered comments, their eyebrows raised. Anthony’s grip on her hand made her worry her bones would be crushed.
“I should have known something was afoot,” his aunt said, smiling at him as though he was a mischievous little boy, “when you asked me if I knew her.” She wagged a finger at him. “Shame on you for not telling me everything then.”
Anthony opened his mouth, but Charlotte rushed in.
“You must forgive him, ma’am, for I charged him with the utmost secrecy.
I needed time, you see, to be certain of his character.
I am ashamed to admit I had some doubts on the matter.
Naturally, those have all been laid to rest.” She turned toward him and conjured the most love-stricken expression she could manage.
“My beloved Tony is the most upstanding gentleman in all of England, with never an ill thought or motive to cross his mind.”
His smile struck a chord of exhilaration and fear within her, assuring her he would find his revenge upon her.
“I was so perplexed when he came to Bellevue,” Lillian said, watching them bemusedly. “But it stands to reason, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, again preventing Anthony from speaking. “Tony could not restrain himself. He was forever finding excuses to see me or, failing that, to write me letters—always crossed twice.”
“That is why you insisted on retrieving the post,” Mama said as though experiencing revelation.
Charlotte nodded, though her conscience squirmed and writhed.
“When shall you marry?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
“If Tony had things his way, we would have eloped to Gretna Green weeks ago,” Charlotte said with an indulgent look at him. It was met with a glittering, spiteful smile.
“I thought, mistakenly, as you can see,” Anthony said, “that a woman who enjoyed such secrecy in courtship would also appreciate it in marriage. But my little pet”—he looked into her eyes—“is unlike any woman I or any of you have ever encountered.”
Charlotte’s smile became more forced, but determined as ever, she took the hand interlaced with hers and brought it to her lips, kissing it fervently to a chorus of tolerant appreciation.
“You have yet to answer the question, Anthony,” his aunt said. “When are you to be married?”
Anthony’s gaze lingered on Charlotte a moment longer, his eyes speaking with astonishing clarity of the terrible, horrible plans he had in store for her.
“We did not expect to announce anything just yet, so the date has not yet been determined.” He leaned over to Charlotte, smiling as much as Anthony Yorke could believably smile, and whispered in her ear.
“Restrain yourself, ma’am. These people know me—better than you do, in most cases—and you are stretching the bounds of belief with these theatrics.
” He pressed a firm kiss to her cheek, which immediately burst into flames, then returned to his former stance.
The crowd’s attention began to fracture, and conversations started amongst them, lessening the weight of scrutiny the two of them bore.
It was for the best, for the kiss on the cheek had rattled Charlotte more than she cared to admit, even if it had been meant as more of a slap than an affectionate gesture.
As they conversed with people, Charlotte’s eyes went again and again to Mama. Each time, her heart sank. My dear, sweet Charlotte. She couldn’t remember when Mama had looked so happy or sounded so thrilled.
Charlotte was the most ungrateful wretch of a daughter to ever grace the earth. She deserved every ill that came her way.
But her family did not.
Was it possible this atrocious lie could lead to something good for her sisters, as Anthony had suggested? That was all Charlotte wanted—for those she loved to face a more certain future.
She and Anthony were soon separated by their conversational duties. Charlotte was content to see her sisters and Mama engaged in conversation every time she glanced at them. Surely, she could bear a few weeks of pretending for such a sight.
But the conversation was taxing and far less satisfying now that Anthony was not beside her to tease. Guests began to leave presently, and her gaze caught his from a dozen feet away. They shared looks of consternation. Evidently, they agreed at least that this was all very trying.
“Come, Miss Charlotte,” Mrs. Ashby said, pulling her by the hand and walking to Anthony.
She grabbed his hand as well and led them to Charlotte’s family.
“We are to be family now,” she said, looking nearly as pleased as Mama.
“I propose we have our own more intimate dinner tomorrow to celebrate and become better acquainted. What say you?”
Charlotte shot Anthony a pleading look. The more time they had to spend together in the presence of others, the more likely they were to make some error that would ruin everything.