Chapter 10 #2
“Oh, aunt,” he said, clearly every bit as horrified by the prospect as Charlotte, “the Mandevilles live in Stoneleigh.”
Mrs. Ashby waved a dismissive hand. “A matter of ten or eleven miles. I will gladly send my carriage.”
“That is very kind indeed,” Mama said, “but there is no need for that. We are spending the night at The Pelican—it will not be a problem to extend another night. Right, Charlotte?”
Charlotte forced a smile, but her mind was on the fact that it was Monday, and she needed to produce a new caricature by Thursday at very latest if it was to be posted Friday.
She dreaded it more than ever now. What in heaven’s name would she draw?
How would she decide who deserved to be cast to the lions?
“Then it is settled,” Mrs. Ashby said. “Shall we say half-past six tomorrow evening?”
An enormous wave was sweeping Charlotte toward a place she had no desire to go, and she had no one to blame but herself.
And Anthony. In fact, most of the blame belonged to him. Something about him had raised her hackles from the very first time they had met, making her do and say things she would not normally do and say.
Anthony and his aunt accompanied the Mandevilles to the door, where Charlotte thanked Mrs. Ashby for inviting them.
“Child,” Mrs. Ashby said, “it is I who am grateful.” She leaned in closer but looked at Anthony, who watched with mistrust in his eyes. “I was beginning to think he would never find a respectable young woman to sweep him off his feet. I am delighted to know you have managed it.”
Charlotte’s insides squirmed at hearing herself described as a respectable young woman. She doubted that any young woman, though, could sweep Anthony off his feet. But if Charlotte did get hold of a broom, she would far rather take the handle and hit him over the head with it.
“Now,” Mrs. Ashby said, “the two of you may go off in that corner to say goodbye in whatever way you see fit”—she cocked a brow—“while the four of us face this way”—she linked her arm with Mama’s and turned them toward the open door—“to admire the view.”
The view was naught but a dark London street.
“Thank you, Aunt,” Anthony said with anything but gratitude in his voice.
Charlotte walked to the corner his aunt had indicated.
She would gladly take the opportunity to have a word with him before they separated for the night.
After enduring everyone’s congratulations and questions, she realized they had a great deal more to settle on if they were to pass things off.
It was one thing to convince strangers and acquaintances of their engagement; it was another thing entirely to do so to their families: the people who knew them best.
“Are you content?” she asked, turning her back to the others and exposing Anthony to them—just in case their families chose to turn and look, which Charlotte had no doubt they would. Tabitha in particular would not be able to resist.
“Content?” he repeated in bemusement.
“With what you have done?”
He scoffed. “You are welcome.”
Her brows shot up. “Welcome? For turning my world upside down? And shaking it violently?”
“For saving your reputation.”
“Quite rich of you, is it not? You endanger my reputation and then demand thanks for saving it?”
He smiled suddenly and took her hand. Charlotte didn’t need to turn to know someone was watching them. Anthony pulled her closer, keeping the smile plastered on his face.
“Allow me to remind you, Charlotte dearest, that you had already endangered it without any of my assistance.”
“And yet you were the only one threatening to divulge the information that would have ruined me.” That was not entirely true, of course. Mr. Digby had made a similar sort of threat.
The stakes were higher than ever now, for if Digby revealed her secret, it was not just her reputation or her family’s that would be harmed, but Anthony’s too. Not that she cared the snap of her fingers for him. But she liked his aunt. And Frederick.
“Enough arguing,” she said. “What are we to do now? We will both face questions, and if our stories conflict . . .”
His lips pinched together. “Do your best tonight. Tomorrow evening, I will find time for us to converse in private, where we can sort out the details and make a plan for the coming days.”
Charlotte nodded, rubbing her lips together nervously. She did not relish the task ahead of her. Any of the tasks.
Anthony’s gaze flitted to the others, and Charlotte turned.
All four ladies watched with indulgent interest, the London street view evidently forgotten.
She turned back to Anthony. “Do something,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“Do what exactly?”
“Something a man in love would do.”
After a moment of tortured hesitation, he leaned over ever so slightly and brought her gloved hand to his mouth. Brushing his lips across her knuckles, he looked up at her through his lashes.
Unexpected chills cascaded down Charlotte’s neck as his dark eyes stared up at her as if to ask, “Am I doing it well enough?”
She blinked. This was the insufferable Anthony Yorke she was looking at.
He was single-handedly ruining her life.
Her reaction was merely a result of being unaccustomed to such behavior from a gentleman.
Whether Anthony deserved to be described in such a way was a separate matter—and one of grave doubt.
Within minutes, they had bid Anthony and his aunt goodbye, and the door was shut behind them. The carriage awaited where it had left them earlier, down the street.
It was oddly quiet as they walked, until Lillian cleared her throat in an entirely unnecessary, highly theatric way.
“Yes, I quite agree,” Tabitha said. “You have some explaining to do, Charlotte.”
Mama squeezed Charlotte’s arm and smiled. “I should give you four lashings for carrying on with him clandestinely—and four more for depriving us of the details as they were occurring—but I am far too elated to do that.”
“I knew she was keeping a secret,” Tabitha said, “but I cannot say this was the one I had expected. How in the world did you manage to capture his interest, Charlotte?”
“Tabitha!” Lillian said, horrified. “What an awful question to ask. It is quite natural that she would attract any gentleman’s interest, of course.”
Charlotte rather agreed with Tabitha on this count, but she didn’t say so. It would have gone contrary to her goal of preserving the illusion of a bona fide engagement—a goal she hated with every bit of her.
“I was not trying to be rude,” Tabitha complained. “But you must admit, Anthony Yorke is terribly handsome, and his family wealthy. I am sure he could have the daughter of a peer if he wished.”
“Particularly given the family’s connection to the duke,” Mama said.
“Mama,” Charlotte said on a sigh, “you must extinguish any hope that I may someday become a duchess.” Or even a Yorke, for that matter, Charlotte thought.
Mama stepped into the carriage. “Perhaps, but you will, of course, be invited to ducal events.”
“I think not. The Yorkes are not on the best of terms with Rockwood.”
“Oh,” Mama said, deflated.
Charlotte, on the other hand, felt hopeful for the first time that evening that perhaps Mama would now feel less thrilled about the engagement and, thus, less devastated when it ended.
“Well,” Mama said brightly, “no matter. We need no dukes or even barons. I am content you have found an admirable gentleman to love. One who will care for you the way you deserve.”
It was all Charlotte could do to smile unironically. The entire concept was ludicrous. Anthony, admirable? Charlotte in love with him? Him caring for her?
It conjured the picture of him kneeling beside her sickbed, holding her hand as he fought off tears.
He was more likely to try to finish her off.
Eager to steer the conversation elsewhere, Charlotte asked Tabitha about the man she had sat beside at dinner.
Gregarious as she was, Tabitha needed little encouragement to talk at length, and soon enough, they were back at The Pelican, where prodding questions could be avoided with the task of preparing for bed.
But as Charlotte brushed her hair and plaited it, her mind was wrapped up in her problems, which were multiplying at an alarming rate. She needed an idea for a new caricature so that, when they returned to Stoneleigh, she could quickly execute it.
But what she needed more than anything was far less scandal in her own life and far more in the lives of the ton. That way, she could end this ridiculous farce of an engagement as soon as possible.