Chapter 12 #2
“Not you. Men like you.” She debated for a moment, torn between a need to keep her secrets and to explain herself to Anthony.
“If you must know, my father spent the last decade of his life making careful investments to grow the little he was left by his father. He was a skilled and conscientious investor, and over time, his hard work was fruitful. He had plans to hire apartments in London in the coming Season to introduce us to Society.”
Anthony was quiet, listening with his ever-furrowed brow, nodding now and then to a passing acquaintance.
“He was approached by a wealthy, well-known gentleman, who persuaded him to invest heavily in a scheme of his with promises of a life-changing return. When the man realized the scheme was going awry, he sold his shares and left Papa to feel the full weight of the investment’s failure.
” She swallowed and directed her gaze toward something to her left to hide her face from Anthony.
“The financial loss was staggering and deeply humiliating. All those years of scrupulous work were suddenly for naught. But even more staggering a loss was Papa’s rapid decline and death shortly thereafter.
” The unsteadiness of her voice persuaded her to leave the narrative there.
The only sound was the crunch of the gravel beneath the wheels.
“I am sorry,” Anthony said.
Charlotte stole a glance at him, for the words were unexpected from his lips. Unexpected but genuine.
“But surely,” he continued, “you overgeneralize by directing your anger at the entire ton for the actions of one miserable man.”
“Do I?”
“It is my opinion, certainly, and I believe others would agree.”
“Tell me, then . . . have you not seen such disregard for others amongst your acquaintances, such willingness to view those supposedly below you as disposable?”
He did not respond immediately, but the muscle in his jaw flexed. “I have.”
“As have I. At first, they were trivial matters—the way those passing through Stoneleigh treat the villagers, or the way they demand service immediately at The Crown and Castle without regard to anyone else’s needs or claims. But since then, I assure you, I have found plenty more grievous examples. ”
“Like my running roughshod over anyone in my way?” His voice was laced with irony.
Charlotte forced herself not to shift in her seat.
If anyone knew she was the one behind the caricatures—and that one in particular—it would make their engagement far more difficult to explain.
That was one reason she was not looking forward to seeing Mr. Digby—not that she ever looked forward to that.
But he would want an explanation, certainly.
Charlotte’s silence must have confirmed to Anthony the truth of his statement. His interactions with her had indeed been a prime example of how the ton interacted with those lower than them.
“Brave of you to come out in a carriage with me,” Anthony said, breaking the silence, “when you know the dangers.”
“But I am not afraid of you,” she pointed out.
He glanced at her. “Evidently not.”
“You think I should be?”
He let his gaze travel over her face for a few seconds, then returned his eyes to the road. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps it is you who should be afraid of me.”
He chuckled. “Because you intend to humiliate me at every turn?”
“You could use a bit of humility, you know.”
He gave a scoffing sort of laugh. “Thank you for that assessment. Does it not occur to you that, by making me look a fool, you also injure yourself? We are inextricably connected now, Charlotte.”
Her heart gave a little quiver at the sound of her name on his lips and the words inextricably connected. An image stole into her mind: her arms wrapped around Anthony’s broad back and his around her waist as their lips met.
Cheeks and body warm, she looked away, as though the image was before her rather than a figment of her rogue imagination.
That was not what he had meant by connected.
She was still accustoming herself to this level of intimacy with a man.
The novelty would wear off with time. In three or four weeks, her mind would not force such unwelcome images before her.
Or perhaps the images would intensify.
“Oh, Tony,” she said, forcing herself to remain present—beside the man whose imaginations of a ‘connection’ with her likely consisted of boxing her ears. “I only wish that everyone knew just how passionately in love with me you are, and that cannot harm me.”
“Imagine my relief,” he said drily.
“Speaking of which, we should turn back if I am to have sufficient time to dress. I must look the part of the esteemed Anthony Yorke’s affianced wife.”
“We have not yet discussed how to answer people’s questions, which was the purpose in coming out together in the first place.”
“But we have,” she countered.
“You mean you will say whatever makes me look like a lovelorn sap?”
She smiled and patted his arm. “You are not as slow-witted as I had thought.”
“Nor you as harmless as my aunt thinks. What shall we say when people inquire as to how we met?” He guided the equipage toward the archway that led out of the Park.
She lifted her shoulders. “We tell the truth—we met at the inn. It is best, I think, to keep as close to the truth as possible.”
“Is that what you call your story about a planned trip to Gretna?”
“Oh, no. I call that embellishment. And a dash of revenge.”