Chapter 19 #2
With the veriest narrowing of his eyes, Anthony nodded and saw himself out of her bedchamber and into his.
“That wretched door,” Charlotte muttered, giving her hands a shake to rid herself of the crackling energy coursing through her.
Charlotte had found her mind wandering to Miss Baxter a number of times—and to Anthony, wondering what they had shared and what remained of it. The bitterness with which he spoke of her made it clear that Anthony, at least, had not moved past it.
Knowing his heart was soft enough to be so hurt, realizing the motivation behind all he had been doing and that it was not selfish, as she had thought, but rather entirely selfless .
. . it cast him in a new light, making the shadows fall away.
And without shadows, Anthony Yorke was an entirely different man.
A man Charlotte wasn’t sure how to pretend to be engaged to without being just a bit curious what it would be like to truly be his.
And that would not do.
She might be engaged to Anthony Yorke, but she could not fall in love with him on any account.
“Are you ready?” Charlotte asked Anthony as they strode toward the ballroom three-quarters of an hour later. Her arm was tucked into his, and she looked up when he didn’t answer immediately.
His jaw was set, the shadow it cast on his cravat sharp from the candles lining the corridor.
Her heart twisted, for what she was asking of him was far from easy or simple.
The difficulty of it was evidence of his love for his brother, and she almost wished she could return to the time when she had thought him arrogant, selfish, and hard instead of a man crumbling under the weight of his guilt.
If she were in his shoes, would she be able to face the man responsible for Papa’s death and pretend she harbored no ill-feelings toward him?
Just shy of the ballroom door, she stopped, her hand on Anthony’s arm keeping him from moving forward. She allowed her family to pass, then tugged Anthony toward the wall where the open door offered them a bit of privacy.
“We do not have to do this, Anthony,” she said.
“We do,” he replied, his brows knit together and his jaw set.
“Even so, it does not have to be tonight. We can wait if you would rather.” For the last two days, she had pestered Anthony with questions about Lord Drayton, trying to gain a clear picture of what it would require for her to seek his favor.
From what Anthony had conveyed, the man was a stickler when it came to genteel behavior, having no patience for any degree of vulgarity.
It was a trait which would require every bit of Charlotte’s deficient training and experience to live up to.
Her one hope had been Anthony’s contention that Lord Drayton was susceptible to flattery. He put great value on those whose admiration and adulation were within the limits he deemed appropriate. That was something Charlotte could use to her advantage if she was careful enough.
Anthony’s dark and determined eyes met hers, and they softened, as did his voice. “Silas has waited long enough. I am ready.”
Searching his face, she nodded, and they proceeded to the ballroom.
Charlotte’s eyes swept over the room, searching for Lord Drayton. Tonight, her objective was simply to deepen her acquaintance with him, but for Anthony, it would require a difficult conversation.
“He is over there,” Anthony murmured. “Speaking with Lord Tysdale in the far corner.”
Attired in a neat dark brown tailcoat, Lord Drayton sipped from the drink in his hand as he laughed at something Lord Tysdale said.
Charlotte watched him carefully, her chest filling with indignant determination.
He looked so at ease, so carefree in his guilt, while innocent Silas Yorke did his best to make his way in France. It was despicable.
“I find myself utterly parched,” she said, focus still on Lord Drayton.
“Let us find you some refreshment,” Anthony said, his voice determined.
They made their way around the ballroom floor, but their progress was halted as they waited for four gossiping women to take note of them and move.
“Well, if it isn’t the man himself,” Anthony said under his breath. “In the flesh.”
“Who?” Charlotte asked, trying to follow the direction of his gaze.
The word no sooner left her lips than her eyes caught on a man taking his place in the forming set.
His sparse hair was parted deeply, while his full brows turned upward in a distinctive curl.
Her hand flew to her mouth, but her laugh escaped, drawing the attention of the nearest woman.
“Do try to compose yourself,” Anthony said, but he was smiling just as much as she at the sight of Mr. Higgins.
The crowd of women shuffled aside, allowing them to pass, and their humor gave way at the sight of Lord Drayton, who finished his conversation with Lord Tysdale just as they approached.
The muscles in Anthony’s arm tightened under Charlotte’s hand.
“For Silas,” she whispered just before Lord Drayton’s gaze turned to them. “Lord Drayton! How happy I am to see you again.” She dipped into a curtsy as he inclined his head. “We were disappointed not to have more time to converse at the opera the other night.”
“Were you?” Lord Drayton’s gaze shifted to Anthony.
The silence lasted long enough for Charlotte to wonder if she should have put her foot down and insisted they wait until Anthony was truly prepared for this interaction. It was entirely possible that his response to Lord Drayton’s question would be to throw a glass of ratafia in the man’s face.
Her clutch tightened on Anthony’s arm.
“Indeed we were,” Anthony said, drawing a suppressed sigh of relief from Charlotte as he covered her hand with his.
Lord Drayton took a moment to respond. “Forgive me, Yorke, but I was under the impression you had no liking for me.”
The fingers of the hand Anthony had used to cover Charlotte’s curled around hers, gripping it. She glanced up at him and noted the tightness of his jaw, the slight flare to his nostrils.
She wanted to wrap her arms around him and assure him his sacrifice would all be worth it in the end, but instead, she merely returned the pressure of his fingers.
“You are mistaken, my lord,” Anthony said.
“If I have seemed cold toward you, it must be a mixture of my unfortunate tendency to look severe combined with an assumption that you harbored ill feelings toward my family. In truth, I have been trying to gather the courage to speak with you these months and more. To apologize.”
Lord Drayton’s brows rose. “Oh?”
“Yes.” There was a pause, and Anthony’s hand tightened around Charlotte’s until she clenched her teeth from the pain. “For the words and actions of my brother.”
Lord Drayton’s gaze intensified, but he said nothing, waiting for Anthony to continue.
“I understand he meant to bring accusations of a serious and highly offensive nature against you. Accusations meant to cover his own underhanded dealings. I gather the unfortunate result of all of this was the failure of your business as well as the death of Mr. Langdon. Please accept my belated apology on behalf of my entire family.”
Lord Drayton’s gaze rested on Anthony for another moment, and Charlotte held her breath.
His mouth stretched into a sympathetic smile.
“There is nothing at all to forgive you of. You believed in me enough to invest in the business, and I heartily regret that you, too, suffered a financial loss as a result of that disastrous affair.” He extended a hand.
“Let us shake hands and put it all behind us, shall we?”
Charlotte’s heart soared as she smiled at Lord Drayton, watching Anthony out of the corner of her eye. This was better than they could have hoped. Never had she thought the man would so readily accept an apology.