Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
ANTHONY
Anthony stared at his aunt, entirely bemused. “What do you mean you knew?”
She shuffled through the handful of correspondence that had come with the morning post. “Well, I suppose I did not know, but I surmised as much.” Her mouth turned down in disgust. “Does Lady Sarah honestly think I would accept an invitation to her soirée after her appalling behavior at church on Sunday?”
Anthony blinked, still trying to comprehend. He had been certain his aunt would be livid when he revealed to her that he and Charlotte were not truly engaged. “And since when have you surmised this?”
She shrugged, setting the pile down to open the topmost letter. “The night you announced the engagement. It was obvious something was afoot.”
“But you were so thrilled . . .”
She laughed. “Of course I was! My nephew Anthony, engaged? What did I care how it had come about?” She cocked a brow at him. “When I offered that five-hundred pounds, I admit, I hadn’t expected you to act quite so quickly.”
“I did not do it for the money,” Anthony said, annoyed.
She surveyed him with a shrewd gaze. “I am glad to hear that. I admit I thought so at first—suspected perhaps you had agreed to the marriage because you were both in need of the money. But I stopped thinking so some time ago, for it is obvious you are head over heels in love with the girl.”
“Aunt,” he said, looking away.
She picked up the correspondence again. “Very well. I shan’t tease you about it, but neither shall I pretend it isn’t precisely what I had hoped for. She is a rare and precious jewel, Anthony. I have been observing her closely, and she is passionate, loyal, and kind. And beautiful, of course.”
“I know,” he said softly, staring at his clasped hands.
There was a knock on the door, and Saunders informed Aunt Eugenia she had a caller.
She strode to the door, handing the correspondence to Saunders, then turning to Anthony. “Exert yourself, my dear,” she said. “Capture her heart before some fool at this house party does the job for you.”
Before he could respond, she turned and left.
He frowned and stared at the door. Capture her heart.
Aunt Eugenia made it sound so easy. His conversation with Charlotte last night only went to show how far he was from succeeding.
He had hoped she was coming to feel differently about him, to view their engagement as less of an encumbrance.
But she was eager as ever to be free of it—to be free of his meddling.
The clock chimed, jarring him from his thoughts, and he hurried to his feet, for there were a number of preparations yet to be made before they could leave to Barrington Hall tomorrow, the first of which was a meeting with Harris.
Their meeting resulted in discovering even more preparations needed to cover the theft of the diary, and before he knew it, he was away all day.
Anthony had hoped to find a way to use the diary’s contents to extract some sort of agreement from Drayton.
Perhaps Drayton could use his influence to clear Silas’s name, without having to take the fall for his own crime—which of course Drayton would never do.
But what the man could do, in good conscience, is offer up false witness to the courts for how Langdon died, therefore exonerating both himself and Silas.
Upon reflection, however, he decided against that route.
In part because he had no confidence in the word of Drayton.
But mostly because although Drayton could do such a thing in good conscience, Anthony wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Both Silas and poor Langdon deserved justice, and that meant publicizing the diary’s contents.
He and Charlotte would have to push the diary into the public eye as soon as they returned from Barrington, or Drayton would notice the theft before they had the chance.
There was no doubt he would suspect Anthony or that he would use his significant powers to take the journal back before any damage could be done.
After Charlotte had left his bedchamber last night, it had occurred to Anthony that, while replacing one diary with the other would help delay Drayton’s realization of the theft, it was hardly ideal to put more ton secrets in the hands of a man who had no qualms about using them for his own ulterior motives.
For that reason, Anthony spent nearly two hours tracking down a blank diary of near enough likeness to pass for the one they would take from Drayton. It was not perfect, but it would suffice. He hoped.
The following morning, the carriage was brought around to the front of the London house and loaded with their belongings. When Charlotte emerged, her family and Aunt Eugenia following behind, Anthony watched her carefully. Their interaction last night had been strange. Confusing. Painful, even.
This unbearable situation. That was how she had referred to their engagement.
In fact, she had not even conceded that they were engaged.
It should not have hurt him to hear her deny it, for he knew as well as she how it had all started.
And yet, her reaction to his visit to Digby, her passionate response to his mentioning that they were engaged and should confide in one another .
. . they had been unwelcome reminders that the engagement was not something Charlotte wanted.
She found his desire to protect her aggravating.
If that wasn’t evidence that she felt differently for him than he did for her, he didn’t know what was.
Perhaps he had been too impulsive when he had entered her room to find the letter from Digby. But what if he had not done so? It was not that he doubted her ability to manage her own difficulties; it was that he could do so with far less risk.
But she had not appreciated it.
Charlotte embraced her sisters one by one while Aunt Eugenia opened her arms for Anthony to step into. He obliged, but rather than releasing him immediately, she kept him close with an unyielding grip on both elbows.
“What have you done?” Aunt Eugenia hissed in his ear. “Why is she behaving so strangely toward you?”
“It is hardly something I can explain at the moment,” he muttered with annoyance.
Her grip tightened. “If you lose her,” she said, her voice ominous, “that gash on your brow will feel like a pat on the cheek compared to what I will do to you. Do you understand me, boy?”
Anthony could only nod. He had not been called boy in a great many years.
She released him and pulled back, smiling genially, as though she had not just threatened his life.
Perhaps it was merely the stark contrast it provided to his aunt’s embrace, but when Mrs. Mandeville pulled him into her arms, Anthony found his throat becoming thick.
“I needn’t ask you to take care of my Charlotte,” she said, “for you have done so from the beginning. I shall always be grateful to you, Anthony, even if you shan’t be my son.”
Anthony could not even manage a reply, so he merely tightened his embrace before stepping back.
Charlotte finished her goodbyes with Aunt Eugenia and smiled at their farewell party, then turned toward the carriage.
Aunt Eugenia’s pleasant expression transformed as soon as her gaze met Anthony’s, becoming severe again. She shot him a significant glance, a clear indication that he should be handing Charlotte into the carriage. Little did she know how fiercely Charlotte defended her independence.
But he obeyed his aunt despite that.
Soon, they were waving through the carriage windows and traveling down the busy London streets.
“I am still angry with you, you know,” Charlotte said as she removed a glove.
Anthony retreated into the squabs, his wary gaze on her bare hand. “Is that why you are removing those?”
“What? To scratch you with?” She smiled and laid the glove on her lap. “Hardly. I have an itch. How is your wound?”
“Better,” he said curtly. He had lain awake for some time last night, imagining what life would be like if he had Charlotte to tend to his every hurt and to be by his side through every difficulty.
The bleak truth, however, was that Charlotte was shaping up to be his greatest hurt. He could hardly concentrate on Silas’s predicament for thinking of her and wondering what he would do when things came to an end between them.
But that was what they had agreed upon, and it was not as though he wished to force her to marry him.
“Perhaps we should discuss what will happen after the house party,” Anthony said.
Charlotte paused, glancing up from the work of putting her glove back on, her gaze intent on his. There was just enough uncertainty there that he felt obliged to expound.
“You had mentioned your desire to make use of some ton scandal to—”
“Ah, yes,” she let out a shaky laugh. “To distract from our breaking off the engagement. Of course. Go on. Forgive my stupidity. It is only that I am a bit nervous about all of this.”
He scooted to the edge of his seat, frowning. “Charlotte, you needn’t take any part in stealing the diary. I myself feel uncomforta—”
She closed her hands around his. “That is not at all what I meant. I am utterly determined to steal that diary. You could not persuade me against it at this point. It is the party itself that makes me nervous. I am not in the habit of attending such events, and I do not wish to embarrass you or my family.”
Anthony’s eyes roved over her face. Of course she was not afraid of one of the most powerful men in England; her fear was all on account of others.
She was always concerned with others, never with herself.
He had never met anyone like Charlotte Mandeville, and it weighed heavily on him knowing that he never again would.
She was everything he wanted and more. But she was not his.
She released his hands and sat back. “Now, what is it you were saying? About a scandal to help with ending the engagement.”
He cleared his throat. “It was only that, well, it had occurred to me that revealing Drayton’s crimes might be the perfect opportunity for that.”