Charlotte said nothing more. Her father was in an unreasonable mood and would not be convinced; she could see that. His shoulders were tight, his jaw working rapidly, and there was a vein in his forehead that was pulsing unpleasantly with every word.
Charlotte could feel the closeness of the room increasing, the walls bending around her as though to implode, trapping her inside a tiny space forever, never to be free again. She longed for the gardens in their country estate, to watch the rose heads bob in the sunshine—to have some peace.
Since they had come to London, it had been a mad whirl of events and new acquaintances. She had always known that that would be the case, but it felt worse somehow because there was no end in sight. The only person she had truly enjoyed spending time with since she had come to town was Sarah and the only man she had met who even remotely interested her was the Duke of Lindenbrook.
Charlotte’s thoughts slowed as she remembered their time in the gardens. Perhapsremotewas not quite the word. She had been thinking of him for much of the day—is that normal for a casual acquaintance?
“Be sensible, as I know you are,” her father continued, attempting civility in his every word. “Things will turn out well. You have done admirably so far; be sure that this continues.” Charlotte nodded as he walked around to the other side of his desk and took a seat. It was as much of a dismissal as she ever received from him. “The Earl of Kenthurst will call on you tomorrow and take you to Hyde Park. I expect you to receive him. You should be grateful for such a connection so early in your return.”
She stood up, brushed down her skirts, and left the room, using all her strength not to slam the door closed behind her.
Sarah was outside, pretending to look at a painting beside the study door, but had clearly been eavesdropping. At Charlotte’s expression, she came to her and took her hand, leading her into the salon.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“What I expected him to say, but it did not make it any easier to hear.”
“He has not decided for you, though?” Sarah asked when Charlotte had relayed their brief discussion of Lord Kilby.
“No. He has not, thankfully. But once Father gets an idea into his head, he will not let it go. I expect he made it all too plain to Lord Kilby that his advances would be welcome. I wish I had found an excuse not to dance with him.”
“It would not have been wise to refuse him, dearest. You may be able to make your feelings known in other ways.”
“I cannot be rude to him.”
“Coldness is not rudeness. You are not bound to him; it is just a visit.”
Charlotte nodded, thankful for Sarah’s steadiness and calm in such a hopeless situation.
“Papa speaks to me as though my only duty in life is to marry well. As though I do not have a thought in my head that is my own.”
Sarah fell silent as they sat staring out at the London Street below, horses clopping past as men and women shouted to one another while they crossed the street.
London was always moving, and Charlotte longed for a moment of stillness.
When she returned to her room, she got out her journal and lost herself in verse for several hours, trying to forget what her father had told her. She wasn’t sure what it was about Lord Kilbythat she objected to so violently. She did not know the man. Yet as soon as she had met him, something had felt strange, as though she were looking at a caricature of him instead of who he truly was.
He didn’t seem genuine,she thought suddenly,that was it. Everything he said felt like a speech he had practised at length for another audience.
When the Duke of Lindenbrook spoke, he said what was on his mind—open and sincere. He was the only man she felt had been honest with her in the past days together—a rare kind of authenticity that seemed to echo in his eyes as much as in his words, grounding her in a world where truth often felt like a fragile, fleeting thing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I declare it was quite unseemly,” Colin’s aunt was saying to his mother as they all shared dinner together the following evening. “Lady Brentwhistle could hardlyremoveher daughter’s dress, but I do not believe she knew how revealing it was until the shawl about her shoulders was removed. Lady Leadbetter has not stopped speaking of the immodesty of the neckline for several days.”
Colin continued to eat his supper, listening to the ladies' chatter but unable to contribute much himself. His head was filled with ledgers and the information Bevins had revealed to him. He did not know where to begin looking for this third party. It was the only piece of information that his fatherhadseemed to conceal. Another name had not been mentioned in any of the documents Colin had already read. He would have noticed.
Elizabeth Ludlow sat beside her mother, listening to the Duchess speak of the latest fashions and scandals in their circle. But her attention was on her cousin. Colin’s expression was carefully blank as always, but she knew him well enough to detect the worry in his eyes.
She wondered what he could have to be concerned about. He knew that his mother had been very keen for him to find a match this season; perhaps it was the pressures of matrimony? Or he might have found a lady to his liking. But Elizabeth thought it might be something else. When Colin wasn’t concentrating on keeping his mask in place a line would form between his brows that he had had as a boy. It was a line of deep worry, and only ever appeared when he had something serious to be thinking about.
As the conversation took a brief pause and the plates were cleared for dessert, Elizabeth caught Colin’s eye.
“I am going into town tomorrow, cousin; I wondered whether you might like to join me?”
Elizabeth thought that he would refuse outright. Not many men enjoyed traipsing around the shopfronts looking at bodices and silks, but Colin’s eyes lit up at the idea.
“Are you sure I would not be a little out of place? I have nothing to buy at present. Seeing my tailor is the bane of my existence, and last time we spoke, I ordered enough coats for three seasons.”
