A few minutes later, she met her father in the entryway, his cloak about his shoulders, his eyes glassy. They climbed into their carriage and left.
Despite the time Charlotte had spent with Lord Kilby, which had seemed to drag on for hours and hours, she had had a wonderful evening. A few games of cards had lifted her spirits beyond measure, and she was now quite certain that any illusions she had had about her feelings for the duke were rather foolish. She liked him a great deal. It seemed strange to find such pleasure in his company when they had spent so little time together, but it was no longer something she could deny.
As her father’s snores filled the carriage, she leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, replaying every interaction with the duke in her mind.
At the same time, as Charlotte’s carriage was pulling away, Colin sat in his own, his mother asleep opposite him, while he was thinking of Lady Wentworth. His mind was filled with the gentle softness in her face as she played cards opposite him, the glances they had exchanged all through the evening, and the kindness at the back of her gaze.
But duty and obligation were ready to smother the small spark of joy he found in her presence. His jaw clenched as he considered the revelations he had discussed with Edward. He did not know what the future would hold, but any future with Lady Wentworth was dwindling in the face of his investigations and how the marquess may be tied to his father’s dealings.
***
The following morning, Charlotte was summoned early to her father’s study.
As she entered the room, she found him standing opposite the fire, watching the flames leap up the chimney. She could tell from his reddened and heavy-lidded eyes that he had over-imbibed the night before. His skin had a grayish parlor to it, and as she came to stand beside him, she was unsure if he had heard her enter the room.
“Papa?”
He jolted, turning to face her.
“How was the ball last night?” he asked.
For a wonderful moment, she thought he might genuinely care how she had found it. She considered telling him of the connection she felt for the duke and her excitement as they had played cards—perhaps even that she might have found an alternative match to Lord Kilby…
But that would be madness.
“It was a diverting evening,” she hedged carefully.
“Did Kilby ask you to dance?”
Her heart sank. “He did.”
“And did he speak to you of his intentions? Was there anything more discussed between you?” The marquess ran his hands through his hair, looking more unhinged as each minute passed.
“Not as such, no,” Charlotte said carefully, watching him with a growing worry in her chest.
“You know of the importance of a suitable match,” her father continued.
“I do.”
“And you know that Kilby is an excellent option for you. It is more than I could have hoped for so soon after we had returned to London. You have done very well to keep his interest.”
Charlotte tensed, knowing that there was an insult mixed into her father’s words somewhere but unable to pinpoint it.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said coldly.
“He is a very wealthy and well-connected member of society. You would want for nothing. We would—” he stopped, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “I hope you know that if he were to approach me, I would have no objection.”
Charlotte’s fingers began plucking incessantly at the edge of her dress, the room feeling darker and more threatening all of a sudden, the walls closing in around her. Not a month out in society, and her father was already intending to marry her off to the first man who came calling. Why the urgency? Why could she not be given the time that all other women were granted? It was not her fault that she had had to miss the previous seasons to care for her mother—she had had no alternative.
“Papa, I barely know the man.”
“Know him? You have spoken to him on many occasions.”
“And I was not overly sure that I would wish to marry him.”
The marquess stopped, spinning around to face her. “On what grounds? What is wrong with him?”
Charlotte paused, choosing her words delicately. Her father was volatile at the best of times, and she did not wish for the vein in his head to explode, but she could not allow him to run away with this without voicing her reservations.
