“Papa, I am not ready to find a match yet. I have barely been in town for a month. I know that you like Lord Kilby for me, but I must be given time to get to know him.”
“He is an excellent fellow;Iknow him, that is all that need concern you.” Charlotte opened her mouth, but he interrupted her before she could voice another objection. “You are young, and you do not understand the way of things between a man and a woman. You have no notion of the unsuitable men who mingle about society and prey on young women such as yourself who are still learning the intricacies of it all. You would be wise to consider Kilby seriously. You have no idea what it is like to bedestitute, to be burdened with debts, and unable to adequately provide for yourself.”
Charlotte frowned.What on earth is he talking about?
“I do not understand, Papa.”
“You will consider his proposal. Is that clear?” his voice rang out against the books all around the room, echoing inside the walls like a thunderclap. Charlotte wanted to protest that no proposal had even been spoken of, but she knew it was futile.
“As you wish, Papa.”
“Good. Now, leave me in peace. I have much business to take care of, and I have already wasted too much time this morning.”
As she left the room, Charlotte’s spirits lowered with every step. She had to find a way out of this situation; theremustbe a way. Once more, her mind moved to the duke, and whether she might dare to hope that he had designs upon her. Surely, her father would find the prospect of a duke in their family preferable to an earl.
Why is Papa so certain that Kilby is a good man? Why is he the only person I am permitted to consider?
The same unease rolled through her chest as she thought of Kilby and her father’s final words to her.Why would he speak of being destitute? What was he so frightened of?
She stopped in the corridor, looking back at the study door.Thatwas what was different about her father of late. He was frightened. She had not recognized the emotion until now, but that was certainly how he had acted.
The question she could not answer waswhy, and she went up to her room, the feeling of unease growing with every step.
***
Later that day, Charlotte was standing on the box in a fitting room.
The modiste was kneeling at her feet, pinning the hem of her dress. It was a beautiful new silk gown, dark green with a golden lace. It was by far her favorite dress of the season so far.
This was a part of her life in London that she was getting used to. It was pleasant to be dressed in such finery after so many years in plain dresses to ensure she could care for her mother without spoiling her finer gowns.
Sarah was walking idly about the shelves, picking out fabrics that might complement it, and they were chatting happily together as the modiste interjected with the current fashions of the season—of which Charlotte knew next to nothing.
While the modiste continued, Charlotte was distracted by voices from the adjoining room. As Sarah heard them too, she paused in their discussion, and Charlotte strained to hear. It sounded like a very urgent conversation and one that perhaps was private—but the walls between the rooms were thin, and Charlotte could not help but hear.
The voice was undoubtedly that of Lady Norwell.
“…it is imperative, my dear.”
“I know, Mama. You have told me a thousand times, and I am doing my best.”
“Your best is not good enough. The duke will not just fall into your arms; he is known for his austere ways. You must force his hand.”
Charlotte stiffened as she stared at her reflection. She pretended not to be listening to every word, but upon hearing the duke’s name, her breath came more quickly, her fingers flexing before her as her anger grew at Lady Norwell’s clinical assessment.
“If you must, use every trick in the book, I shall teach you—”
But any further eavesdropping was cut short by the bell above the door jangling loudly and admitting a new group of women.
Charlotte was shocked to see Lady Ludlow enter, followed by Lady Elizabeth and the duke’s mother. Lady Elizabeth gave her a friendly smile as she nodded to her, and Charlotte attempted to return it, hoping that her presence would not be loudly spoken of and alert the Norwells that she might have overheard their discussion.
Charlotte was brought up short when she looked into the mirror to find the dowager duchess watching her keenly, her calculating gaze running over Charlotte’s figure and back again. Charlotte stood up a little taller, hoping that whatever Colin’s mother saw in her was not simply fresh meat for the hounds of society to rip to pieces.
The modiste went to greet the three women, and Charlotte turned back to the mirror as Sarah approached her.
“Is that the duke’s mother?” Sarah asked.
“I believe so,” Charlotte said softly. “Why do you ask?”
