I never feel awkward around the duke; conversation, even silence, is easy with him.
“I hear you attended Lady Winterson’s salon yesterday,” Kilby stated. “I trust it was diverting?”
Charlotte stirred her tea, deciding that now was the time to push aside her prejudices and try to get to know this man. Perhaps she could find some redeeming qualities in him.
“I did. Are you fond of literature?”
“Alas, I am not as well-read as one might be. Although I do enjoy reading in its place.”
“Its place, my Lord?”
“Well, one has no time for reading these days. There is so much else to be getting on with.”
“Quite right,” her father said pompously, and Charlotte’s fingers tightened on her teacup.
“What do you think of poetry?” Charlotte asked.
“Very little; if I hear the name Byron again at my club, I shall hurl my cards at the man’s face.” He laughed, as did her father and Charlotte was forced to pretend to find it funny so as not to be seen as mean-spirited.
Any other man trying to woo a lady might have asked why she had asked the question or followed up with an inquiry as to whether she herself liked poetry. Kilby had no such intention.
“As I was telling you last time we saw one another,” he said, “I have been rather busy with the renovations of my estate. I should very much like you to see them at some point soon.” His eyes glinted over the rim of his cup and Charlotte could tell that her father was excited by that comment in the way he leaned forward.
“Thank you, my Lord. I am sure that would be a welcome activity.” Charlotte watched Kilby select one of the cakesand begin to chew it. Once again, he was unable to do so without making sucking breaths through his open mouth as he chewed. It was most unseemly. “Do you have many properties?” Charlotte asked.
“A great many,” he said smugly.
“Tell me, do you have any in Scotland at all?”
Her father gave her an odd look, but Charlotte kept her expression as innocent as possible.
“Good Lord, no, I would not wish to stray so far from London. The weather in Scotland is quite atrocious. We may encounter our mists here in London, but they have a plethora of frets and fogs over the Highlands. I prefer to remain in the south, where the weather is most agreeable.”
Charlotte shifted slightly in her chair, a headache forming as she realized how exhausted she was. She had not slept at all after discovering the journal and could not get her thoughts to align this morning. Every word Kilby spoke grated on her nerves and she wished she could leave the room or say something so insulting that it could put him off for good.
Why has he singled me out from all the women in society? Surely, there is another he prefers who is not so freshly out.
Was that why Kilbyhadsingled her out? Because she lacked experience?
Kilby had a good reputation in society and had been known to her father for a long while, but they did not trulyknowanything about him other than what other people had said. She watched him speaking, his smooth lips constantly curling into an arrogant smile. She had never seen a man smile so much and yet seem so tense.
“Lady Wentworth, if the prospect pleases you, I would be honoured to invite you to a small gathering for a picnic at Richmond Park tomorrow,” Kilby stated. “The sun promises tograce us, and I can think of no better company with which to admire it than yours.”
Charlotte’s eyes flicked to her father, who was giving her a look that brooked no argument. She nodded to Kilby as her spirits lowered ever further.
“Of course, my Lord, it would be a great pleasure,” she lied.
After that, the talk was all business. Kilby discussed some new investments that he had heard were doing well and her father spoke a little of the capital he had transferred to their country estate for repairs.
Kilby once again discussed the work being done on three of his properties, and both men bemoaned the intricacies of tenant management and the necessity for a good steward.
Charlotte felt herself fade into the background, present in the room but a ghost amongst them. Neither man referred another question to her once the time for the picnic had been secured; it was as though Kilby had need of her presence outside of the house but had no interest in getting to know her within it. The idea of spending her life with him was a very depressing one.
She wondered how her mother must have felt on the eve of her wedding, the walls of her gilded cage closing in around her just as Charlotte’s were. She could not imagine how it must have felt to love a man and have to give him up because of what her father wanted.
Or perhaps I can,she thought bitterly.Perhaps that will be my fate, too.
As Kilby took his leave, Charlotte had never been so thankful to bid farewell to his presence in her life. She swiftly made her way back to her mother’s journal, determined to write as much as she could in her own journal about what she had discovered and hoping against hope that she might be able to extricate herself from this predicament.
