***
Despite the proposal not yet having taken place, Charlotte’s father was insistent that they would hold a small dinner party in honour of the impending event.
Despite her misgivings and intense feelings of dislike at having to attend such an event, she had little choice but to support and help him organize it.
Her father was not a natural host, and that sort of thing had always fallen to her mother in the years of Charlotte’s youth. She had often sat in her bed listening to the raucous goings-on downstairs, wondering what they all could be speaking of.
If only I could hide in my room tonight and never come out again.
Increasingly, she felt that she was watching herself from a distance, going through the motions of a life that no longer felt like her own. The more she planned and discussed the arrangements with her father, the further it seemed from reality.
He had been in high spirits ever since Lord Kilby had called upon her. Despite their engagement being far from agreed, he seemed to think that the actual proposal was merely a formality.
Charlotte did not point out that the very idea of holding a lavish dinner when her father had told her how little money, they had left was the height of hypocrisy. The marquess would hear nothing against the plan and even arranged several courses of food for the occasion.
That evening, the guests arrived.
There was no one there who was not linked to her father in some way, and Charlotte was not close to any of them. The mere thought of the dinner seemed increasingly farcical, and the closer it came to sitting at the table, the more Charlotte’s mind moved to the duke. His absence was a physical ache that she could not dispel.
As she took her seat beside Lord Kilby, he offered her a warm smile and she returned it, noting the excitement in his face at her more friendly manner toward him. The words of her mother’s journal were constantly scrawled at the back of her mind as though written in bold above her head for all the world to see. She could do her duty; that, after all, was all she had left.
“You look very well this evening, Lady Wentworth.”
Charlotte thought that the man had to be blind; she had caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror before heading down to the room, and she looked drawn and pale.
“Thank you, Lord Kilby, that is most kind.”
But her attention was quickly caught by another conversation on the other side of the table that made her sit upstraighter in her chair. Lord Guthrie, a close friend of her father was spitting food over the table as he spoke.
“Well, I heard that the Duke of Lindenbrook hasn’t left his house in days. Since the ball, there has been no movement at all. If that doesn’t speak of his guilt, I do not know what does.”
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly as she looked down at her food.
“Is it the duke himself who is implicated?” someone asked.
Guthrie waved a hand. “No, no, it is all on his father, but I would wager the current duke will benefit from his father’s ill-advised decisions.”
“Not if he loses his fortune, he won’t,” her father piped up, and he and Lord Kilby exchanged a meaningful look.
Charlotte wanted to run from the room or scream just to see what the company would do. But instead, she sat silently, poking at her food, feeling sick to her stomach.
Lord Kilby was unexpectedly quiet that evening, barely speaking to her but appearing interested in the conversation about the Ludlow fortunes. Charlotte had never seen him so enraptured by anything, his eyes rarely leaving the group unless it was to focus on his plate.
As the supper drew to a close and the guests rose from the table to retire to the drawing room, she felt a gentle hand on her elbow and turned, her heart sinking at Lord Kilby’s expression.
“I wonder if I might request a private moment with you, Lady Wentworth.”
Her spirits lowered ever further as she noticed the footmen had opened the rear doors that led into the gardens.
This is all agreed then. All I must do is arrive at the appointed time.
“Of course, my Lord,” she said slowly, her fingers plucking at the edge of her gown.
His smile seemed rather gleeful as they slowly made their way through the doors and into the quiet of the garden. It was a sultry evening, with the humidity clinging in the air, while the stars twinkled above their heads.
In any other world, with any other man, this might have been the pinnacle of her life. But Charlotte could not muster any joy at what was to come.
As Lord Kilby led her to a stone bench amidst the flowers, she sat down, smoothing her gown as he sat beside her.
