“When I did, I’d move heaven and earth—I’d lay down my fortune and my life—to make sure she didn’thaveto marry anyone. Not even me, unless she willed it, because I’d never want a woman like thatmerely as my wife. I’d want herblazing, and the rest of the world be damned.”
The dowager sat back flushed with triumph, the practical Miss Helena had to dab at her eyes, and Lady Margot held the stem of her wineglass in a death grip. But Wolfgang barely noticed them. He could only see Charlotte, who’d gone alarmingly pale.
Her shoulders began to shake.
Fuck.
“Lady Charlotte, I—”
Lady Skeffington, in the dark as always, threw her napkin on the table with a hiss of disgust. “Well, my girls, ifthat’sthe kind of woman a duke wants, then I know nothing of the world. Do what you will! Behave as you wish! You won’t hear awordfrom me!”
Miss Marby collapsed into laughter, but Georgiana, listening intently, cocked her head.
“Do you mean that, Mother?”
“Indeed, I do!”
Georgiana whirled around with a bloodcurdling cry and nailed Lysander with a forkful of peas.
CHAPTER 43
Charlotte’s chest clanged and clamoredall through the dessert course, as if the bells of Canterbury Cathedral were ringing inside her, a paean of joy so loud and reverberating that it rattled her bones and shook her courage awake.
She locked eyes with Wolfgang, but the dowager signaled for the women to leave the men to their port, a formality Lady Alice had abandoned all summer but seemed to find crucial now, though perhaps she simply wanted to minimize time spent with the count or the margrave.
Charlotte was the last of the women to rise from the table, and she could feel Wolfgang’s gaze heating her back as they left the dining room for the Grand Salon.
Lawrence stopped her in the hall, coughing at her elbow to offer up a letter on a silver salver. “Your ladyship, the courier you were expecting arrived. I believe you asked me to notify you at once?”
“Thank you, Lawrence.”
Her hand shook slightly as she opened the letter and began to read:
My dear Lady Charlotte,
Felicitations on the success of the Aveton-Wells Mill, and for the sales figures you advanced to me.Most impressive! With the addition of the Jacquard loom, I’m honored—and, frankly, relieved—to accept your proposal on your brother’s behalf. Please find the sum of £9,000 in a bank draft enclosed herewith, as a loan against your shares of the mill. As always, I remain,
Your devoted servant,
Mr. Bernard Curlew
The bank draft, an enormous document much adorned with stamps, signatures, and seals, fell out into her hand.
A fortune, and it weighed nothing more than a feather.
“Mother, may I speak to you in private?” Charlotte said, leaning into the Grand Salon. She yearned to go to Wolfgang, but she needed to have an honest conversation with her mother first. One that was years overdue.
The dowager pushed her chair back. “I believe I’ll join—”
“Thank you, Gran, but no. I need to speak to Mother alone.”
“Yes, Lady Alice, we’ve no need of you.” Lady Margot stood, her skirts falling in stormy blue folds around her, and turned to her daughter. “Shall we take a turn in the portrait gallery, darling?”
A laugh almost slipped past Charlotte’s teeth. Her father hung in the portrait gallery, and Lady Margot never failed to point out his bloodshot eyes and the ugly set of his mouth. “Drunk even as he sat for his portrait,” she’d say whenever she visited the painting, which was surprisingly often when she came to Clare. Lady Margot’s grievances seemed to gain strength and multiply in the portrait gallery.
“I prefer outside, on the terrace,” Charlotte said. “I could use some air.”
A sky full of it.
