Page 80 of Duke of Sapphire

“You are very kind to call,” she said.

Lady Hartwell looked around the drawing room with the bright, interested gaze of someone cataloguing details for later use. She had arrived twelve minutes ago. She had already admired the fireplace, the curtains, and the arrangement of the side table, and she had done it all in the particular way that made admiration feel like inventory.

“It is a lovely room,” Lady Hartwell said. “Sappherton always had such beautiful properties. Not that I know them well, of course—I have only ever seen the house from outside.” She smiled. “Though I expect you know it very well by now.”

“Well enough,” Charlotte said.

“Of course. Though I did hear—" There was a pause. “Well. There is always talk, isn’t there? People do love to remark on things.” She lifted her cup again. “Your marriage was so remarkably swift. Everyone said so.”

“We did not see the point in delay,” Charlotte said.

“No, indeed. And under the circumstances—” Another pause. Longer this time. “Well. I’m sure no one could blame you.”

Under the circumstances. Charlotte turned the phrase over. She smiled. “The circumstances were straightforward enough.”

“Oh, quite.” Lady Hartwell’s eyes were very warm. They had been warm since she arrived. They were the warmest eyes Charlotte had ever sat opposite, and she trusted them completely about as far as she could throw the tea service. “Though people do talk about the time you were—away. Some weeks, wasn’t it? Before the marriage?” She tilted her head. “Alone, in Scotland. One hears things.”

“One hears all sorts of things,” Charlotte agreed.

“They say—” Lady Hartwell set her cup down again, in the same exact spot, with the same delicate precision. “Well. They say a great many things. That the Duke felt compelled to marry. That a situation had arisen which required, shall we say, resolution.” She smiled. “I don’t believe a word of it, naturally.”

Charlotte looked at her. “Naturally.”

“You were traveling. Visiting family, I believe? Or—no. Sappherton’s ward, wasn’t it? The Scottish boy. Something of that sort.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I am sure the explanation is entirely simple. Only people will draw conclusions, you know how it is. And of course there is the other matter.”

Charlotte kept her face entirely still. “What other matter?”

“Only that someone—I couldn’t say who, it is really quite absurd—someone has been suggesting that the marriage was conducted rather too hastily to be entirely above question. Legally speaking.” Lady Hartwell’s brow furrowed with great concern. “Which is nonsense, of course. I said as much when I heard it. I was certain it could not be right, the Duke of Sappherton would not—well.” She let the sentence rest unfinished. “I am certain it is all quite proper.”

“It is entirely proper,” Charlotte said. “The documents are lodged with the appropriate parties. There is no question whatsoever.”

“Of course, of course.” Lady Hartwell smiled. “I was certain of it. As I said.”

She had not said it. Not quite. That was the particular artistry of it.

Charlotte picked up her own cup. She drank. The tea was excellent but she tasted nothing.

The door opened.

Henry entered.

He had a letter in one hand, and his coat was not entirely settled on his shoulders, as though he had shrugged into it on his way down the hall. He stopped when he saw Lady Hartwell. His gaze moved to Charlotte, quick and direct, reading something.

Charlotte looked at him.

Not now, she thought, with considerable force, as though the sheer will of it could cross the room. I am managing it.

She smiled. “Lady Hartwell, may I present my husband.”

Henry crossed the room. He inclined his head. “Lady Hartwell.”

Lady Hartwell stood at once, her face rearranging into an expression of great warmth and social delight. “Your Grace! What a pleasure. I was just telling the Duchess how pleased everyone is. Such a surprise, your marriage—in the best possible way, of course. We are all quite delighted.”

“Are you?” Henry’s tone was perfectly civil. His eyes moved to Charlotte again.

Charlotte smiled at him. It was the smile she used when she wanted someone to believe everything was entirely fine. She was fairly certain he did not believe it.

“I was paying my congratulations,” Lady Hartwell continued. “I had been meaning to call for weeks. One gets so terribly busy.” She gathered her gloves from the chair beside her. “But I must not keep you—I can see you have just come in, and I have quite overstayed. I only wanted to say how glad I am.” She pressed Charlotte’s hand briefly. “Do take tea with me soon. I should love to hear everything properly.”