“Of course,” Anastasia murmured.
Commotion reached them, and Marcella flung the door open. “Harlot,” she spat when she saw Charlotte. “I hope you’re happy.”
“Exceedingly so,” Charlotte said calmly.
“For all your claims you didn’t arrange this, you seem happy enough to go along with it.”
“Marcella,” Anastasia chided, “you forget yourself.”
“Sebastian will put an end to it,” Marcella said smugly. “You’ll see.”
“Sebastian is not in the power to control who I marry,” Charlotte said, the temper that had briefly lain dormant flaring again. “Even if it is the Duke of Hexham. He should be proud that I’ve made such a good match.”
“A match above your station, you mean,” Marcella sneered. “He should have married me.”
“Girls.” Anastasia stood. “I will not have this nonsense. Marcella, I understand this is not what you wanted, but—”
“She doesn’t deserve him!”
“A strong sentiment from someone who hasn’t even spoken to the Duke,” Charlotte flashed. “How should you know what he deserves and what he doesn’t?”
“Enough!” Charlotte looked at her mother and away, but Marcella jutted out her bottom lip stubbornly. Charlotte knew what was coming: pulled hair and stolen dresses and missing items. Nothing was sacred when Marcella was in a huff, and short of reporting every last thing to her mother, whose control over Marcella was slight at best, there was nothing Charlotte could do about it.
“You won’t get away with it,” Marcella hissed as soon as Anastasia looked away. “You’ll see.” Charlotte forbore to mention she had no intention of getting away with it, and when the door opened and the Duke of Hexham was announced, she rose with a wider smile than she might usually have worn.
“Your Grace,” Anastasia said, sinking into a curtsy. “What an honor.”
“The honor is all mine.” The Duke bowed smartly and held out a bunch of flowers that looked as though they had come directly from a hothouse. “Please allow me to present these to Lady Charlotte.”
Marcella’s eyes narrowed, and Charlotte gloried in the sight as she curtsied. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “They’re lovely.”
“I shall have them put in water directly,” Anastasia said, and a maid relieved the Duke of the flowers. “How kind of you to visit. As you can see, our Charlotte is looking particularly well.”
The Duke’s smile was a trifle mocking, but he bent and pressed his lips against Charlotte’s hand. She wasn’t wearing gloves, and the warmth of his mouth against her bare skin almost made her shiver. “Truly a vision,” he said.
“Your Grace,” Marcella said, sidling up to them and holding out her hand. “What a delight to see you here.”
“A delight to be here,” he said politely, also bowing over her hand. Marcella sent Charlotte a spiteful glance.
“We must throw a ball to celebrate,” Anastasia said, her hands fluttering as she considered. “And your dear aunt, Your Grace, I must call on her.”
“Did you find no occasion to speak with her at the ball?” he asked.
“Oh, to be sure, but there was no opportunity for frankness and privacy there.”
Charlotte glanced down so no one would see her cheeks burn.
“Indeed not,” the Duke said though there was a hint of humor in his voice. “Aunt Octavia would be more than delighted to receive you.”
“Yes, of course. Yes, we know each other.” Gathering her composure, Anastasia rose and seated herself at the other side of the room. “Marcella,” she commanded, “I wish you would look at this passage with me, for it perplexes me greatly.”
“Oh, surely you do not desire to be alone,” Marcella said to the Duke, leaning forward so the long line of her neck was at full advantage. “Charlotte can have nothing to say for herself, and things shall be terribly dull if you don’t have some entertainment.”
Charlotte looked back up, eyes narrowed, biting back her retort:You making a fool of yourself is the only entertainment we need.
“The Duke and I have plenty to discuss,” Charlotte said sweetly, hating the sugary nature of her voice as she looked up at him and the wicked amusement on his face. Odious man. “As we discovered at the ball.”
“Marcella,” Anastasia called, steel in her voice, “I insist you sit with me.” A scowl crossed Marcella’s face, turning her pleasing features quite ugly, and she flounced across the room. The Duke immediately took her place, sitting close enough to Charlotte that the sheer enormity of his presence soaked into her.
