If Charlotte had anticipated a warm welcome from Sebastian the next morning when she met him for breakfast, she was mistaken.
“Well, Cousin,” he said, his hazel gaze raking her up and down, “I hope you are pleased with yourself and what you have achieved.”
“We have located Constance and her new husband if that’s what you mean,” Charlotte said, remembering the story Constance had, over the course of their long journey together, regaled her with repeatedly. “There was a quiet ceremony at the family estate, and we returned from there.”
“Yes, I’d heard our Edward has made a remarkable match.” Grim anger marred his expression, but although no doubt he had been shocked at the development, the anger was predominantly for her. “And no doubt you encouraged it.”
“I did no such thing.”
He raised his brows and despite everything, Charlotte shrank back into her chair. Could he see her loss of innocence in her face? Could he somehow know that she harbored secret feelings for a man who offeredhernothing in return but an understanding of their mutual convenience?
“I know you disapprove,” she said, fighting to keep the color from her face, “but Edward married Constance with no prompting for me. Nor would I have encouraged the match. As for my visit to the estate, the visit was chaperoned and entirely above board, Sebastian, no matter what you might think of it.”
“I suppose you are like every other young woman in theton, prepared to throw yourself at his feet.”
Charlotte drew herself up. “I have no intention of throwing myself atanybody, Duke or no. And if this is your method of recommending yourself to me, I would recommend you rethink your approach.” With that, though she felt she had very little dignity left, she retired to the drawing room and encountered Marcella on the stairs.
“So, you’re back,” Marcella said spitefully. “Did you have fun gallivanting with your Duke?”
“I did not gallivant, Marcella.”
“Oh, if you were to hear society’s comments at your abrupt removal with him, I’m sure you would be less convinced. I believe disappearing off to his estate at the drop of a hat under the pretext of finding his sister constitutes gallivanting.”
“While I’m positiveyouwould not consider going with the Duke with the sole intention of helping him, I’m afraid thatiswhy I went,” Charlotte said, a bite to her voice. “And while no doubt the rest of thetonviews my activities with suspicion, I have nothing to offer but my own utter certainty that I did everything that was proper and helped him locate Constance which I’m sure you can believe weighed heavily on his mind.”
“And you?” Marcella asked slyly. “Did you weigh heavy on his mind?” Here, Charlotte could have told the truth—that she suspected she factored in few of his thoughts. But the opportunity to goad Marcella was so high, she could hardly resist. Besides, when they were in public, Aaron had played the adoring fiancé so well it was only fitting that she pay tribute to that.
“Well,” she said, allowing a slow smile to spread across her face. “I suspect now we have discovered Constance and she is alive and well—and married, now—I will feature in his thoughts a great deal more.”
“Harlot,” Marcella hissed.
“Hardly. I need not engage in inappropriate behavior for the Duke to want me,” Charlotte said. “I’m afraid your dreams of being a Duchess will never come to fruition.”
Marcella scowled, twisting her features in a way that, although she was classically beautiful, made her appear downright ugly. “You will never marry him.”
“Are you to be the person stopping us?”
“If I must. Hecannotmarry someone like you.”
“And would you match him better?” Charlotte demanded, unable to bite her tongue. “You, whose only thought is to take and take and never consider anyone else? You, whose immediate thought upon seeing our happiness is to try and take it away? The Duke is kinder than you will ever be.”
Marcella paused, one hand on the banister, and stared at Charlotte with a contemplative expression on her face. “You’ve changed your tune,” she said at last, and this time there was no anger in her voice—merely curiosity. “Can it be that you do have feelings for him after all?”
They were shortly to end their engagement, and Charlotte should be sowing the seeds of that now, but she couldn’t help snapping, “He is soon to be my husband—ought I feel nothing for him at all?”
“I had not known—” Marcella’s expression turned downright wicked. “Still, it makes no difference. The Duke deserves better than a woman left on the shelf.”
“If you feel that way,” Charlotte said, knowing that whatever Aaron’s private feelings on her age, he would never express such a thing to Marcella, “you must tell him so yourself.”
“Perhaps I will.”
“And allow me to be present, so I may watch.” Charlotte brushed past Marcella into the drawing room. “The thing you do not understand about respect, Marcella, is that one may earn it. And I, no matter what you may think of the match, have earned the Duke’s.”
Marcella merely sniffed, and Charlotte placed herself at the pianoforte with a sigh. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back here after all. It had been a long time since this house had felt like a home.
* * *
The only possible course of action left to Aaron now that he returned to London with a married sister in tow was to throw a ball in their honor. Lady Lowood had agreed to open it with him as Constance had married a Calore, and the ball was set five days from hence with nothing for him to do but engage in his usual activities and wait for his aunt to organize everything.
