The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(27)

“If you do not mind,” Jane said, “I would like to see the house and gardens as well.”

Charlotte sent up a prayer of thanks for helpful cousins.

“Not at all, ma’am. It is my pleasure.” He sounded as if he really meant it, which surprised her.

Perhaps she had been right after all, and he would be glad to be free of her.

Then again, her sister always said that one caught more flies with a spoonful of honey than a gallon of vinegar. Not that she wanted him to catch her, nor did she wish to be drawing caps at every turn, and there was his mother to consider.

After descending the grand staircase, turning right, then strolling down another corridor, they finally reached the drawing room. It was just as light and lovely as the other rooms.

Lady Kenilworth was already sitting next to the fireplace with a glass of wine in her hand. “Welcome, Mrs. Addison.” Lady Kenilworth set her drink on a small marble-topped table and rose. “My dear Lady Charlotte, how wonderful to see you so well rested.” Her ladyship held out her hands to Jane and Charlotte. “Will you have wine or sherry?”

“Sherry, if you please,” Charlotte replied.

“I as well,” Jane agreed.

Lord Kenilworth poured, handing them their glasses.

“Kenilworth has told me about your betrothal. I cannot tell you how happy I am. A toast.” Her ladyship smiled beatifically. “To your betrothal. You do not know how long I have waited to have a daughter.”

Even though she had not said a word, Charlotte felt like the worst sort of impostor.

Charlotte had just taken a sip of sherry when Kenilworth retorted drily, “I am only two and thirty.” Though at the moment he sounded more like thirteen. “And you already have three daughters. Surely you have not forgotten them.”

Despite her vow to behave perfectly, she could not stop herself. “How dare you speak to your mother in such a way?” Her grip tightened on the stem of the glass as she fought to keep some control over herself. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, my lord, and thank your good fortune that you still have a mother.” Kenilworth and the marchioness turned their startled gazes to her. Oh, Lord. What had she done? “Forgive me,” Charlotte said, vastly more contrite than she expected to be. Her nerves must be more frayed than she thought. “I should not have spoken. My mother died several years ago, and I miss her every day.”

“I know exactly how you feel, my dear.” Lady Kenilworth hurried to Charlotte, giving her such a sympathetic look that she had to force herself not to burst into tears again. “I too lost my mother when I was young. I do not believe one ever forgets. Constantine”—the marchioness’s chin rose—“I approve of your choice of wife and as far as I am concerned, nothing else matters.”

Oh no! She had not defended Lady Kenilworth to gain the woman’s approval in a marriage Charlotte had no intention of making.

Yet, now what was she to do? She could not allow her ladyship to continue under the misapprehension that she would marry her son. She would have to explain that she did not truly have to wed his lordship.

She tried to ignore what her cousin had said. “It is a temporary engagement only. I am sure that under the circumstances, his lordship would agree that ending our betrothal in late summer or autumn is in both of our interests.” She forced herself to smile at the others. “By then the events will all be forgotten.”

“I disagree,” Kenilworth said in what she was recognizing as his normal highhanded tone. “I have no faith that Braxton will not tell everyone and his dog that you and I were seen early in the morning appearing disheveled.” Lord Kenilworth glanced at his mother. “The fact that neither of us were at the inn last evening is easily proven.”

That was tricky of him. Worse, he might be right.

Although, why he would want to marry her, Charlotte could not even guess. “I am sure that once my sister and brother-in-law have returned to Town, they will post here immediately. I suggest that we wait for them to finish this discussion.”

“I agree. We shall leave it up to Worthington and your sister.” He took a sip of wine and smiled at her.

It was almost as if he knew something she did not. Yet, neither Matt nor Grace would ever make Charlotte marry where she did not wish. Of that she was certain.





Chapter Ten


Burt spent most of the morning and afternoon following any trail he could find of Lady Charlotte and Lord Braxton. Unfortunately, it was not until he was backtracking through a tollgate that he had any luck. The man collecting tolls was not the same one Burt had seen that morning.

Taking out the coins, he asked, “Don’t suppose you seen a lady and a gentleman come through before dawn?”

The older man took the money. “That I did. Thought it was strange seeing them so early. This ain’t London.”

“Any idea where they went?”

“Only one town of any size round here, that’d be Blackwell.”

Burt tipped his hat to the toll keeper. “Thanks for the information.”

It took him another two hours before he reached the town. The streets were lined with more sporting vehicles than he’d ever seen in one place.

Tables were set up outside two inns, and young men and boys ran in and out carrying pints of ale.

He grabbed one of the boys. “What’s goin’ on?”