The Marquis and I (The Worthingtons #4)(52)

“I beg your pardon?” For a moment, she was too shocked to say more. After the first few weeks, he had acted as if he did not need to do anything more. Not only had he never danced with her more than once at a ball, he had only once sent her flowers. “After the first two weeks of the Season, I only saw you at balls and other entertainments. And you have spent the last few weeks in the country. That is hardly what I could consider fixing my attention.”

“There is no reason to become upset. I was busy. You must have known I planned to offer for you.” Harrington blew out a breath. “I even wrote to your brother, informing him I would do myself the honor of calling on him when I returned.”

Actually, it was more like a huff, and Charlotte’s temper rose. “Yes, you did. You did not, however, arrange to write to me.”

“That would not have been proper before I had my father’s permission.” She had never before known how much he relied on his father’s approval. “With the position with Sir Charles under discussion, I dared not make any mistakes.”

“Sir Charles?” What had Sir Charles to do with Harrington’s behavior toward her?

“Yes.” Glancing down at her, he gave a patronizing look. “I suppose you do not know. He is the ambassador to France and The Hague.”

Of course she knew, and he should know she knew from their conversation the other day.

“Naturally, as my wife, you will have to make a point to learn the people and politics involved—”

“I am well aware of who Sir Charles is. Why did you not mention it as a possibility before you left?”

“As I said, nothing had been decided, and I did not wish to get your hopes up.”

Her hopes? Charlotte was so angry she could happily kick Harrington. Unfortunately, that was not a possibility. They had reached the Park and it seemed as if everyone was staring at them. She pasted a smile on her lips. Apparently, she had been right about him not really caring about her. He merely wanted a wife. It was fortunate that she did not have to marry this Season.

“Come, come,” he said in a tone one might use with a child. “I will speak with Worthington and set it all straight.”

Providentially, Lady Bellamny pulled up on the verge to speak with them. She was followed by several other ladies Charlotte knew, and by the time she and Harrington had arrived back at the gate, she was in charity with, if not him, the rest of the world.

“I should return home.”

“If you wish.”

It was during that part of the walk she noticed he never used an endearment when speaking with her, or told her how he felt about her. He also minced, making her slow to his step as if he thought she was walking too quickly, and the muscles in his arms were not as hard as Kenilworth’s muscles. That thought startled her. Charlotte had never noticed a man’s muscles before. Why would she care about them now?

She wondered if Harrington would have come to the house when the children were ill, as Rothwell, Louisa’s husband, had, but Bentley, Harrington’s friend who had thought himself in love with her, had not. “My youngest brother and sisters contracted the measles while you were gone.”

“How horrible.” His words were correct, but his tone indicated that he did not care.

“I helped nurse them,” she added to see his reaction.

“Rest assured when we have children you will do no such thing.”

She knew many mothers relied on their nurses and nursemaids, but Charlotte could not imagine not being with her children when they were ill.

They strolled up the steps to her house and the door opened, causing her to almost walk into Lord Kenilworth. . . with the children lined up behind him. Once again, Harrington was pouting like a small child and had refused to accompany them to Gunter’s.

Charlotte savored the taste of the lavender ice. On the way here, Kenilworth’s arm had flexed under her fingers, and she’d enjoyed the feel of his strength. Then he had said he had done this for her. It was time to discover if he was the one.

She handed her dish to Hal, one of their footmen. Kenilworth was wiping Mary’s hands with a piece of linen.

“I like him,” Theo said. “You can marry him if you’d like.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte held back the giggle burbling up. “I do not yet know if that is what I want to do.”

He handed the cloth to one of the footmen, who returned it to the tea shop, then strolled over to them. “That was the last of them.” He grinned at her and she smiled back. “I hope I haven’t ruined their dinner.”

Theo ran back to her footman, and Kenilworth held out his arm to Charlotte.

“I think they will be fine,” she replied, taking his arm.

When she returned, she would ask Grace to invite him to dinner before the next ball.





Chapter Eighteen


The next morning, Charlotte and her sister visited Madam Lisette the modiste to whom they had been giving their custom.

“I wish you happy,” Madam said as she spread out drawings over a long table. “I ’ave ’eard of your engagement.”

As had everyone else in the ton. “Thank you, Madam.”

Sleep had not come easily last night. Every time Charlotte thought she would surrender to Morpheus, another thought invaded her mind. Lord Harrington had shown himself to be someone other than what he had pretended to be when they had first met. Apparently, the attentions he had paid to her early on—pretending interest in her brothers and sisters—were not how he intended to behave as a husband. If he actually got around to proposing, she would reject him. Although, he would most likely not take no for an answer. That would be awkward.