“I don’t think there’s any need to fret over my marriage with Camden,” Rosamund reassured her. “Ours is not a love match. We are, each of us, free to carry on our lives in whatever capacity we like. There shan’t be feelings involved.”
“A marriage of convenience,” Lottie said. “I do so wish that was how Grenfell explained our union to me. Instead, I told him I loved him, and he returned the sentiment.”
And then, on their wedding night, he had consummated their marriage quite unsatisfyingly in the dark before going to his mistress.
It had been the first time he had shattered her heart, but it hadn’t been the last.
“I am so very sorry for what you endured with Grenfell, my dear,” Rosamund said, her tone sympathetic. “I am quite confident in the agreement I’ve made with Camden. I never considered marriage a business decision, but this one is. And in truth, I understand business matters so much better than I comprehend affairs of the heart. It is far more familiar territory to me—and far less easily manipulated.”
Rosamund was a shrewd businesswoman. Although she was an heiress in her own right, she had steadily built upon her family’s wealth. Lottie dearly hoped her friend was taking every effort to protect her autonomy and her funds from Camden, though she was also mindful that her friend had not requested advice. Rosamund was an intelligent woman, and her decision had been made clear by the betrothal announcement.
“All I want is what’s best for you, my dear,” Lottie told her, refraining from voicing her fear that marriage to the Duke of Camden decidedly wasn’t it.
“What’s best, what’s best,” Megs said. “Hell’s bells.”
“Megs, you’re being perfectly dreadful,” Rosamund scolded the parrot.
“Perfectly dreadful, perfectly dreadful,” Megs squawked. “Close your gob, close your gob.”
“Yes,” Rosamund said pointedly. “Do follow your own advice, if you please. Truly, I don’t know why I ever deign to bring you along with me when you can never be a lady.”
“Never a lady, never a lady,” Megs said. “Show me your bubbies.”
“Oh good heavens.” Rosamund’s face was red, her embarrassment as comical as the African grey’s disreputable behavior.
Lottie chortled. “The sea captain strikes again.”
Her friend offered up another bite of biscuit for the bird. “There you are, you little scamp. Eat this and be quiet.”
Megs obligingly ate the biscuit, sending a new shower of crumbs falling.
“I don’t suppose she’ll be a guest at the wedding?” Lottie asked, biting her lip as she struggled to contain her merriment.
“She most definitely won’t,” Rosamund confirmed, her tone grim. “But I do hope you will be in attendance. Say you will.”
As a rule, Lottie despised weddings. But she had exceptions, as in the case of her dear friend Hyacinth. For her friends, she would hold her head high and pretend as if her own marriage hadn’t torn her apart, piece by piece, second by minute, hour by day by year, until there had been nothing left.
She forced a bright smile. “I’d love nothing better.”
A second invitation,far more formal and yet infinitely more dangerous, arrived after Rosamund and Megs had taken their leave.
Lottie stared at the by-now-familiar masculine scrawl on the missive she’d just unfolded, her heart pounding fast.
O beloved sorceress of wayward children and ragtag mongrels,
Join me for dinner again this evening. I’ll send my carriage for you at seven.
B.
Although his salutationhad her smiling even when she knew she shouldn’t allow herself to be amused by his ridiculous charm, Lottie couldn’t help but to take note that Brandon hadn’t requested her presence for dinner, nor had he inquired after whether she would need the use of his carriage. Also, taking his carriage as opposed to her own felt far too intimate when she couldn’t afford to allow herself to get any closer to the man.
Falling for him would be the height of folly, and from such lofty altitudes, there was so very far to fall.
She struck the smile from her face and hastened to put her own pen to paper. What was she thinking? Accepting a dinner invitation from the Duke of Brandon would be nothing short of disastrous. Her response was swift.
Your Grace,
I am not yours to command, nor shall I ever be. For future reference, presumably as it may pertain to your courtship of a bride, a lady ought to be asked. Her presence must be inquired after, not demanded.
