He had never seen Charlotte so flustered.
“It’s just that I was arranging some of the furniture upstairs,” she finished lamely.
“I imagine there is much to do,” he answered. “I won’t keep you from your tasks. However there are several things I thought you ought to know. It won’t take long.”
Charlotte hesitated, and then reluctantly gestured for him to step into the corridor. Her agitation struck him as odd. He was familiar with her old abode and its spartan furnishings—though judging by the entrance foyer, the new house had come with some basic amenities.
“I . . .” Charlotte moved stiffly to a half-open door, her face pinching in embarrassment. “I suppose we can have a word in here.”
Wrexford expected the room to be empty. “Mrs. Sloane, there is no need to be . . .” His voice cut off as he crossed the threshold.
“M-My friend—” she began.
“Your friend has excellent taste,” he interjected, as he gazed around at the well-chosen arrangements of furniture.
“I-I had no idea of his plans,” she stammered. “I didn’t . . . I couldn’t . . .”
Wrexford almost smiled at seeing her so tongue-tied. But the depth of her distress was no laughing matter.
“It’s a very pleasant parlor,” he said. “Clearly your friend knows you well. You’ll be very comfortable here.”
Her face turned pale for an instant, then flooded with color. “This was a complete surprise!”
“Good heavens, you need not feel you owe me any explanation,” replied Wrexford with a careless shrug. “The sofa looks quite comfortable. Might we sit down? My arms are growing quite tired.”
“Donottease me, sir!”
The earl was glad to see her usual fire finally flare to life.
“In fact, this is . . . this is . . .” Charlotte huffed in frustration, then allowed a wry grimace. “In fact, this is allyourfault!”
He raised his brows. “Myfault?”
“Yes.” Her mouth quirked, hovering between a frown and a smile. “Your lecture on accepting help from friends impelled me to let down my guard.”
“Which is all for the good,” murmured Wrexford.
“Is it?” Uncertainty shadowed her features. Looking away, Charlotte drew a steadying breath. And then another.
Wrexford remained silent. Whatever battle she was fighting, he sensed he was not the enemy.
When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “It feels as if my life is at sixes and sevens.”
Humor, he decided, was the best way to defuse the situation. “Speaking of numbers, that happens to be the reason I’m here. There’s something I want you to see.”
Charlotte chuffed a laugh.
A good sign
“Impossible man,” she said. “Do you not take anything seriously?”
“On very rare occasions. But this is not one of them.” He looked around again, and then added, “In my humble opinion, you are making a tempest in a teapot about this. Your lordly friend has gifted you with some furnishings—which I daresay came from acres of attics crammed with the flotsam and jetsam of past generations. It is a gesture of friendship, not pity. To argle and bargle over it is an insult to his intentions.”
She lowered her lashes, hiding her eyes.
“But then,” he added dryly, “you’re well aware of my sardonic outlook on human nature.”
Charlotte shifted her stance, and suddenly her grim expression surrendered to a smile. “If you were looking to singe my hubris, consider it done. I doubt the Devil himself could have raked me over any hotter coals.”
