He wasn’t sure if he felt relief or nausea at the reappearance of Mr. Tresham.
“His Lordship has yet to rise. Lady Denton and Miss Fairchild shall be down shortly, however.”
Blast it all. Anthony nodded. Lord Denton had consumed an abundance of port the evening before and probably needed to sleep it off.
The windowpanes rattled and Anthony grimaced. If this weather didn’t let up, he wasn’t going anywhere soon. It wouldn’t be fair of him to put his cattle and driver in danger merely because he preferred to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here.
He should have waited until tomorrow. Christmas Day.
“My Lord, how wonderful to see you this morning.” Lady Denton appeared, elegantly dressed. Miss Fairchild entered close behind. “I’m so sorry his lordship is indisposed.” She winced. “But perhaps you can meet with him later this afternoon. I can’t imagine you’re going anywhere in this awful storm.”
“My lord.” Miss Fairchild dropped into a curtsy beside her mother. She seemed paler than usual this morning, as though she’d lain awake much of the night as he had.
Anthony bowed. “Miss Fairchild.”
“Tresham.” Lady Denton beckoned out the door to the butler. “Fetch Drake so that Lord Mapleton and Miss Fairchild can be properly chaperoned. I promised Mrs. Smythe I’d show her the gallery this morning.”
“Of course, my lady.” The efficient butler removed himself as quickly as he’d appeared.
Drake. Miss Drake.
Charlotte.
Anthony ran one hand through his hair. Damn his eyes, but this was not going to get any easier.
Charlotte glancedout the window from Miss Fairchild’s chamber. He must be eager to settle the betrothal with her father to have traveled in this weather.
Miss Fairchild had been unusually quiet when she’d finally returned to her chamber late the night before. Charlotte had thought the younger girl would have been pleased with herself, but instead, she’d seemed subdued. In fact, she’d barely said a word while Charlotte prepared her for bed.
She’d actually thanked Charlotte when she’d finished plaiting her hair. And she hadn’t mentioned Lord Mapleton even once.
As much as Charlotte had dreaded hearing Miss Fairchild rehash the proposal, she knew that being a confidante was, in fact, one of her duties. Why wasn’t Susan reveling in the proposal?
Even this morning Lady Denton had ordered her daughter to dress carefully. For a moment Charlotte had thought Susan looked paler than usual at the reminder.
It was almost as though she was having second thoughts.
Which ought not to affect Charlotte at all. If Susan called it off, Lord Mapleton would merely need to find another gently bred and well dowered young woman.
Charlotte would not be required to hear about it if that were the case. She wouldn’t have to fear that she would see him. She wouldn’t have to pretend she’d never seen longing in his eyes. If he married some other lady, Charlotte could go about her work and forget he even existed. That would be far superior to living as a servant in his household.
So perhaps it made a difference after all.
A tremor ran through her as she smoothed the soft moss day gown she’d chosen for her young mistress. The color softened Susan’s features without overpowering her coloring. The coiffure Charlotte created turned out rather delightful, what with all the delicate braids and a few curls.
No matter that she’d had to redo the style three times before getting it right.
Susan had looked lovely when her mother demanded she accompany her downstairs.
Tidying the suddenly quiet chamber, Charlotte scooped up Susan’s night dress and draped the fine material over the back of a chair.
A knock interrupted her musings.
“Miss Drake,” Mr. Tresham peered in. “Her ladyship requests you come downstairs to chaperone Miss Fairchild right away. His Lordship, Lord Mapleton, that is, will be staying for the day.”
How was it possible that her heart took flight and yet plummeted at the exact same time?
“They are in the East Drawing room.” And with a nod he disappeared.
