We’ll take tea in the morning room.
“Of course,” she said. “You remember where the morning room is?”
Charles nodded.
She curtseyed again, then disappeared toward the kitchens, and he made his way through an oak-paneled door into a room decorated in dark purple. The color of wealth, Father had always said—to show all comers that the Devereaux family was to be revered.
Revered, indeed! The family name had been blighted by scandal sincethatnight. From that moment, Charles had been nothing but a disappointment to his parent.
Fuck you, Father.
He lowered himself into a threadbare chair, and motioned John to sit.What do you think of our new home?
“Do you require honesty or diplomacy, sir?”
Charles let out a snort.I am not in the mood for either.
“Very good, sir,” the valet said. “I should see to your trunk. It appears that Mrs. Brougham can understand you enough to take your instructions. Shall I speak to her about your requirements for supper, or will you?”
You do it. And tell her not to bother with the tea.
John bowed, then exited the room.
Charles leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of damp, dust, and doom.
Was he really supposed to find some perfect English girl and bring her back to this godforsaken place? Nobody deserved to be a prisoner here like he now found himself to be.
Then he allowed himself a smirk.
Perhaps it would be a fitting punishment for whatever grasping debutante he was forced to shackle himself to merely to keep this bloody estate solvent. At least the place was large enough that he wouldn’t be forced to spend any more time with her than necessity demanded.
As soon as he’d settled his belongings here, he’d return to London, find the largest dowry he could, then return to a life of solitude. Whether the bride followed him mattered not. All he craved now wasa peaceful existence, away from the rest of the world—free from debt and, most importantly, from other people.
Chapter Four
London
“Asomewhat unsuccessfulSeason so far, Olivia. We must discuss what to do about it.”
Olivia paused, her teacup at her lips, and eyed her brother. Then she set the cup back on the saucer with a clatter.
His eyes narrowed and she withstood the instinct to cringe.
“I’m only stating the facts as I see them,” he said.
“Perhaps now’s not the time to statefacts as you see them, my love,” a soft voice spoke.
Olivia glanced at her sister-in-law. Eleanor seemed such a timid creature, at least in public, with mild features and hair an unremarkable shade of brown. But the unusually intense expression in her dark-green eyes spoke of a sharp intelligence beneath the awkward exterior—intelligence and a passionate concern for the few people she loved.
And Olivia was fortunate enough to be one of those few.
“Nevertheless, Eleanor, you cannot fail to agree with me,” Olivia’s brother said.
“Perhaps, Montague, but there’s no harm in showing a little compassion.”
Montague? Eleanor rarely addressed him by his full name, save in admonishment.
He arched an eyebrow.
