Charlotte was growing as impatient with William and his long-lived grandfather as she had grown with Adrian and his willful blindness. For Charlotte to have been practically betrothed for years and still no closer to the altar was giving rise to gossip. She’d heard it herself. Titters and laughter and smirks, all of them slyly hidden behind gloved hands or flapping fans. But they were there nonetheless, insidious and petty beyond comprehension.
“I’m going to go ask Charlotte to take a turn with me. She looks rather unhappy about something at the moment.”
Julien immediately looked in her direction. Not searching, but knowing. And not for the first time Eleanor considered that he always seemed to know where Charlotte was. And yet whenever she was in their home, he was always curiously absent. Perhaps she was not the only one suffering unrequited affections. Was it possible that her brother was harboring a tendre for her friend? The irony of that was not lost on her. “Julien?”
“Yes, by all means. Go see to Charlotte. There’s a glass of brandy somewhere in this house that has been earmarked for me… This dreadful champagne that tastes like, well, things I will not mention here, is best left for those of less discriminating taste,” he said the last with a grimace of distaste, as if those who might enjoy the champagne were practically criminals. William’s grandfather wasn’t the only snob it seemed.
With that, her brother departed, leaving her in the middle of the drawing room. Alone. It felt as if the walls of that expansive room were shrinking in, surrounding her. It was dizzying as she glanced about, knowing that her embarrassment from the events at the Eagons’ party was still fresh in everyone’s mind. So all eyes were on her. Everyone was watching. And it wasn’t out of concern at all. It was simply morbid curiosity. The desire for some on dit to give them a moment of social victory when gossip was exchanged. Their questions were clear to her even though no said a word. Would she faint again? Would she fall into a dramatic swoon and once more be rescued by a moderately handsome if somewhat dull gentleman? No. If she fainted dead away that night, no one would save her. And then she’d be an object of both curiosityandpity.
Unable to tolerate it any longer, she made a beeline for Charlotte just as her almost betrothed, Mr. William Sutton, turned on his heel and walked away. From the snap of his heels on the marble floor, it was glaringly obvious that he was angry. Her own discomfort forgotten, Eleanor asked softly, “What are you quarreling about?”
“What do we always quarrel about?” Charlotte asked with a somewhat watery laugh. Her hands were clenched so tightly in front of her that there was a snap from her clutched fan. “I want us to be married. My fortune would be enough to sustain us. We do not need his inheritance. But he won’t hear of it. It’s always his excuse. His grandfather might live to be a hundred and thenI’ll be old. Old and useless…. I can’t wait forever, Eleanor. I can’t. Why can he not see that?”
Because he did not wish to. If he truly wanted to marry Charlotte, would anything have stopped him? It was a thought that had crossed Eleanor’s mind more than once. Clearly it had crossed Charlotte’s as well.
Eleanor didn’t know what to do for her friend, so she simply took her hand and held it. She squeezed her fingers tightly in a show of silent reassurance and commissary. “I am sorry. I hate to see you so upset.”
Charlotte blinked away the tears that threatened, hovering there on her dark lashes like an icy jewel. “Enough about me and my woe-be-gone tale. What happened today when Lord Marklynne came to see you?”
“How do you know that he did?”
“I know. I’ve known you long enough to understand perfectly well that you cannot hide the fact you are keeping a secret,” Charlotte stated matter of factly, but it had restored some of the twinkle to her eye. A twinkle that was not a result of glistening tears. “Let’s slip off to the ladies’ retiring room and you can tell me everything.”
Could she tell her everything? Part of her wished to. After all, she’d confided everything to Charlotte, including that she had been half in love with Adrian Grant for the entirety of her adult life and he’d never even noticed her. But could she tell her friend that she was considering marrying a man who might likely never love her? A man whom she might never love in return? And the first thing Charlotte would do would be to tell Julien, not as a betrayal, but as a way of safeguarding her even from herself.
It was all far more complicated than she’d imagined when she’d agreed to Lord Marklynne’s request to court her for the purpose of marriage. It dawned on her then that it was little better than an arranged marriage, even if they were doing all thearranging themselves. It was a marriage of convenience for him in that she simply ticked the boxes on his list of requirements. Not because it was her, but because she’d do. There was a bitterness to being chosen for such a reason that would not quite leave her. Even if, in truth, her reasons for accepting were no better. She had no other offers. There was no one else competing for her hand. And if she didn’t marry him, she’d likely never marry anyone. Surely that was worse? It would not be the first time she had swallowed her pride, but it was no less bitter for the practice.
Adrian wasin the billiard room when Julien entered. He’d been waiting for his friend to arrive, his apprehension about what he was about to do growing with each passing second. Once he spotted him, he lifted his glass, waving his friend over and then Julien began crossing the room toward him.
“Is the evening as dull as I feared?” Julien asked.
It was about to get decidedly less dull. Whatever Julien’s response to the things he was about to disclose, they would certainly change everything. “Did Marklynne call on Eleanor today as he’d said?”
Julien nodded, reaching for the decanter of brandy on a nearby table. With practiced ease, he poured himself a healthy measure before he answered, “Indeed. He did. He came for tea this afternoon and the pair of them spent a not insignificant amount of time together. Though it was deucedly quiet. I never heard a peep from the drawing room the whole time he was there.”
“Good God! You should have put a stop to that immediately,” Adrian insisted. The idea that Eleanor had been alone withthe man—a man they knew nothing of—was beyond worrisome. After all, Marklynne could be some sort of libertine for all anyone knew of him.
“Why?” Julien asked, a dismissive note in his tone, as if it didn’t bear consideration. “He is a gentleman.”
Adrian shook his head, befuddled by his friend’s lackadaisical attitude toward protecting his sister’s virtue. “What are you typically doing when you are alone with a woman and no one is talking?”
Julien tensed instantly. “You are speaking of my sister, Adrian.”
“I’m not accusing her, blast it. I’m simply saying that he is a man and we understand, as men ourselves, exactly what his motivations might be,” Adrian insisted. “Not every man who calls himself a gentleman is one. She’s too vulnerable, too trusting. And he’s unknown to us all. Why, until this season, he’s never shown his face in society!”
“He was in the military and out of the country. I am not so lax in caring for my sister that I didn’t ask a few questions about the man!”
There was no intelligent response to that, so Adrian resorted to just stubborn refusal. “I do not want him courting her.”
Julien raised an eyebrow at “That isn’t up to you. It isn’t even really up to me. Eleanor is eight and twenty now. She is more than capable of making those choices for herself and I haven’t the gall to attempt to stop her from doing so when she’s more sense than almost anyone I’ever known,” Julien countered evenly, his confidence in Eleanor’s discernment unwavering. But then his eyes narrowed, curiosity and suspicion suddenly settling over his features. “Why are you so dead set against Lord Marklynne as a potential match for my sister? Do you know something about him that I should be made aware of?”
“I know only that he is not right for her. He is unworthy of her,” Adrian insisted, implacable.
“What man is?” Julien asked with a shrug. “If women only entertained men who were worthy of them then the human race would have died out long ago.”
“I agree that no man is worthy of her. But she should be courted by a man who recognizes how exceptional she is and strives to deserve her regard… and I want to be that man,” Adrian admitted. The weight of that heavy truth was only apparent after he’d uttered, after the relief that suffused him left him shaken.
Julien went stock still, his glass halfway to his lips when he froze, his stillness rendering his true reaction inscrutable. Was it anger? Shock? After shaking off the stupor, he downed the brandy in one swallow and hissed out a breath at the instant burn. “That requires expounding upon. Why now? Why this sudden change of heart?”
