Tilting her head, Charlotte observed the socially enthusiastic young woman. “I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. Do you see how well she is shifting her attention between them, making sure they all feel equally valued, even bringing Lady Delia and her obviously reluctant cousins into the conversation. She’s quite amazing.”
His expression didn’t soften, but he didn’t try to argue either. He remained tense and watchful at Charlotte’s side until the three young men bowed and walked away.
When his shoulders visibly relaxed at their departure, Charlotte noted, “You take your role as escort very seriously.”
“Of course, I do,” he replied, sliding her a look from beneath furrowed brows. She got the sense he was surprised to be speaking so freely. She was surprised, as well. And a bit unsettled. “I take all of my responsibilities seriously,” he muttered, glancing away again.
Charlotte murmured, “As the heir to a dukedom, I imagine there are endless obligations.”
He gave a short sound of acknowledgment, but then added, “It’s not the dukedom so much as the family.” He sighed. “I’m the eldest of a great many cousins.”
“And you must look after them all,” she added softly, suddenly understanding a lot more about the man at her side.
With a shock of intuitive certainty, she realized that if he’d been given a choice, he wouldn’t have wanted this life. To be the revered and expectant heir. To carry the burden of a legacy generations long. To be the one so many relied upon. To always be seen as his role rather than simply a man.
Uncomfortable with her internal thoughts, she deliberately shifted her attention. All around them, people were strolling about, utterly unaware that Charlotte was being forced to reconsider her initial opinion of the man beside her.
Her gaze fell upon an elderly couple passing slowly along the path and a strange sensation gripped her—a deep prick of recognition, though she was fairly certain she’d never met these two before.
The lady glanced at their group—gathered casually on the lawn—with a dismissive look of annoyance. Until she spotted the marquess, that is. Then, her pinched expression turned instantly amiable and sweet as she gave a lovely smile in greeting while the man beside her bowed his head in a reverential nod, with a quickly muttered, “My lord.”
Charlotte didn’t bother glancing to Redington to note his response. Her focus remained with the couple and why they somehow seemed familiar. Then, just as they passed by, the gentleman flickered a glance over her person, his eyes cold and harshly judging.
She should have been infuriated by the obvious slight, but Charlotte couldn’t shake the sharp feeling that she should know the couple—a feeling that triggered a dark and ugly suspicion. After a few seconds, the lady gave a sudden quick glance back over her shoulder. Her elegant brows were furrowed, as though she were contemplating something troubling.
Charlotte had seen that exact expression before. In her mother’s bright and lovely face.
The gasp of air she sucked into her lungs felt like an icy wind. Her fingers and toes went suddenly numb and her legs weakened enough for her to take an awkward stumbling step.
It was them. The Lord and Lady Eastleigh. Her mother’s parents. The two people she hated most in the world. Theonlypeople she hated. She’d only ever seen their likenesses in a miniature her mother had kept of them. Though it had depicted them when they’d been decades younger, there was no denying the truth of it.
“Miss Dickson?” The marquess’s voice echoed strangely at her side. Close but seeming to come from far away as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Is this what fainting felt like?
Suddenly, her hazy field of vision was filled with the form of a tall, fit man with black eyes and a furrowed brow, bending his head toward hers. She felt his hand at her elbow and the warmth of his nearness and the undeniable strength of his presence. But all she could do was stare at the folds of his cravat.
Although the thought had occurred to her many times that she might encounter her grandparents while in London, she’d never actually allowed herself to truly consider what it would feel like or how she’d respond. Almost as if her mind wouldn’t let her go to that possibility, knowing how deeply it terrified her.
But now it had happened.
And she’d survived it.Barely.
“Miss Dickson, are you alright?” He’d lowered his voice to a more intimate tone and even in her odd distress, she realized it was likely to keep from drawing attention. Whether it was to save himself the embarrassment of a scene or to protectherfrom one didn’t matter as the effects were the same.
Charlotte blinked rapidly to dispel the fog from her mind and took a deep breath to ease the constriction of her chest. She wouldnotfall apart now. Not here. With the marquess staring at her so intently she could feel his regard like a brand on her skin.
Locking her knees, she tugged her elbow from his hand. “I’m quite fine, my lord.” Her words sounded terse and untrue, but he stepped away. And a moment later, their groups shifted and they prepared to part ways. Before leaving, the marquess turned to Charlotte and gave a proper bow. For a moment as he straightened, she met his deep, penetrating stare.
She wanted to be annoyed by his intent gaze and irritated by his obvious lingering concern. Instead, she felt the strangest flicker of gratitude.
Then he turned on his heel and walked purposefully away.
Merde.
Chapter Nine
Charlotte didn’t knowwhy she was there.
