And it seemed he wasn’t the only one observing Miss Dickson. She’d even been written about in the gossip pages several times, though no one seemed capable of agreeing on where she’d come from and why she’d suddenly appeared in their society as a debutante at the terribly advanced age of twenty-two. One article declared her to be the daughter of a famous actress who’d made a name for herself in Rome and Paris, another insisted she was granddaughter to some unnamed member of the peerage.
Ralston didn’t believe either account. Gossip had a way of twisting tidbits of truth into some monstrous representation of whatever they wished to convince the ton of this week. Despite his admitted curiosity about her, it couldn’t matter to him what Miss Dickson’s history might be.
His position required that he match with nothing less than a daughter of the highest pedigree from a family with an untarnished legacy, equal to his own. So far, his search had been fruitless. Not that he was making any great effort at it.
Eventually, he’d have to do his duty and marry a proper lady, no matter how distasteful the process. Just…not yet.
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte nodded herthanks to Hermia before entering Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s office. As expected, the woman was seated behind her desk, dressed in full black with her veil carefully in place.
“Good evening, Miss Dickson,” she said smoothly as she gestured to the chair positioned across from her.
Charlotte took a seat. She’d requested this meeting—nearly two weeks after their first—because she hadn’t gotten any word on the Black Widow’s progress in finding her a husband. Her own efforts in society—the endless introductions and small talk and polite flirtations—were getting her nowhere.
And in the meantime, the Viscount and Viscountess Eastleigh were going on about their selfish, greedy lives without a single hiccup.
It wasn’t right.
“Sherry, my dear?” Mrs. Dove-Lyon inquired with a nod toward the crystal decanter at the corner of her desk.
“No, thank you,” Charlotte answered before continuing rather bluntly, “I’m here to discuss the status of our arrangement.”
There was a sharp pause.
“Which one?”
Charlotte frowned as her belly flipped. “The one in which you are to find me a proper husband.”
The Black Widow shifted smoothly in her chair, softening her posture to lean to one side as she tilted her head. “Ah, yes. That one. You do understand how such delicate issues can take time to arrange.” Another pause. “Perhaps you should be grateful to have something to distract you in the meantime.”
Tensing at the blatant reference to the one thing Charlotte truly did not wish to discuss, she asked, “You are aware of the second…incident?”
The other woman chuckled. “My dear, nothing happens within these walls without my express approval.”
Charlotte was confused. “Youwantme to engage with the marquess in such a way?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon leaned forward. “Do you not enjoy it?”
Silent for a length of time during which Charlotte couldn’t help but recall just how much shedidenjoy it, she eventually forced herself to reply stiffly, “I shouldn’t.”
“But of course you should,” the Widow exclaimed. “You’re not naïve and innocent like so many young ladies of our day. If the two of you are…compatible, why not explore it?”
Aghast at her sudden suspicion, Charlotte also leaned forward. “Are you still trying to present Redington as a potential match?”
The other woman shrugged. “He does meet each and every one of your requirements.”
“But he’s arrogant and rude and—”
“And…” the Widow led with a graceful gesture of her hand, “you’ve proven yourself more than capable of handling such traits.”
Charlotte sputtered, “In a certain context, perhaps. That does not make him a good candidate for marriage.”
“Doesn’t it? There are certainly less enjoyable reasons to marry. At least, once you’ve achieved your plotted revenge, you’ll have something else to occupy your time.”
Despite the twist of truth the Widow’s words inspired in her belly, Charlotte struggled to reconsider Redington. Their first encounter had solidified him as another representation of everything she detested in London’s high society. The arrogance and entitlement and unfettered power.
Andyes—she fully realized it was a contradiction to her insistence that her chosen husband have exactly those characteristics. She was also forced to acknowledge that it wasn’t themanshe abhorred so much as his position.
