Chapter 1
HartfieldHall,Cheshire,England,May 1812
Victor Hawthorn was so angry he could not think straight. Disgusted by how his life had been manipulated, Victor stomped out of the house and into the gardens. The spring flowers may have been bursting with color, but they did little to soften his mood. On any other day, he may have allowed the quiet of the country to calm him. But not today. He was far too livid.
If only he could wipe his hands clean of this entire mess. He would too, if not for Marcus and Maria, his younger siblings.
The unacceptable position that Victor found himself in was all his father’s doing, yet it fell to Victor to keep his family from being completely ruined, shunned from society, and his father out of debtors’ prison.
A bee buzzed past his ear and Victor swatted it away in irritation. Even the bloody chirping birds were putting him on edge. Damn his parents for ruining what should have been a pleasant visit to the country, away from the crowds, filth, and noise of London. It was the middle of the Season and he had welcomed the break, until he learned the reason they were here. His father had ruined much more than a holiday, he had just altered Victor’s life and future.
Somehow Mr. Thompson had managed to purchase all his father’s notes—the amount staggering, and now Thompson held control over Victor’s father, thus the entire family. However, the whole of that debt would be cleared, as well as a substantial fund gifted when Victor married the man’s daughter, thus providing the elusive title Thompson had always coveted. It would not be his but would eventually belong to a grandson by way of the merchant’s daughter. If Victor did not follow through, the debts would be called due, and his family would lose what little they had left. The only exception was Thornhill Park, the crumbling estate in Shropshire, and that was only because it was entailed.
Victor kicked a few stones along the path in the garden and turned toward the house. The one conciliation in this arrangement, if one could be found, was that his father would receive none of the funds himself. Victor would have full control of the purse strings and Victor had made it perfectly clear that he would never again bail his father out of gambling debts. His funds would be limited to the allowance Victor provided and not a shilling more.
CharlotteThompsonstrainedtolook out the window on the nursery floor where she’d been sequestered when the important guests had arrived. She honestly didn’t mind and preferred to be up here, away from her father and not being reminded that she was forever a disappointment. This was where she could paint and be herself.
“Are you certain that is Mr. Victor Hawthorn?” she asked her maid, Tilly.
“He and his father, Viscount Blackmar, arrived with Lady Blackmar this afternoon,” Tilly confirmed. “They were meeting with your father for the longest time.”
“Perhaps Lord Blackmar is seeking a loan,” Charlotte mused aloud. Why else would the Viscount be here? If gossip sheets were to be believed, Blackmar was a gambler who had taken the family to the brink of financial ruin several times. He was also rumored to be a womanizer and imbiber. “Father is richer than most and it would not be the first time a lord has shown up on our doorstep.”
“Your father must have denied the request, given all the yelling I heard,” Tilly responded.
“Thank goodness I am to stay up here. I do not like to be around father when he is in a foul mood.” Charlotte frowned. “Then why are they still here? Others with similar requests have left immediately upon rejection.”
Mr. Hawthorn’s walk through the gardens was not a casual stroll, but more of irritation. He’d stop, push his fingers through his hair, or shake his head. His shoulders rose and fell with some frequency as if he were taking deep breaths before blowing them out. What could have happened in the meeting with Father to put Mr. Hawthorn in such a foul mood?
If the gossip rags received from London were correct about Blackmar, then they must be correct about his son as well. “Do you suppose Mr. Hawthorn still keeps Lady Cartwright as his mistress?” she giggled. Their names had been linked only a month ago with speculation as to whether it was a courtship or more intimate. Lady Cartwright was a widow of only two and twenty while Mr. Hawthorn was one year her junior. Charlotte supposed a gentleman could marry a woman who was older, though it was usually the man who was the oldest in a marriage, and why Society decided that they must be lovers and nothing more.
“Hush, Miss Charlotte,” Tilly chastised. “You should not know about such matters, nor should they be discussed.”
“It is only you and I with nobody to hear,” Charlotte reminded her. “Besides, you know how much I enjoy the gossip sheets. It is the only outside entertainment we have.” Mr. Hawthorn had turned back toward the house, and she could now view his face. “I see why so many ladies are smitten with him.” He had to be the most handsome man she had ever seen. No man in the village came close to his exquisite appearance. His hair was light brown, streaked by the sun. His shoulders were broad, and he seemed to stand tall, at least from her angle three floors above. Graceful elegance. She wished to see the color of his eyes, but already knew they were green, as had been reported.
Tilly leaned over her shoulder and looked out the window. “He is a handsome gent.”
“That he is.” Charlotte sighed. A gentleman with his reputation and appearance could have his pick of any beautiful lady being offered, which numbered dozens each year. A man like Victor Hawthorn would never be interested in a girl like her, even if she were old enough to enter Society and marry. No, he would want someone like Lady Cartwright who was rumored to be a true beauty and had been named a diamond of the first water during her very first Season. That was the same Season when she had wed. Tragically, her husband had died two years later.
As for Charlotte, she didn’t ever expect to marry. If any man were to court her, it would be for her father’s wealth and nothing more. At least she was realistic as to the type of man whom she might attract and therefore, refused to marry for anything other than love and as that was unlikely to happen, she had planned a future for herself.
At the scratch on the door, Tilly rushed over to open it and a downstairs maid stepped inside. “Your father asks that you join him in the library.”
Charlotte groaned and pulled herself away from the window. What could her father possibly want? He usually ignored her existence when guests were in the house. Why was today different?
With a sigh, she put her paints away, scrubbed her hands and changed into a dress. So that she did not run into the guests, Charlotte chose to use the enclosed servant stairs that led her to the library.
“It is about time you answered my summons, Charlotte,” her father barked as she entered.
“I apologize, Father.”
“I have called you here to share your good fortune.”
Charlotte waited patiently.
“I have received an offer for your hand in marriage.”
“I am not old enough to wed.” She was only fifteen, soon to be sixteen. Charlotte could only hope that the agreement was for a marriage to take place years from now to give her plenty of time to dissolve the betrothal.
