“Because she is your mother and, naturally, she wants to spend some private time with you.”
Charlotte slumped back in her seat, limbs sprawled carelessly. “Well, I don’t want to spend time with her. If you thought she was bad before, you should hear her now that she is unwell. I was waiting on her hand and foot. Her poor lady’s maid. I don’t understand how Annabeth survives in that house.”
“I pay her exceptionally well.” His mother’s lady’s maid was one of the most highly paid staff in his employ. He considered it his monster tax.
His sister continued. “The doctor says she’s on the mend and will be ready to travel in a month. So let’s enjoy the freedom while we have it.” Charlotte straightened into a more ladylike deportment as Mrs. Phillips entered with a tray. With perfect grace, Charlotte poured his tea—black, no sugar—and passed it to him before making her own. “How are your marriage plans coming along?” she asked as she stirred.
Edward coughed, choking on his drink. Liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup as he placed it back on the table. “What”—cough—“marriage plans?”
“Don’t be coy with me, Ned. I know Mother sent you a list. Hopefully yours is somewhat more palatable than the one she gave me.” Charlotte grimaced.
He didn’t blame her. He shuddered at the potential matches for Charlotte that his mother had sent him. That the duchess thought he would allow Charlotte to marry one of those crusty septuagenarians was absurd. Worse, even, than the list of potential duchesses his mother had given him. At least the ladies all had their teeth.
“My list was not as bad as yours,” he said. “Although I was hoping for someone not so young, or so…bland.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Well, if you don’t like any of those, I’m telling you that you had best find your own bride before Mother arrives. Or she’ll be choosing one for you.”
That was just like his mother. The woman had ruled his childhood with an iron fist and thought she could do the same now. “I’m the duke. I will choose my own bride.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows raised. “Truly? Is that how it went last time?”
No. That was definitely not how it went last time. Edward had been only fourteen years old when his mother insisted he find a bride to cover up the scandal of his father’s death. He had rebelled, obviously. What fourteen-year-old wanted to tie themselves down with a fiancée?
His mistake had been voicing that objection to his mother without thought. Three days later, he found out about his own engagement inThe Times. To the five-year-old daughter of the Earl of Crofton. A child he’d never met.
His mother’s argument had been that an engagement with Amelia would give him plenty of time to sow whatever oats he needed to and gave her plenty of time to mold Amelia into the perfect duchess. While her logic may have been sound, the lack of autonomy vexed him. It was, after all, a decision he would sit across the table from his entire life.
That was not a situation he was willing to repeat.
“I have it in hand. Her assistance is not required.”
Charlotte lifted the teacup to her lips and took a long sip. “Actually, about that,” she said afterward, “I may have convinced her that without her help you’d make a complete mess of it.”
“Why would you do that?” Oh, his sister could be diabolical.
Charlotte sighed, her expression extremely apologetic. “If she’s focused on you, then she won’t have time to focus on me. It was self-preservation, brother dear. Think of the list she gave me. There wasn’t a man on there under sixty!”
His mother’s machinations had been unnecessary. Edward would have handled it all once Char arrived in London.
“I’ve seen your list,” he said, “and I’m not going to let you marry anyone on it. I will find you a suitable match. One that will make you happy.”
Charlotte tugged at her sleeve. “I would like at least one season where I am able to meet men on my own without you or Mother marching them into my path.”
“And so you turned her attentions toward me? That was your solution? Thank you. Much appreciated.” His mother was an added complication he could do without.
“Iamsorry.”
Edward rubbed the spot between his eyebrows where he could feel a headache forming. “You think she’ll try the same methods she did last time?”
“Oh, I know she will. Shesaidshe will. I’m surprised she hasn’t already.” Charlotte snorted.
His mother. The woman was the only person on the British Isles other than Fiona who cared not a whit for his position. “Well, I’ll simply tell the editor ofThe Timesnot to publish anything without my direct consent.” That was how he’d kept the Wildeforde name out of the paper after he ended his engagement with Amelia, and how William’s antics were kept from public knowledge now. It wasn’t cheap, but it was effective.
“And you really think she won’t find another way to shoehorn you into an engagement you don’t want?”
The sentence sent his heart thumping. His mother was absolutely capable of manipulating the situation, knowing that he wouldn’t risk the scandal of another broken engagement. “Then I will find an acceptable wife before she arrives.”
“Good,” Charlotte said. “We have a month to find a woman that you would want to marry. I will devote all my efforts to finding you the lady of your dreams. Who do you currently have your eye on?”
