Charlotte gave a dry laugh. ‘My reputation was ruined the moment I fled home. I sealed my fate long ago.’ She stared into the fire. ‘I shall end it myself once we have caught the Odd Fellows. Then we shall go our separate ways.’
Sarah nodded thoughtfully. ‘Unless...’
‘Sarah.’
‘No, hear me out. What if you truly married him? You would be protected for the rest of your life—even if the remaining members are never discovered. And he does not seem nearly so terrible as you once thought. Well...’ she added cautiously, ‘once one looks beyond the arrogance.’
Charlotte gave her a pointed look. ‘Absolutely not. Me? Marry the Ice Baron? Never. You know perfectly well he detests being trapped in anything, least of all matrimony. Although he seemed serious enough to go through with it tonight, I am certain he would come to resent me in time.’
‘It did not sound as though he was particularly unwilling this evening,’ Sarah observed, rising to the fireplace where a kettle was heating. She returned moments later and handed Charlotte a cup of tea.
Charlotte opened her mouth to retort, then hesitated.
‘I believe,’ she said carefully, ‘that he had set his cap on Miss Pearson, and I unfortunately happened to interfere with his plans.’
‘Did he say so?’
She faltered.
Against her will, she remembered the look on his face when he had announced their betrothal. Calm. Certain. Almost pleased.
Surely it had all been part of the performance.
‘He admitted he intended to ask for her hand,’ she sighed.
Sarah smiled faintly. ‘Well, that is a shame. You would have made a lovely couple.’
Charlotte shot her a warning glare.
‘If you do not mind, I should like to attempt some rest before I am dragged into yet another life-threatening escapade.’
Sarah wisely refrained from further commentary and withdrew to her room.
Charlotte lay down, but sleep would not come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw either Wolverton collapsed on the floor—or Lord Stanley’s face as he had declared before half the household that she was to be his wife.
Would he truly have gone through with it had she not stopped him?
Should she have allowed him to?
He had, after all, only been trying to save her reputation.
Charlotte tossed restlessly beneath the covers. No—she had done the right thing.
Even if his intentions were good. Even if he was trying to protect her. He need not have done so in such an arrogant, high-handed manner. In any case, she had no desire to imprison herself in a loveless marriage like her parents’. She was certain his heart was not likely to be touched by a mere mousy governess—especially when Miss Pearson had been his first choice.
Besides, she could not forgive his treatment of her at the start of their acquaintance. She huffed softly. There was no excuse for it, she concluded stubbornly. He had been a brute back then—unnecessarily so.
But then, unbidden, she recalled the wounded look on his face when she accused him of being uncivil and ungentlemanly.
Had she been too harsh?
She winced. Perhaps she had been unfair.
Charlotte agonised over the matter but could not decide whether to commend herself for her good sense in refusing a loveless marriage to the Ice Baron—or reprimand herself for being unreasonably severe with the man.
At last she abandoned all effort to rest and began pacing the room instead, much to Sarah’s annoyance through the thin adjoining wall. On one occasion Sarah opened the door, fully prepared to scold her, but one look at Charlotte’s troubled expression persuaded her to retreat again without a word.
When the appointed hour drew near, Charlotte wrapped a shawl tightly about her shoulders and lit a candelabrum. The corridors beyond her room were bitterly cold and almost entirely dark, the candlelight throwing long, wavering shadows against the walls.
