She studied him for as long as she dared without drawing notice. There was nothing in his expression. No guilt. No remorse. Only cool indifference.
Lord Boulton, by contrast, looked openly bewildered.
She scanned the rest of the room. Amongst the gentlemen there were varying degrees of surprise and curiosity. Amongst the ladies—particularly the unmarried ones—she detected something rather nearer hostility.
Only the Captain looked genuinely wounded.
The sight pierced her unexpectedly. Over the course of the last few weeks, she had begun to suspect he had formed a tendre for her, and now she appeared engaged to another man practically overnight. Shame stirred painfully within her.
What must he think of me?
For one desperate moment she wished she could explain everything to him—that none of this was real, that murder and secret societies lay beneath the absurdity of it all. But of course she could say nothing. The disappointment in his eyes made uncomfortably clear what conclusions he had already drawn.
Perhaps, when it was all over, she might tell him, and perhaps then he would forgive her.
It was Sir Oswald who broke the strained silence.
‘Er... congratulations, old chap!’ he cried heartily, clapping Lord Stanley upon the shoulder. ‘Jolly good business, that is. She is a beauty,’ he added approvingly, in the tone of a man admiring a fine mare.
That seemed to release the rest of the gentlemen, who immediately followed with handshakes and murmured congratulations.
The ladies proved considerably less enthusiastic.
Charlotte noticed Miss Fraser whispering furiously behind her fan amidst a knot of equally displeased debutantes and ambitious mothers. Miss Oswald and Miss Payne made scarcely any effort at all to conceal their resentment that a mere governess had secured the season’s greatest prize.
Yet it was Miss Pearson’s expression that troubled Charlotte most. The poor girl looked utterly mystified and on the verge of tears—which, Charlotte admitted, was perfectly understandable. Miss Pearson had every reason to believe Lord Stanley intended to offer for her, and now those hopes had been dashed.
Charlotte felt a pang of guilt.
Lady Pearson, her mother, looked positively murderous.
Charlotte swallowed nervously.
At that moment Lord Bainbridge, who had apparently missed the entire announcement whilst preoccupied with his kippers, looked up in confusion.
‘Eh? What?’ he demanded. ‘The governess? Surely Stanley’s not serious. No gentleman marries the governess after a dalliance. Absurd.’
His wife tutted at him and smacked his arm sharply with her spoon.
The room fell still, save for whispers.
Lord Stanley’s jaw ticked. Charlotte felt him stiffen beside her.
‘My lord,’ he said at last, in a voice of dangerous calm, ‘I would advise you not to insult my fiancée in such a manner.’
The whispering ceased entirely.
‘She is to be treated with the utmost respect,’ he continued, a steel edge entering his voice, ‘or you shall have me to answer to.’
He allowed his infamous icy stare to travel slowly about the room, lingering just long enough upon Miss Fraser for her to lower her fan with an offended pout that did her beauty no favours whatsoever.
Lord Bainbridge paled and wilted beneath the rebuke. ‘No offence, Stanley. Just a jest, of course. She is most becoming... and naturally no one would dare suggest otherwise.’
He returned to his kippers, chastened and quiet for the rest of the meal.
As conversations gradually resumed and the guests settled once more to their breakfast, Charlotte felt more awkward than ever. She was therefore deeply grateful when the spinsters, together with Lady Bainbridge, approached to embrace her warmly.
‘Congratulations. You are a lucky man, my lord. She is lovely,’ Lady Bainbridge declared with delight, as though she were living vicariously through Charlotte’s turn of fortune.
