Dragging herself from the bed, Charlotte splashed her face with cool water and straightened her black crepe gown. There was no use refusing; her mother would simply come and drag her out herself, propriety be hanged.
Each step down the staircase felt heavier than the last. Morning light filtered dimly through the hall, casting the marble floor in pools of gold. From the morning room came the low murmur of voices—one male, deep and oily.
Her stomach lurched.
She hovered in the shadow of the doorway, listening. She hoped he was only here to pay his respects; even though the man had barely known her father.
‘Of course, my lord,’ came her mother’s silky tone. ‘You’ve no need to fear any longer. My husband is gone and will not meddle in our affairs. And let me assure you, I have always been in favour of the match—as long as we keep to our previous arrangement.’
Unease curled sharply through her.
‘Yes,’ Haverley replied, his voice thick with self-satisfaction. ‘I keep to my word, Mrs Walker. I only want your daughter. You may keep her dowry. I have no need of it.’
Charlotte’s pulse roared in her ears. They were speaking of her—bargaining as though she were a mare to be sold at Tattersall’s.
Through the gap, she glimpsed him clearly now: broad-bodied, thick-necked, his fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. The gold of his ring glinted as he gestured carelessly. Her mother leaned forward, smiling with all the warmth of a predator.
Revulsion rose like bile.
Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, quiet and firm:Stand your ground, Char.
She pushed the door wide open.
The pair turned in unison, startled. Her mother recovered first, forcing a brittle smile. ‘Here she is, my lord. Charlotte, Lord Haverley has asked for your hand in marriage, and I have told him you will accept.’
Her mother’s eyes shot her a warning—Don’t you dare defy me.
Charlotte met her gaze. Her voice, though soft, carried like steel.
‘No.’
Silence fell. The ticking of the mantel clock became thunderous.
Her mother’s painted smile curdled. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said no.’
For a long heartbeat no one moved. Then Lord Haverley let out a short, incredulous laugh. ‘Mrs Walker, what is the meaning of this insult? You assured me she would accept.’
He adjusted his cuffs, puffing himself up like a rooster. His face—ruddy, coarse, and glistening with sweat—was a picture of outraged vanity.
‘My dear girl,’ he said, turning towards Charlotte with a leer, ‘you’ll find worse men than I in this world. Many would marry you for a dowry; I, at least, am generous enough to waive it. You ought to be thanking your mother for her good sense.’
Charlotte stiffened, but he went on, lowering his voice. ‘Come now, don’t be shy. You’ll find marriage to me far more... diverting than spinsterhood.’
Charlotte noted with grim satisfaction that now, she felt no fear. Only disgust
Her mother, however, paled. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed her features. ‘My lord, she is distraught from her father’s death,’ she said quickly. ‘Her mind is... unsettled.’
‘I am of sound mind, Mother,’ Charlotte said calmly. ‘My lord, though I am flattered by your interest, I cannot accept your proposal.’
Lord Haverley’s mouth fell open. ‘Cannot—? Mrs Walker, this is intolerable! I have already informed my friends of the engagement!’
Mrs Walker clutched his arm. ‘Please, my lord, give her time. She will come around—she must. Grief has made her irrational.’
‘I will not,’ Charlotte said again, her voice rising just enough to slice through theirs.
‘Silence!’ her mother shrieked. Then, softening her tone as swiftly as a stage actress, she cooed, ‘Please, my lord, give me a little time. She will change her mind.’
