CHAPTER 1
“You must not look as though you are being conveyed to your own execution,” Arabella said lightly, adjusting her bonnet ribbons. “It is merely an interview at Mulford Manor, not a trial by fire.”
Twenty-six-year-old Charlotte Brown let out a small breath, her lips curving despite herself. The carriage rolled steadily along the road toward the outskirts of London. It was not trial by fire, but her entire family’s fortunes rested on this day.
“I assure you, I am not afraid,” she replied, though her tone held a trace of honesty that betrayed her nerves. “Only… mindful of the importance of the occasion.” She hesitated, then added with sincerity, “I cannot thank you enough for arranging this, Arabella.”
Arabella waved a hand dismissively, though her expression softened. “Nonsense, it was no trouble at all,” she said. “My husband was more than happy to make inquiries, and I wasdelighted to assist you.” She tilted her head slightly. “Indeed, we should be equally delighted to assist you financially as well.”
Charlotte’s posture straightened at once, her expression firm but not unkind. “Your generosity does you great credit, cousin” she said, “but I could not impose upon it further.”
She met Arabella’s gaze steadily. “I must find a means to provide for my family myself.”
“My dear Charlotte,” Arabella said gently, “it would not be an imposition, but a kindness freely given.” She smiled. “Families support one another, particularly when circumstances are… less than ideal.”
Charlotte shook her head, a faint stubbornness settling into her features. “And I should rather not become a burden, however kindly it might be offered,” she replied. “If I am capable of doing something, I must do it.”
Arabella studied her for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You have always been determined,” she said softly. “Though I sometimes wonder whether you allow yourself any rest from such determination.”
Charlotte glanced down at her hands, her voice quieter now. “Rest is a luxury I cannot afford,” she said. “Not when there is so much to be done.”
She turned her gaze toward the window, though she scarcely saw the passing landscape. There had never been a question, in her mind, of whether she would step forward when her family needed her. It had simply been understood.
While others might consider their own futures first, she always placed her sisters ahead of herself, without pausing to wonder what it might cost her.
There have always been moments, when I imagined a different life. One in which I had a partner that loved me and a household of our own.
Yet such thoughts were quickly set aside, as impractical as they were indulgent. For all luxuries had been put away after her father passed to illness. With four daughters and no sons, his fortune had been inherited by a cousin. Now her sisters were all considered undesirable matches and Charlotte had stepped forward to make ends meet by taking on work here and there.
What matters is ensuring that my sisters, Joan, Irene, and Penelope have opportunities I myself can never have.
“You are very quiet,” Arabella said. “That usually signifies you are thinking something rather serious.”
Charlotte smiled. “Only that I must succeed,” she said. “Failure is not a possibility I care to entertain.”
Arabella nodded, though her eyes remained warm. “Then you shall succeed,” she said simply. “You have a way of bending circumstances to your will.”
Charlotte laughed softly. “If only that were entirely true,” she replied. “Though I shall endeavour to make it so today.”
After a moment, she added, “Tell me, what may I expect of the household? You mentioned the dowager duchess, but I understand she is not alone.”
“Indeed not,” Arabella said, settling more comfortably into her seat. “Mulford Manor is also residence to her grandsons.”
Charlotte’s interest sharpened at once.
“Her grandsons?” she repeated. “What sort of gentlemen are they?”
Arabella smiled faintly. “Lord Lionel is the younger of the two,” she said. “He is nine and twenty, unmarried, and possesses a rather austere disposition.” She paused. “He does not reside at the manor permanently, preferring his townhouse in London, though he visits frequently enough.”
“Austere?” Charlotte echoed, raising a brow. “That sounds… encouraging.”
“Oh, he is agreeable enough,” Arabella assured her. “Which may be a blessing or a trial, depending upon one’s inclination.”
“And the other?” Charlotte asked.
Arabella’s smile took on a more knowing quality. “The other is Victor Richards, the Duke of Mulford,” she said. “And he is quite a different creature entirely.”
Charlotte straightened slightly. “Different in what way?” she asked.
