Victor inclined his head. “Miss Brown shall return to you very soon, Grandmother,” he said. The Dowager nodded, thoughher attention remained fixed on Charlotte as though she might vanish if left unwatched.
Victor led the way from the room, waiting only a moment before Charlotte followed. As they stepped into the corridor, he allowed himself a small, private smile. She was not easily flustered, though she clearly disliked being unsettled, which made the temptation to do so all the more appealing.
“You conduct your interviews in a rather unconventional manner,” Charlotte said after a moment, her tone composed but edged with something sharper.
“I find it efficient,” he replied. “One learns far more by observing a person than by listening to rehearsed answers.”
“And what have you observed of me, Your Grace?” she asked.
“That you are not nearly so timid as your position might suggest,” he said. “And that you dislike being misunderstood.”
Her lips pressed together briefly. “A reasonable preference, I should think.”
They continued along the corridor, and Victor slowed slightly as they approached a particular door. He gestured toward it with deliberate emphasis.
“This is the room I mentioned,” he said. “You are not to enter it.”
Charlotte glanced at the door, then back at him. “You have my word,” she said.
“I trust you understand the importance of it,” he added.
“I do not give my word lightly,” she replied. “You need not repeat yourself.”
He studied her for a moment, then inclined his head. “Very well.”
They descended the stairs together. Victor found himself unusually aware of her presence, of the way she held herself, of the quiet confidence that did not quite conceal the strain beneath it. She was not merely seeking employment; she was fighting for something, and he could not help but wonder what.
“You may begin today,” he said once they reached the lower hall. “I shall have my driver arrange for your trunk to be brought here.”
Charlotte blinked, clearly taken aback. “Today?” she repeated.
“I see no reason for delay,” he said. “My grandmother requires consistency.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Very well. Thank you, Your Grace.”
There was a brief pause before she added, “Are you not going to correct your grandmother?”
Victor raised a brow. “In what regard?”
Charlotte met his gaze directly. “In regard to her belief that we are betrothed,” she said.
He allowed himself a faint smile. “I could,” he said lightly, “but she would only forget she had been told.”
Charlotte frowned slightly. “That does not make it any less misleading.”
“On the contrary,” he replied, “it makes it entirely inconsequential.”
She studied him, clearly unconvinced. “I should prefer not to be mistaken for something I am not,” she said.
Victor’s smile deepened just slightly. “You have my assurance, Miss Brown, that no one of consequence will labour under that illusion.”
Her eyes narrowed faintly. “How reassuring.”
He chuckled softly, finding her resistance far more entertaining than he ought. “You will find, I think, that my household requires a certain flexibility,” he said.
“And you will find,” she returned, “that I possess a certain tolerance, but not without limits.”
He regarded her for a moment, intrigued. Most would have softened, deferred, or attempted to please him; she, however, met him as though he were merely another obstacle to be navigated. It was… unexpectedly appealing.
