Hannah relaxed immediately. “His Grace is very honourable, you know.”
Charlotte nearly laughed at the absurdity of that statement. The Duke of Mulford had once hidden women in forbidden rooms. Honourable was not the first word that came to mind when thinking of him. Yet now he intended to marry her simply because society expected it.
Perhaps that is honour after all.
As they packed, Charlotte found herself growing unexpectedly emotional. Her weeks at Mulford Manor had begun as employment, nothing more. Yet somewhere between tea with Elizabeth and endless bickering with Victor, the manor had started feeling dangerously close to home. She would miss Elizabeth terribly.
Worse still, I will miss him.
Charlotte immediately scowled at herself for the thought.
By the time her trunk was closed and tied securely, she had managed to regain most of her composure. She changed into a travelling dress of soft green wool and pinned her curls neatly beneath a bonnet. If Victor meant to treat this engagement as a practical obligation, then she would do the same.
Or at least I could pretend to.
Elizabeth was resting in her private sitting room when Charlotte entered. The dowager brightened immediately upon seeing her. “There you are, dear.”
Her smile faded slightly when she noticed the trunk being carried downstairs outside the door. “What is happening?”
Charlotte sat beside her and gently took her hand. “I am only going to stay with my uncle until the wedding, Your Grace.”
Elizabeth gasped softly. “The wedding!” Then her face lit with delight. “Oh, how lovely.” She squeezed Charlotte’s hand tightly. “I knew Victor would come to his senses eventually.”
Charlotte smiled weakly. “Yes. Eventually.”
Elizabeth patted her cheek affectionately. “Do not worry, dear. He looks terrifying, but he has always loved deeply.” Charlotte’s breath caught unexpectedly at those words. “Though he pretends otherwise,” Elizabeth added knowingly.
Charlotte looked down quickly. “I shall return soon.”
“As Victor’s wife,” Elizabeth said happily.
The words settled strangely in Charlotte’s chest.
Victor’s wife. A duchess. It all feels absurdly unreal.
“Yes,” Charlotte said softly. “As Victor’s wife.”
Elizabeth beamed. “Excellent. Now I may begin planning flowers.”
Charlotte laughed despite herself. “I believe weddings require slightly more preparation than flowers alone.”
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth declared. “Flowers are the most important part.” She leaned closer conspiratorially. “Men are mostly decorative at weddings.”
Charlotte burst into startled laughter. “Your Grace!”
“Well, it is true.”
Still smiling faintly, Charlotte finally rose to leave. Elizabeth hugged her tightly before allowing her to go downstairs. The moment Charlotte stepped into the foyer, however, her laughter vanished entirely.
Victor stood near the entrance, waiting beside the open front doors.
He looked maddeningly handsome in dark riding clothes, his black hair slightly windswept from the outdoors. Nothing in his expression betrayed the things he had done to her in that library the night before. He appeared perfectly calm and collected, as though pleasuring her breathless against a table had been no more meaningful than discussing the weather.
Charlotte felt irrationally vexed by that.
He was likely accustomed to intimacy. She was not. For him, stolen kisses probably meant very little.
For her, they meant entirely too much.
