Charlotte swallowed. “That is what frightens me.”
Bridget blinked in confusion. “Most ladies would be delighted.”
Most ladies had not watched Victor charm with dangerous smiles and reckless behaviour. Most ladies had not been kissed breathless by him in hidden libraries only to have him act perfectly composed the next morning. Most ladies certainly had not fallen into an engagement through complete disaster and scandal.
Charlotte laughed weakly. “I think my life has become absurd.”
Bridget grinned. “Oh, undoubtedly. But at least it is interesting.”
Suddenly, a ruckus traveled up the stairs to their ears. Bridget's eyes grew wide.
Charlotte knew something was terribly wrong the moment the house erupted into frantic movement as she went downstairs. Servants hurried through the corridors carrying trays and polishing silver whilst Harriet loudly demanded to know why no one had informed her earlier that a duke was arriving.
Joan nearly tripped down the stairs in her haste to peer through the front window, whilst Penelope ran back upstairs twice to change ribbons because she claimed none of them conveyed the proper level of elegance.
“The Duke of Mulford is waiting in the parlor,” the servant announced.
Charlotte’s stomach dropped so violently she thought she might truly faint.
He is here. Unexpectedly. Without warning. Oh heavens.
Her pulse thundered as dreadful possibilities assaulted her one after another. Perhaps he had reconsidered the marriage entirely. Perhaps society pressure had become too much. Perhaps he had finally realized how unsuitable she was to become a duchess and had come to end matters before it was too late.
“Charlotte?” Bridget asked carefully. “You’ve gone pale.”
Charlotte swallowed hard. “Do you think he's displeased?”
Bridget blinked. “Why would he be?”
Which answered absolutely nothing.
Charlotte hurried to the parlor with trembling hands, smoothing over her skirts the entire way. She could hear her sisters and mother gathering behind her.
Charlotte entered the parlor and immediately forgot how to breathe. Victor stood near the fireplace in dark attire that fitted his broad frame offensively well, one gloved hand resting behind his back whilst the other held a teacup. Tall, elegant, and devastatingly handsome, he turned at the sound of her arrival and fixed those piercing green eyes directly upon her.
Her foolish heart skipped. It truly had felt like forever since she had last seen him. They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity.
Then the spell was broken as Charlotte's mother and sisters spilled into the parlor behind her.
“Your Grace,” Harriet greeted warmly as all the ladies dipped into curtsies.
Victor bowed smoothly. “Lady Harriet. Miss Brown.” His gaze lingered on Charlotte for one dangerous second longer than propriety allowed before moving to her sisters. “Miss Joan. Miss Irene. Miss Penelope.”
Joan nearly looked flustered by the attention. Penelope absolutely looked flustered by the attention. Irene alone managed composure.
Charlotte clasped her hands together tightly. “You wished to see me, Your Grace?”
Victor’s expression remained unreadable as he set down his teacup. “Indeed. I came to inform you all…”
Charlotte held her breath so sharply it almost hurt.
This is it. He's going to tell me that the wedding is called off. He has decided not to go through with it.
“…that I have acquired the wedding licence.”
Relief crashed through her so quickly she nearly swayed. Good Lord. The wedding was still happening.
Victor’s eyes flicked toward her at once, and Charlotte had the horrible suspicion he noticed every single emotion that crossed her face. Amusement briefly touched the corner of his mouth before he masked it again beneath cool arrogance. He looked entirely too confident standing there in her uncle’s parlor as though he belonged amongst them already.
