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“I hope you know,” Mr. Oakley continued, “had my daughter’s future not been at stake, I never would have pressed for the marriage to continue.” He paused. “I do not relish the idea of my child being married to a gentleman who does not wish to be married to her.”
They fell silent, watching the dancers as they neared the end of the song. Charles didn’t watch the dancers—plural—as much as he watched one dancer.
Marie’s very nature seemed so innocent, so sincere. She was magnetic. But he knew better, and he wouldn’t be deceived.
“She is a beauty,” Mr. Oakley said with a nod in Marie’s direction.
Mr. Oakley would be disappointed if he thought Charles had been admiring her as much as Charles had been judging her.
“You must be wondering why she has remained unmarried.”
Charles pressed his lips tighter together. “I admit, the thought has crossed my mind.”
“As it would any man. While I have no direct answer for you, allow me to assure you that it was not due to any scandal. Her reputation is spotless—ask any individual here.”
Charles didn’t need to. He’d seen the approval already. He may not have known very many people there, but the Oakleys obviously did. Indeed, the entire room seemed to love the Oakley family as a whole. No wonder her father was adamant her reputation remain unscathed.
A draught of doubt tried to snuff out the flames of his pride, and he struggled to keep it lit. Had all of Society misjudged Marie...or had only Charles?
He brushed the thought aside. All these people loving the Oakleys still did not explain why Marie was single. Had been single.
“We allowed the years to pass us by,” Mr. Oakley continued, as if reading Charles’s thoughts. “She spent a great deal of time with us, accompanied us wherever we traveled, and we enjoyed every second of it. But before we knew it, she had moved beyond the age of eligibility. Soon enough, interest—not in her as a person, but in her as a young wife—severely dropped.”
Charles could believe that. Men loved impressionable, moldable young women. But he was more inclined to support the explanation that Marie was simply unlikeable. That reason leant him far less empathy for her.
“She is highly accomplished,” Mr. Oakley said. “And she will make you a very fine wife, I am certain of it. I only pray you will understand one day why this has all occurred. I’m sure you will...when you have children of your own.”
Chapter Eight
The words remained around Charles, a dead weight amidst the jolly music and happy chatter of the ballroom. He had been about to extend a certain level of understanding toward the man—no one could fault a father for looking after his daughter.
But the realization that Charles was expected to have children with a perfect stranger rushed over him with the heat of a thousand candelabras. He couldn’t even stomach the idea. Such a responsibility ought to be done between a loving husband and wife, not...whatever he and Marie were.
Mr. Oakley left his side soon after the music ended, advising Charles to dance with his new bride before the night wore out, but Charles ignored him. He lasted a full twelve seconds before his eyes wandered toward Marie across the room again.
She was speaking with her previous dance partner—and a new gentleman who no doubt would become her next. She looked between them, throwing back her head and laughing at something the taller gentleman said.
Charles couldn’t hear her laughter, but he could certainly imagine it. Grating, probably. Aggravating, too.
She proceeded to lay a hand on each of the gentlemen’s forearms as she no doubt returned a joke of her own, and Charles scowled. He may not be in love with her, but they owed each other more loyalty than that.
She certainly didn’t seem to think so. Was that why she hadn’t married—because she loved flirting too greatly to be fettered by a husband? She’d gallivanted for too long and was now no longer amiable.
Her eyes abruptly connected with his, as if she’d heard his critiques, and shock struck through his stomach. He pulled his gaze away, but it was too late. He’d been caught staring.
He slipped behind a group of gentlemen near the outskirts of the ballroom, but to his regret, Marie appeared at his side a moment later.
“There you are,” she said, slightly breathless, no doubt exerted by the pleasure she was receiving, dancing with every gentleman in the room.
She glanced around him at the plant he’d covered half his body with and the wall he’d been leaning against, then eyed him with a funny look. “Have you been hiding here all night?”
“I was not hiding.”
“Then what exactly have you been doing? Holding up the wall? Watering the plants?”
Amusement glittered in her dark eyes. For someone who had seemed incapable of looking at him before, she now apparently would not drop her gaze for anything.
Still, he refused to allow her to be in control of the conversation. Not when she was the one embarrassing them both this evening.
