A Valentine from Harlequin: Six Degrees of Romance

“My family did her harm?”

“Aye,” Duncan said, grave and firm as the bricks of his distillery. “She loved your brother and she was heartbroken when he died. And she’s blamed herself for far too long for what your brother did. Her reputation has suffered for it, too.”

“She did not love my brother, and she is to blame for what John did,” James protested, every line of John’s last letter bemoaning his anguish and shame burned into his brain. If Charlotte mourned anything, it was the loss of his brother’s money.

Duncan eyed him shrewdly, as if James were a merchant trying to sell him something of dubious quality. “Whatever you think of the past, it is last night I am most concerned with today. You compromised Charlotte’s honor, and you will do the honorable thing, one way or another, or you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.”

“I can afford the best solicitor in London to fight the suit.”

“Aye, I have no doubt, but fighting me will cost you a pretty penny, especially as these things can drag on for so long. In the meantime, no woman of character will trust you, should you wish to marry and create an heir. Of course, if you plan to remain a bachelor all your days, that may not trouble you.”

James did not plan to remain a bachelor. He wanted children, and not simply to provide an heir. He liked children. Many nights as he had lain awake listening to his comrades in arms snoring and snorting and tossing and turning, he had envisioned leading the life of a country gentleman, surrounded by a loving family, married to…his brother’s fiancee. He flushed and pushed away that shameful memory. “Do you intend to threaten Charlotte into agreeing, too? Will you sue her, as well?”

“Charlotte will do what is best for her.”

James scowled. “Of that I have no doubt,” he said as he strode to the door. When he went out, he slammed it even harder than Charlotte had.

* * *

“But, Papa, I don’t understand,” Dulcie pouted a fortnight later as she sat on the arm of her father’s chair in his mahogany-paneled study, which smelled faintly of cheroots and pomade. “Why did you invite him to dinner again? Charlotte refuses to see him, and he sits here scowling like a bear whenever he comes. Why, they loathe each other!”

“Of course they do,” her father replied with a chortle as he chucked his beloved, but not overly intelligent, daughter on her round little chin. “I don’t intend that they should marry. I have other plans for the duke.”

He eyed Dulcie so significantly, even she caught on. “Me?” she squeaked. “You want him to marry me?”

“Yes.” He patted her arm. “The more annoyed he gets with Charlotte, the lovelier and more pleasant you will seem.”

Dulcie pouted again. “I thought I was pretty and pleasant.”

“Oh, you are, my dear, you are, and the duke can hardly fail to notice that fact every time he comes here.”

Dulcie’s pale forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Yet you said you’d sue him if he doesn’t marry Charlotte.”

“Only to ensure that he would stay in London and visit us. The moment he tells me he would rather marry you instead, all talk of breach of promise will be quite forgotten.”

Dulcie toyed with her rings and didn’t meet her father’s gaze. “That seems a bit hard on Charlotte, Papa, using her to lure the duke here to fall in love with me.”

“All’s fair in love and war, my dear. Indeed, we are really doing her a favor.” He warmed to his subject. “The gossip will go against her if the duke doesn’t at least seem to be doing the honorable thing, but if he jilts her in your favor, she’ll appear to be the one hard done by. All the ladies will sympathize with her, even those who were so quick to blame her in that other unfortunate business.”

Dulcie continued to frown. “What if they blame me for stealing the duke away?”

“They won’t,” he assured her. “If there’s any blame in this, it will attach to him.” He gave his daughter an indulgent smile. “Besides, what does it matter what they say if you marry a duke in the end?” 

Chapter Four

Charlotte looked unseeing out the tall, narrow windows of the town house in Mayfair. She felt like a prisoner in her home—or at least, her uncle’s home. She had never been completely comfortable living with her uncle and cousin, but after her father’s death, she had no other alternative. Now, with the unwelcome presence of the Duke of Broverhampton haunting her like a ghost, she felt more imprisoned than ever.

She heard a small sound and turned away from the window, to find Dulcie standing near her dressing table.

“Yes?” she asked, noting that her usually placid cousin looked worried and uncertain. Perhaps the strain of this forced marriage nonsense was wearing on her, too.

“The duke is coming to dinner again.”

“So I heard from the downstairs maid.”

Dulcie chewed her lip and gazed at her beseechingly. “Charlotte, do you really not want to marry him?”

“No.” Not now. Not under these circumstances, although there had been a time…. “I do not understand why he doesn’t just let Uncle Malcolm sue him for breach of promise. I am more than ready to give evidence that I would be pleased to release him from his promise, such as it was. He can afford a good solicitor and surely that has to be more appealing to him than continuing this sham.”

Obviously relieved, Dulcie’s words came out in a torrential rush. “Papa thinks if the duke keeps coming here and you don’t see him, but he sees me, he might…that is, he might change his mind about marrying you and ask to marry me instead. He’s threatened to sue the duke, not to ensure you marry him, but to keep him coming here.”

Charlotte stared at her, confused—and yet, knowing Uncle Malcolm and his crafty mind, this could very well be true. “If this is so, why are you telling me, Dulcie?”

Her cousin straightened her slender shoulders and her doelike brown eyes shone with more resolve than Charlotte had ever suspected she possessed. “Because I like you, Charlotte. You’ve been like a sister to me, and I don’t agree with Papa’s plan.”

Charlotte’s heart swelled. She had no idea Dulcie cared for her so much and she hurried to embrace her. “I appreciate your affection, and your honesty, Dulcie,” she murmured, while also cursing herself for ever thinking ill of her cousin. “If you can win the duke’s heart, you are welcome to it.” She silenced the nagging little voice in her heart that told her she was lying. “And you are kind to tell me that I am but bait.” She drew back and regarded Dulcie gravely. “Shall I end this charade, then?”

Just as grave, Dulcie nodded. “Yes, please. If I cannot attract his notice by better means, I do not deserve it.”

* * *

Listening at the top of the stairs, Charlotte hurried toward the drawing room the moment she heard the butler usher James toward it. Dulcie would be at least another hour dressing, her uncle several minutes. This was her best chance to have a private word with the duke.

Despite her determination, she hesitated on the threshold when she saw him. He had one arm draped across the ornately carved marble mantel and was staring at the flames in the hearth, a look of such despondency on his face, she could scarcely believe this was the arrogant James Ellery.

All this time, she thought he must be enraged over the situation, or disgusted, or frustrated. She had never imagined he would ever feel despair, about anything. She had always believed him different from John in that, as well.

He must have heard her, for he looked up, and was immediately once more the coolly indifferent nobleman. “So, you have finally decided to venture down from your tower, Rapunzel.”

She perched on the scarlet velvet seat of a gilded chair. “You must ignore my uncle’s threat of a lawsuit