“You don’ need tae follow through with it, lass. When we’re ready, you end it. Quietly or publicly. I’m at your mercy. Or we can set a time limit if you like. Maybe a month? Then you will be free tae find a man the earl will accept.”
She cocked her head, resting it against the back of the sofa. “You’d do that?”
He moved first, breaking the odd tension that had risen with their noses almost touching. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he laced and unlaced his fingers over and over, as if nervous. “Aye. What better way for me tae show society how wrong I was about you than tae tell the world I want you?” His voice was rough as he stared at his hands. “Montague said he’s posting the engagement announcement in Friday’s paper, aye?”
Straightening, Lottie grappled with the details of this plan. A fake engagement might work. “I believe he is giving me time to come about to his way of thinking.”
Amesbury shot her a grin. “I might not know you well, but even I know you won’ be changing your mind on this.” He pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped open the cover to check the time. “The print deadline is rapidly approaching. But our announcement doesn’ have tae be in tomorrow’s paper. We can still spike his guns if we get the news into Thursday’s edition. That gives you until this time tomorrow tae make your decision.”
It was the only choice she had, and for reasons she wasn’t willing to explore now, the idea of an engagement to Amesbury wasn’t abhorrent. Yes, she’d still have to deal with Father. But she could slay only one dragon at a time, and this would neutralize Montague’s threat. “We bring our close friends in on the plan. I won’t lie to Agatha.”
He nodded.
“And even though this engagement will be temporary, this is my first proposal—”
“Montague didn’t?”
“Not in person. So since this is my first proposal, I want you to do it right. Even if it is a sham.” She primly folded her hands in her lap and waited.
His expression softened. “Well, let no one ever say I can’t fake propose with conviction.” Amesbury eased off the sofa, then took a knee at her feet and held out his hand, palm up.
As she laid the tips of her fingers across the rough pads of his, a worry niggled at the hope bursting through her. “Are you sure? By starting down this path, knowing I’ll end it, you’re opening yourself to the ridicule of the entire ton.”
“We’re friends. I don’ have many of those. I value the few I have,” he said with a shrug.
“I don’t think either of us expected this when we decided to be friends.”
His fingers wrapped around hers, anchoring them together. “We’re partners in this now.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’ raised tae be a fancy gentleman. And I’ve already failed you once. I won’ betray you again, lass.” He donned a serious expression, but the twinkle in his eye ruined the effect. “Lady Charlotte Wentworth, will you do me the honor of being my faux fiancée?”
A giggle bubbled up, even though she knew this wasn’t a real proposal. Romance and true love weren’t in her future, by choice, but this moment of friendship and having an ally was precious. “Yes, Lord Amesbury. I’d be happy to be your faux fiancée.”
He grinned, then got to his feet and pulled her up to stand. “Let’s go write our engagement announcement and ruin Montague’s plans.”
It wasn’t until he’d left for the Times office that she noticed the parcel abandoned on the sofa. She set aside the note tucked into the string, unwrapped the paper, and began to laugh. He’d brought her a beautifully bound volume of Francis Grose’s Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. Still chuckling, she read the note, written in scrawling penmanship.
So your tongue may be as sharp as your wit.
Looking forward to crossing swords again soon.
Your friend,
Ethan
Chapter Twelve
The Times announced the engagement on Wednesday, two days before Montague’s threatened date. There it was in black and white. The longer Lottie stared at it, the stranger it became. She’d saved the paper, as nonsensical as that action was, stashing it in the drawer beside her bed. It wasn’t as if any of this was real, after all. On the seventh morning of her faux engagement, she read the announcement for the thousandth time, then girded her proverbial loins for that day’s gossip columns. The rags, being the upstanding informational tools to the masses that they were, had been going wild with the story.
“How bad is it this morning?” she asked Darling.
“The papers or the servants’ gossip network?” Darling laid out a dress for the morning, then took the paper from Lottie and tucked it back in the drawer.
Lottie winced. “Both, I suppose. Are the servants saying worse things than the papers?”
A lord offering for the woman he’d once shunned was too juicy a tidbit for people to resist. The old satirical cartoons resurfaced from the archives and were published alongside new ones. Even people who couldn’t read knew the alleged details of her love life. The most popular image showed a pathetic groom walking down the aisle of a church with a life-sized cutout of her tucked under one arm like a newspaper as he trudged toward a bishop holding out a bag of gold. It wasn’t even a flattering likeness—if such a thing were possible when speaking of mocking caricatures.
“Some love the romance of it, you know? A man ruins a woman, then wins her back, and they fall in love. Word is, you have a heart of gold and the patience of a saint.”
Lottie snorted. That was one way to interpret it. Not remotely true. But creative. “What’s the other side say?”
“You broke Mr. Montague’s heart by choosing a title over love. Those people think you’re a moneygrubbing hussy. We don’t like those people.” Darling shook out a chemise and
