“You have not discussed servants, or balls, or whether you will travel to Europe?” Westray persisted, the silver platter in his hand almost empty.
Charles shook his head. “You know how it is, Westray, with these arranged marriages. I do not believe I have had one single meaningful conversation with Miss Lloyd in our entire acquaintance.”
His friend’s eyes bulged. “Not one?”
“Why would we? I knew I would have an arranged marriage, Miss Frances Lloyd – the Honorable Miss Frances Lloyd, I should say – was chosen for me, and I acquiesced.” Charles prided himself that he could speak of it with only a hint of bitterness. That was an improvement, at any rate. “I suppose it is not the sort of marriage that would agree with everyone, but it is what the Orrinshire name expects.”
Westray offloaded the empty platter onto the unsuspecting arms of a passing footman and scowled at his friend. “You speak as though you have agreed to a death sentence.”
Charles bit down the retort that this was worse because he would be alive to endure it. “My marriage will certainly not be like some.”
A cheer went up as the musicians returned from their refreshment, and people started pairing off and moving to the center of the room.
“Most dukes do not marry for love,” Westray said quietly.
“I thought I always would,” Charles said somewhat fiercely. “If we do not have the opportunity to choose our partners for life, then who does?”
Westray removed two glass of wine from a passing footman’s platter, downed one, and handed the other to Charles.
“Was there someone, in particular, you had in mind?”
Panic flooded through Charles’s veins. “Of course not!”
As the pounding of his heart slowed, a memory surfaced in his mind, Priscilla Seton, leaning against the chestnut tree, her eyes bright and a smile dancing on her lips.
Priscilla? Why had he thought of her?
“Besides, if you ask me, there is very little wrong with your Miss Frances Lloyd,” Westray was saying. “I have met her but a few times, admittedly, but on each occasion, I was not repulsed.”
Charles could not help but laugh. “Is that the standard we are going for now? Not repulsed?”
It was all so absurd. Here they stood, in a virtual sea of eligible young ladies moving as though pulled by the tide, and he was engaged to a woman that…well. He felt nothing for whatsoever.
“Not repulsed is far better than some marriages.” Westray grinned. “Trust me, if I had to endure an arranged marriage, being not repulsed would be something I would cling to.”
Charles sighed. How long had he been at this damned ball, and when could he leave? Westray was good company, but he could not stand being here much longer.
“Miss Lloyd is a respectable, amiable, pretty girl, I suppose,” he said. “But she is not the one I would have chosen, and I dare say given a choice, she would not have chosen me either. We mean nothing to each other – less than nothing!”
His words seemed to hang out in the air before them.
Westray shuffled his feet before speaking quietly. “In a few weeks, you will be husband and wife.”
Charles opened his mouth, but no words came out. Weeks? Yes, it was weeks before their wedding, as his mother kept reminding him. Just a few weeks, and then his freedom, such as it was, would be over.
“Yes, I cannot believe it is so soon!”
Charles closed his mouth. His mother had appeared as though conjured by his very thoughts, and she was beaming.
“I must confess myself more than a little excited, Lord Westray,” the dowager duchess said as Westray fell into a hasty bow. “Are you not excited, Charles?”
The temptation to grimace and stride away was strong, but as always, with his own inclinations, Charles forced it down.
He was doing this for his mother and the family name. No other reason could have induced him to accept an arranged marriage to a stranger, so the least he could do was smile while he was about it.
A smile carefully constructed across his face, he said, “Of course, Mama. Very excited.”
Lady Audley placed a hand on his arm. “I know, but you will have to wait, you impatient boy! Now, it is almost midnight, and I estimate the carriage ride home is at least half an hour. Charles, if I leave now, you can find your own way home?”
Charles could not help but laugh. “Mama, I am over five and twenty – closer to thirty than twenty! If I cannot hail a cab, I can stay at the club. Really, you must not treat me like –”
“A yes would have sufficed, Charles,” interrupted Lady Audley. Removing her hand from his arm, she tapped him with her fan. “Now, be careful. There are goodness knows how many robbers and thieves out there – remember the Duke of Mercia’s sister! Goodnight, Lord Westray.”
Lady Audley swept away in a myriad of skirts and silks, and Charles’ shoulders slumped. Well, at least he did not have to concern himself with entertaining his mother for the rest of the evening.
“Your mother is…” Westray began, respect in every word but a smile on his face, and eventually, it became a laugh. “God’s teeth, man, you really are twelve years old to her, aren’t you?”
Charles stiffened. He considered himself a fairly easy-going man, especially to his friends, and Westray was one in that number. But his mother was not a topic for external mockery.
“Perhaps,” he said curtly. “But that was the age my sister, Mary, was.”
No more needed to be said. Westray had known Mary, albeit briefly, and he knew what a terrible loss her passing had been to the family.
“My apologies, old man,” he said immediately, a look of genuine contrition on his face. “You know I would never – finest woman in town, your mother.”
Charles’s hands had unconsciously balled into fists, but he allowed the hackles on his back to lower and his hands to relax.
“I know you meant no harm,” he said gruffly. “But for my
