“I have not met the right man, Mama. Please tell me you are not doing something rash,” Charlotte responded.
“No, I have not. However, your uncle has. I heard him speaking with a man of your father’s years about wedding you. I heard no offer, but your uncle said . . . things.” Her mother’s head shook back and forth as if she was trying to deny to herself what she had heard. “I must protect my children.”
“Mama, perhaps you misunderstood—”
“No, child.” Her mother cut her off. “I know my own brother, and his heart is not always in control of his actions. Sometimes he is ruled by other . . . emotions.”
That was a nice way to say her uncle was greedy. That was how she had heard her father describe him. Why did Papa not make better arrangements for us in the event of his death? They were pinching every bit of money they could, while she had noticed her uncle wearing much grander clothing. I must stop this. Thinking these thoughts about her uncle would only cause things to get worse.
The carriage pulled up in front of a nondescript blue building on Cleveland Avenue. Charlotte puzzled about it, as it was the same establishment she had seen Lord Clarendon enter after nearly hitting her brother. They were led to a side entrance and up the stairs to await the proprietress in a parlor completely decorated in red—red velvet curtains, a red velvet settee with carved gold arms, and red velvet armchairs. It was garish by any description. She recognized the large man outside as the man who had assisted them after Lord Clarendon’s carriage had nearly run them down. Was there some connection? Did Mama know what had happened? A cold chill shot to her toes and she shuddered.
“Are you all right, my dear?” her mother tutted.
“I may or may not feel well,” she hedged. “I think it may depend on why we are here,” she added honestly.
“Do not be difficult, Charlotte. It is not like you,” her mother said as she sat in one of the armchairs. Pale red wallpaper featuring a golden cherub pattern covered the walls, and a large crystal chandelier that might have been better suited to a large dining room hung above them.
Charlotte’s hands suddenly felt frozen despite her gloves and muff. Nerves. Mama carefully looked in every direction except Charlotte’s. She noticed her mother wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Whatever was about to happen, Charlotte felt sure she was not going to be happy with it.
Moments later, a woman dressed head-to-toe in black, including a black veil that covered her face, swished into the room. “My dear Lady Romney. I hope I did not make you wait overlong. I had a small situation to handle.”
“No, we only just arrived. Charlotte, this is Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Her husband was a friend of your papa’s, and we have been acquainted a number of years.” She turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “This is my daughter, Charlotte.”
“Ah! She is a beauty as you described.” The proprietress sat down on her settee and began serving them tea. “I find orange tea to be the most refreshing, and with the season upon us, its blend is very satisfying.”
Charlotte wondered whether orange was the only tea the woman drank. She sipped her tea and looked up, only to notice the woman eyeing her critically.
“I have given quite a bit of thought to your predicament,” she started.
“What predicament are we talking about, exactly?” Charlotte asked, more and more fearful about this meeting.
Her mother set down her cup and looked at her sharply. “Charlotte, let us hear Mrs. Dove-Lyon out before you pepper her with questions.”
“Yes, Mama.” Her own reply was short, staccato-like.
“Lady Romney, I think she should understand why we are doing this. In order for it to succeed, she needs to participate,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon corrected gently.
“You are right, of course,” Mama responded, looking a little embarrassed. “Charlotte, while you are twenty-one years of age, your father’s death has placed us in a situation. Your uncle still has tremendous influence over your future. I am concerned because while he thought I was sitting listlessly in the parlor, I was outside your Papa’s study and heard him talking to a man I do not even know about marrying you off. When the man left, I saw that he was quite a bit older than you. While your Papa and I always wanted a love match for you, we never anticipated this type of thing could happen. I do not believe the bargain has been struck as of yet, and I sought out Mrs. Dove-Lyon for her counsel.”
“I do not understand.” Charlotte bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
“Child, we need to move you out of your uncle’s reach, or your life will take a turn you may not want,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon interjected. “Now, we realize that we are ‘arranging’ this interlude, however, it is for your own good. I assure you, Lady Charlotte, I am only taking into account the best possibilities. I would like to give you a choice.”
“Excuse me for sounding ungrateful, but it seems I am having my choice taken away from me,” Charlotte fairly snapped.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon glanced at her mother and then to her. “I see that I may need to give you some other reasons. Yesterday, you were observed in the household of Lord Clarendon without your chaperone. Word has already reached my ears. I will not say how. But that will ruin you with the ton. Not only that, but you are in mourning, dear lady.”
“I made a mistake. Surely, I can explain that away . . .” Charlotte saw the pained look on her mother’s face and stopped talking.
“Daughter, your uncle
