Nervous, Charlotte took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. Matt had taught her that. She wished with all her heart that he was there. None of this would be happening if he was. Her brother had always been her hero. She could use a hero right now. Evan’s face flashed in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut as if that would erase it. Summoning her courage, she squared her shoulders and opened the door to her father’s study.
“Ah, there you are,” her uncle bellowed. It was unusual for him to yell. He sounded oddly nervous, as if something had gone wrong. “Sit,” he demanded, walking to the brandy decanter and pouring himself a measure. Turning with the glass, he walked to the front of the desk and leaned against it in front of the chair she occupied.
“Yes?” She focused on his chin, deciding that she could keep a cooler demeanor if her entire being could focus. It worked as a child to focus on Papa’s eyes. But Uncle was not nearly as nice, and she preferred the chin, hoping he didn’t dribble his brandy because she would laugh.
“It has come to my attention that two days ago, you were seen in a carriage belonging to Lord Clarendon.” He narrowed his gaze at her as he drew a sip from the glass.
Charlotte narrowed her own eyes, quickly deciding that taking the offensive was the better position and summoning up enough ire and indignation to address the man. She took a chance on their staff that no one here would have reported her to him. Therefore, it had to be someone outside the house. She would focus on who later. The shade had mostly been down, except for when they had driven through Mayfair.
For now, she would call his bluff. “No, Uncle. How . . . why would I do that? And who would say such a thing?” she demanded, mindful not to overplay her position. She needed to give him enough pause to question his source. This was not a conversation in which she wanted to participate. She hated deception, but she was learning that surviving as a woman within the confines of ton mores was an education in itself. Careful not to lose her contact with his chin, she kept her eyes steady.
He quirked a dark eyebrow at her. “I see . . .” he responded, still staring at her. He looked down into his glass and took another swig before walking back to his desk chair and sitting.
Charlotte sensed she had won that small battle. He looked skeptical and puzzled, probably at both her and his source. “Who would say that? I have done no such thing!”
“Relax, gel. For now, let us put it aside,” the baron huffed. “I have something to tell you. If your mother was not mourning so much, I would say she should be here, but as it is, she is not right. That is a problem for another day. I have a visitor that will be here at ten tomorrow. And I want you looking your best.”
“May I ask who your guest will be since it affects me?” she asked flatly.
“You may. Lord Burton will be here tomorrow. He has inquired of you, and I believe him to hold some interest.”
Charlotte controlled her repulsion. Lord Burton may be a marquess, but he was reputed to be a cruel toady. This confirmed he was the person Mama had overheard her uncle speaking with regarding a betrothal. Fighting back the bile that surfaced in her throat, she summoned a reply. “I am not acquainted with Lord Burton. How did he come to know of me?” she asked in a soft voice.
He harrumphed and eyed her critically. “I am not sure where he met you. Certainly a question for me to ask before the papers are signed,” he added, giving a sardonic laugh. “But he is most anxious to meet you.”
“Is that all?” She wanted to flee as far as her feet would carry her.
“Yes, gel. But I am curious about one thing,” he said as she stood to leave. “You did not say you had not met Lord Clarendon in your denial.” His voice was laced with suspicion.
“You did not ask if I knew of Lord Clarendon. You accused me of riding in his carriage,” she responded coolly.
“You always were a cagey one.” He sneered. “Do you . . . know him?”
“I know who Lord Clarendon is by reputation. His wife died fairly recently, is that correct?”
“Yes. Quite right. His wife died giving birth to their son. However, my opinion is he is not an honorable man and should be avoided. You get my inference, I feel sure. You are a smart one—too smart for your own good, if you ask me,” he added, glowering at her. “I believe we understand each other.”
Charlotte shuddered at the cruelty her uncle exposed. “Yes, Uncle. Quite sure that we do. Is that all?” She felt the uncontrollable urge to flee his presence. She had barely skated by his inquisition and needed air.
“It is. Close the door behind you,” he replied gruffly, dismissing her with a wave of his hand as he swigged the last of the brandy in his glass.
Charlotte summoned all the will she possessed to remain calm and maintain her decorum, determined to walk slowly to the parlor. Looking around, she whispered to her mother. “Mama, please wait here, and I will come to you when he leaves.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Picking up her skirts, she moved upstairs as quickly as possible and closed the door
