Charlotte took another slice of bread. Her appetite hadn’t vanished with the doctor’s death notice. Perhaps appetite loss would come later. Dying was a most novel experience. She rubbed her eyes, still sleepy from the night before.

Mama barreled into the morning room, and the laces on her cap fluttered, waving in such different directions, one would have thought she was conducting an experiment in physics.

“You have a gentleman caller,” Mama shrieked.

Charlotte must have misheard.

“You must get ready, my dear child,” Mama said. “He’s in the drawing room. Waiting for you.”

“Oh.” Charlotte scrambled up.

“You must look your best. And you really don’t today.”

Heat rose along Charlotte’s neck. “Is there really someone right outside the door?”

“Precisely,” Mama said gaily. “First gentleman caller you’ve ever had.”

“Who is he? Did you take his name?”

“Name?” Mama scoffed. “You think we’ve procured a butler? No, I ran out to tell you, since I know you needed to look nicer than you do.”

“Oh,” Charlotte whispered.

“Why on earth are you whispering, dear girl? Is something wrong with your throat?”

Charlotte didn’t answer the question, but Mama became preoccupied with fussing over Charlotte’s hair, even though Flora had just done Charlotte’s hair today. Mama’s best efforts seemed only to be dismantling Charlotte’s curled locks, since Mama’s fingers could hardly be described as curling tongs, no matter Charlotte’s own fondness for her mother.

“But, Mama,” Charlotte said quickly, “if he is right outside this door, he can probably hear everything you’re saying.”

“Oh? I’m not one for chemistry.”

“Physics,” Charlotte said. “You’re not one for physics.”

Mama beamed. “I had no idea you were so impressed by my chemistry skills.”

Charlotte sighed. The education of women did not include very much. The cracks on the door did seem of the wide variety, and she had the dreadful feeling the sound could make its way from room to room with little hindrance.

It’s probably not the duke.

Why would the duke call?

Had he decided to tell her parents after all? If not of her fatal illness than of her visit last night?

If she were truly lucky, Mama had simply fabricated the man. Papa was always saying Mama’s imagination was far too strong, and perhaps he had in fact had a point all these years, and she had been in the habit of conjuring up whole men who just happened to have the pleasing sort of facial features that only the Duke of Vernon managed to have.

The room did seem silent.

That had to be a good thing, though the duke was unlikely to make a whole lot of noise, especially when all by himself.

“Is Papa in the drawing room?”

“Oh, he’s in there, too,” Mama said gleefully.

“But I don’t hear him speaking,” Charlotte said.

She hoped it was because the door was rather thicker than she’d thought, despite the large cracks in the frame, but if Papa was there, well Papa had a tendency to—

“He’s reading, dear,” Mama said.

This was mortifying.

She unwound herself from Mama’s clasp.

She had to see for herself.

“My dear, you must wait!” Mama shrieked.

Charlotte pushed the door open, and her heart tumbled to the floor.

Papa and the duke were sitting inside the parlor. The duke rose instantly, and Papa lifted his head from the book. “My dear child.”

The duke was here.

All six foot four inches of him. She hadn’t measured his height previously, but since the ceiling was only six feet two inches, and the man seemed hunched in an angle to which he’d not previously been prone, she suspected his height extended another two inches.

Whomever had designed the room had likely never suspected a man of such aristocratic proportions would be inside.

She would recognize the duke’s curly blond locks anywhere, as well as his high cheekbones and bright blue eyes that seemed to radiate amusement.

“If you’re going to stand at the door, you may as well come back here so I can finish your hair,” Mama said.

Charlotte’s cheeks warmed, and the duke’s eyebrows seemed to have reached a higher perch.

“You have a visitor?” Georgiana asked, brushing past Mama.

“Oh, she does,” Mama said. “And he’s most handsome.”

The duke’s lips turned up.

The duke bowed deeply, with a flourish to which Charlotte was not accustomed.

Georgiana peeked her head over Charlotte’s shoulder, and then gasped.

Charlotte glanced at Georgiana. Georgiana’s eyes widened, and she seemed to even somewhat quiver, even though Georgiana was decidedly not the quivering type.

Georgiana had been a debutante two years ago and had been attending balls ever since.

She would recognize the duke. She knew who was in the room, and how utterly unlikely it was that he was there.

Papa might imagine his girls were merrily dancing at balls, but he didn’t know that was far from the truth. They were lucky when some of their favorite wallflower friends were in attendance at the balls.

“Well, let’s all go in,” Mama said, giving Georgiana and Charlotte a slight push.

“Your Grace?” Georgiana stammered.

“Miss Butterworth,” the duke said smoothly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Georgiana gave a wide-eyed look to Charlotte. She was probably wondering why no one else was speaking.

Charlotte knew English.

She had been taught.

In fact she’d read many books written entirely in English, but right now she wasn’t certain if she’d ever learned an approximation of the order in which words were supposed to be spoken.

Unfortunately, spewing words without any context was unideal in making her be comprehended.

The duke’s eyes still twinkled, though he did look a bit uncertain.

“Your Grace?” Mama asked behind her.

“Mrs. Butterworth,” the duke said again, bowing.

“Mama, may I present the Duke of Vernon,” Charlotte said.

Mama blinked.

“Is it a nickname?” Papa said casually, flipping through his Plato.

“No,” Georgiana said.

Papa jumped to his feet, and his book toppled to the floor and gave a mighty echo. The quality of the vellum should not be in any question. “If you are a duke, what are you doing here?”

“Well, obviously the dear boy must know my relatives,” Mama said. “Now please, have a seat, Your Grace.”

The duke settled into the chair opposite Papa.

He was handsome, far more handsome than anyone had the right to be, as if he’d stolen the handsomeness from other people. Could there be enough beauty left in the world for others?

Her mother’s shoulders relaxed, and Charlotte tried to summon a similar sense of calm.

“My dear daughter made this,” Mama said quickly, perhaps sensing Charlotte’s embarrassment, and pointed at some embroidery.

The embroidery was horrid. The art of using needles to pierce fabric and malign it with bright thread in various shapes had always been beyond Charlotte.

“How delightful,” the duke said, with such enthusiasm that he soon entered into a conversation with her mother on her own embroidery skills. “Do you embroider as well?”

Mama beamed. “I do!”

“You must show me your work,” the duke said, glancing at Charlotte.

“You find it interesting?”

“Most,” he said.

Mama shoved some embroideries of flowers in his face, and he expressed admiration for each one.

“You know all the years I’ve lived,” the duke said, “I’ve never done any embroidery. It seems most complex.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was a little girl,” Mama said, still beaming.

Charlotte smiled. It was nice to see her parents so entertained.

“You’re reading Plato,” the duke remarked to Papa.

“Oh, indeed,” Papa said. “Are you an admirer?”

“How could I not be?” the duke asked, obviously assessing from the great many books on the philosopher of a safe answer.

“Now who is your favorite continental philosopher?” Papa asked.

“They all have their admirable traits.”

Papa frowned and shook his head. “Oh, that won’t do. That won’t do at all. They’re all different, you see. And the differences are most important.”

“The differences make each philosophy more unique.”

Papa tilted his head. “Oh, I suppose that’s true. Good point.”

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Mama asked the duke.

“I came to call on your younger daughter,” the duke said.

“It’s the blond hair.” Mama pointed to Charlotte’s hair proudly. “My eldest daughter is quite lovely, but she has red hair. Much more difficult to marry off.”

“Perhaps I’ll become an old maid,” Georgiana said.

“I’m sure you’ll have proposals,” the duke said awkwardly.

“And yet she has no prospects,” Mama said.

“Well, I didn’t meet your eldest daughter. Perhaps if I’d met her things would be different,” the duke said in an effort of perhaps politeness. “I mean, perhaps I did see her at balls—”

“Yes, that hair color is quite distinctive,” Mama sighed. “It really is a shame we’re not in the last century anymore. Than we could just slap a wig on her, pat her face with chalk, and no one would be the least bit wiser that her hair is red and her nose is speckled with freckles.”

“I believe speckled is not quite the right word,” Papa said. “Speckled implies a minute amount of freckles when—”

“In my case there is a lot,” Georgiana said, rolling her eyes to the heavens. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

“So you just met my dear daughter yesterday and you are already calling on her,” Mama said, with a pleased expression on her face.

“Quite.”

There was an awkward silence. Though Mama had often mused aloud about what might happen when one of her daughters received a gentleman caller, with the exception of a curate who was fond of calling on Georgiana, though everyone suspected that his presence was mostly because of Cook’s superb sweet-making abilities, the fact was that until now, gentleman callers had always been rather abstract, like one of the mathematics problems in the sort of books women were not supposed to read.

“Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any.” The duke patted his purse. “Busy night at the club.”

Charlotte stiffened. Papa was unlikely to condone the fact the duke was involved in running a gaming hell, but since Papa stayed far away from the gossip broadsheets and Plato was unlikely to have foretold the duke’s not-so-wonderful business habits, Charlotte supposed that the duke was safe from being preached to.

The duke cleared his throat and patted his purse again, and a strange flush rippled through Charlotte’s body.

It’s not possible.

And yet, he had come here. That was odd.

It’s not that, Charlotte thought. It can’t be that. It certainly can’t be—

“Oh, my Lord!” Mama shrieked. “He’s kneeling.”

The duke was kneeling.

Mama clapped her hands. “It’s happening. Oh, my dear! It’s happening. Where are my smelling salts? My dear Mr. Butterworth, I must get my smelling salts!”

Mama sprang up, even though sudden movement seemed to indicate Mama didn’t seem in danger of fainting. “My dear! Perhaps I should ring for a servant. Flora? Flora?”

Flora poked her head into the room. “Madam?”

Papa stretched his arm toward Mama and placed a hand on her leg. “My dear Mrs. Butterworth—”

“Be quiet,” Mama said.

“I only meant,” Papa said, “that you should perhaps let the duke finish.”

“In truth, he hasn’t even started,” Georgiana said.

“You are not helping,” Papa said sternly. He turned to the duke. “Now, my dear boy, what were you saying?”

“Probably nothing,” Charlotte said quickly. “He probably lost something. A handkerchief perhaps.” She looked down on the floor and left her chair. “Perhaps I should help him—”

“No, no.” Mama moved across the room, hauled Charlotte up and set her back into her seat.

Mama seemed quite athletic today.

“I only wanted to say,” the duke said. “Will you, Miss Charlotte Butter—er—”

“Worth!” Mama said brightly. “It’s Butterworth.”

The duke nodded and he seemed even more pleased. He hadn’t seemed to mind her parents’ multiple breaches of etiquette, and Charlotte narrowed her eyes. Most men did not seem pleased at the ridiculous sound of her last name, but it seemed to cause the duke to veritably beam.

“Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Of course she will,” Mama said enthusiastically, clapping her hands together. “My dear, I am so happy to have witnessed this lovely proposal.”

“It was quite standard,” Georgiana said.

Mama glared at her. “It was the most romantic thing I have ever heard.”

“More romantic than Papa’s proposal?” Georgiana asked.

Charlotte couldn’t marry anyone. Not with a doctor’s death sentence. She couldn’t be a wife. She would never live long enough to have children and secure her husband’s heir. One couldn’t marry a man and die six months later.