The Marquis and I by Ella Quinn (7)

Chapter Six

Charlotte was more than grateful to be able to leave the parlor.

It was fortunate that Lady Bellamny had been here for her—the Fates must have had a hand in bringing that about. Still, the idea that she would be forced to marry a man who used prostitutes, the type of man she had vowed never to wed, made her stomach ache. If only she had the funds to return to Town, she would leave and refuse to see him again. She could tell anyone who asked that they’d had an argument and she had changed her mind about the marriage. Now she must remain in the same house with him for at least a day or so.

They reached a door near the top of the stairs. “I’ll send my eldest daughter up to assist you, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

After the door closed behind Charlotte, she removed her bonnet and the pins from her hair, running her fingers through her long tresses to untangle the snarls. What she would not give for a full bath. Since she did not have the wherewithal to go home, hopefully she could have one once she was with Lord Kenilworth’s mother.

Oh, God. Her heart contracted painfully as if it had been squeezed by an invisible hand. She could not accept that her situation was impossible. That she would be forced to marry him.

The worst part of it all was that before she knew who he was, she had begun to like him. After his kiss, she had thought she might have found the right gentleman for her. Yet she could not, would not marry him.

Surely Grace would be able to help her get out of it. Although she had not been able to assist Dotty. Still, Dotty’s marriage had turned out much better than anyone could have expected. Merton doted on Dotty and she on him.

Charlotte could not even think of a way she could be happy with a man who thought of a female’s body as a business arrangement. He must know the damage he was doing to the women he used.

She had begun pacing the chamber, and halted. Or perhaps he did not know how harmful his behavior was. Dotty had said many men did not think of the consequences of their actions. Even Grace had agreed that men could be blind when it came to fulfilling their needs.

Charlotte was not willing to wed Kenilworth, still, she would do her best to convince him that he should help women in trouble, and not use them as he was used to doing.

A knock came on the door, and a woman who looked to be about Charlotte’s age entered the room. “I’m Sally. My ma sent me, my lady.”

“Thank you. I was attempting to comb my hair.”

“If you’d like me to help you undress so you can wash, I’ll do your hair too.”

“Yes, please.” Charlotte turned her back to the girl. “I would greatly appreciate your help.”

A half hour later, she felt much cleaner and more able to meet the challenge she had set for herself. She would take her stand against the marriage and not be swayed.

* * *

“I shall require paper and pen,” Con said when the innkeeper’s wife returned. “I also wish to send a messenger to Hillstone Manor.”

“Yes, my lord.” The woman bobbed a curtsey.

Once he had been shown to a small room with a desk, he settled down on a hard wooden chair and began to write.

Next he wrote a missive to his mother warning her she was about to have guests, but not giving her any idea as to what sort of visitors to expect. That was probably not well done of him, but he must explain how his betrothal came about and the reason his betrothed—if one could call a lady who refused to wed one a betrothed—was not happy about it. And that must be accomplished in person. Although he never thought to be happy about Lady Bellamny’s presence, he’d most likely need her help.

He also penned a note to his valet, Cunningham, directing the man to travel immediately to Hillstone Manor with whatever clothing and other items Con would need for at least a week. Upon reflection, he instructed his valet to contact Lady Charlotte’s maid and tell her she was to accompany Cunningham to Hillstone Manor.

Con placed the pen down, replaced the cork in the standish, and sanded the letters before dripping wax on the folded papers and pressing his signet ring into the red blobs.

He leaned back in the hard wooden chair. If only Braxton—of all the care-for-nobody slibberslabbers—had not seen Con and Charlotte come into the inn yard after having traveled most of the night. If Con were a superstitious man, he’d think that his pretending to be Braxton the previous evening had conjured up the popinjay.

Con rubbed his chin. There was nothing for it now. The die was cast and all of that. At least he would make his mother and sisters happy.

He strode to the front of the inn and found the landlord. “I must have these missives sent out by messenger immediately. Please have the man wait for a reply. I shall also require a chamber and some wash water.”

“Very good, my lord.” Mr. Watson pulled his forelock. “I’ll have a room made up straightaway.”

Con wandered into the common room that stood off to the side of the hall, preparing to partake in the house’s ale while he waited for his chamber to be readied.

“Kenilworth.” Lord Gerald Heathcote gave Con a toothy smile. “The ale here is excellent.” The man shoved a chair out from the table with his foot. “Join me.”

“So I have heard.” He glanced around and not seeing Braxton, joined Lord Gerald. “I believe I will. It’s been an interesting morning.” And evening, yet what else was he to say? “What brings you to the country?”

“Boxing match, don’t you know.” He held up two fingers to the barkeeper. “Decided to come down early. Inns fill up quickly for that type of thing. Braxton heard me tell another fellow and said he’d come as well.”

How could Con have been such a dunderhead? Despite what he said earlier, he had been planning to attend the match himself. “I’d forgotten.”

“Uh, about that.” Lord Gerald lowered his voice to a whisper. “What is Lady Charlotte doing here? Braxton thinks you must be eloping, but I told him you was going the wrong way to Gretna Green.” Lord Gerald frowned. “Can’t think why you’d have to elope in the first place. You’re eligible enough for any lady.” Two mugs were set before them. Lord Gerald took a long draw on his. “Didn’t know you was looking for a wife. Would have suggested my sister. The eldest one. The other one’s not out yet. Come to think of it, don’t remember seeing you at any of the balls and such this Season.”

Because I haven’t been at any of the entertainments, and I have been actively not looking for a wife. The Fates have a strange way of interfering with one’s plans.

He would have to remember to tell Charlotte—he supposed he no longer needed to use her title—the bouncer he was about to tell his acquaintance. “Lady Charlotte and I recently formed an understanding. I decided it was as good a time as any for her to meet my mother. During the journey down we had a slight accident with the phaeton. No one was harmed. However, she and I became a bit rumpled. Naturally, Lady Bellamny was accompanying us in her coach.” He had to think back to what had been said when Lady Bellamny appeared. Thank the Lord, Braxton had not heard Con and Charlotte bickering.

“Never thought I’d see you leg-shackled so soon.” A large smile spread over Lord Gerald’s face. “Nevertheless, I’m happy to wish you happy. But why the rush down, when you could have attended the match?”

“We wanted to inform my mother of our decision to wed.” Con had no doubt that once Mama and Worthington heard that Con and Charlotte had been seen by Braxton, Charlotte would be made to go through with the wedding.

“Thought Worthington was out of Town?” Lord Gerald asked, confused. Then again, he had always been a bit buffle-headed.

“I spoke with him just before he left. However, as I said, my mother needed to be informed before an announcement was made.”

“Well, then.” Lord Gerald finished off his ale and rose. “I’ll just toddle off and tell Braxton he was out.” The man gave Con a jaunty bow. “Very glad we had this talk. Braxton owes me a pony now. Told him Lady Charlotte wouldn’t have just run off. Not the type, if you know what I mean.” Lord Gerald suddenly looked anxious, and his mouth started to open and close. “My apologies. Not what I meant to say a’tall. Naturally, you’d know she isn’t that type. Wouldn’t be marrying her if she was.”

“Naturally.” Con’s hand clenched. Given any reason at all, he’d gladly plant Braxton a facer. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t help the situation. The man was as poisonous as a viper. He would ruin Charlotte and Con simply for his own amusement.

“I’ll just be off.”

Con stifled a sigh of relief. At least Lord Gerald had swallowed the story.

A few moments after Con finished his ale, the landlord appeared to take him to his chamber.

He stripped and poured warm water into a bowl, then washed as best he could before shaving. There was nothing to be done about his crushed cravat or shirt points, but Cunningham would be at the manor by this evening.

Con wondered if Charlotte had written to her maid, and if he should tell her he took care of the matter for her. Or perhaps, considering she didn’t seem to wish to have anything to do with him, he would be better off keeping his own counsel.

Until she understood how precarious both their positions were, that was going to be a problem. He had never wanted a reluctant bride. One of the reasons he eschewed balls and other tonish events where young ladies would be present was to avoid just this type of situation, betrothed to a lady due to forces beyond his control.

Good God. What a muddle. Wellington had married from a sense of obligation, and look how badly that had turned out. Con had even less of a choice in the matter than the general. If only he had not got lost. If only he’d been able to get her back to Town before dawn, this problem could have been avoided. Or if she had not formed a completely unreasonable opinion of him that was as ridiculous as it was insulting.

What was the world coming to when the mere possession of a mistress caused a man to be accused of abuse? Not only that, but it was not true. He always treated his ladybirds with generosity and kindness. None of them had ever complained. It was the nature of the business that, eventually, one moved on.

What manifest nonsense to think badly of him for doing what all men did.

Charlotte must be made to understand that Cyprians were in a different class than the poor women at Miss Betsy’s or some of the other brothels. He agreed that some of those women were badly treated, even if they chose to be there. His mistress, however, and others saw the advantages in entertaining gentlemen, and enjoyed their work. There was nothing unsavory about it, and the women were well compensated.

Someone had to make Charlotte see sense. Although, it would not be him. She wouldn’t listen to him if he was fool enough to make the attempt. Hopefully, Lady Bellamny would have a talk with Charlotte and explain the ways of the world. Then again, she might come around when she understood her option was to wed him or be cast out of Polite Society and never marry.

If she did not wed him, no one would believe the story that they’d been traveling with Lady Bellamny. If anyone actually looked into the matter, that clanker wouldn’t hold water, and her reputation would not be the only one at risk: Her sisters would be harmed.

He groaned. Not to mention his sisters. He could hear them haranguing and condemning him for an unthinking here-and-therian without the intelligence to convince an innocent young lady to marry him.

Damn if he’d let Charlotte make him look like a veritable coxcomb. There was no choice. She must wed him.

Con rubbed his cheek as he remembered her soft curves. His earlier reaction to her—before she’d begun harping about him keeping a mistress—had been strong enough that he thought he might enjoy teaching her about the sensual arts.

She was beautiful, well dowered, passionate, and intelligent. Other than her unfortunate tendency to champion impures, she was exactly the type of woman he had planned to wed . . . one day.

He stared at himself in the small shaving mirror. Whether he wanted it or not, that day was here.

He would simply have to channel Charlotte’s passions away from what he had done with his mistress to what he would be doing with her. What could be easier than seducing one’s own betrothed? An innocent who had probably not even been properly kissed—or kissed at all, if he knew her brother—before him.

Con made his way to the stables, where his leader had been tended. “I’ll need to hire another pair. My stable master will make arrangements for these two to be taken to Hillstone Manor.”

“Aye, my lord,” an older groom responded. “We’ll take good care of them. I got that pair of grays. Good goers, if ye ask me.”

He looked over the horses’ points. Satisfied, Con replied, “Have them ready in a half hour. Lady Bellamny’s coach will be required as well.”

He’d be damned if he was going to wait all day for the ladies, and he had to arrive at his mother’s house with an attendant for Charlotte.

“I’ll call fer her ladyship’s coachman.”

“Good man.” Con strode back to the inn and went directly to Lady Bellamny’s parlor, where he found her and Charlotte drinking tea. Two plates with leftover food were on the table, but there was enough on the tray for him to break his fast.

An almost empty bowl of milk sat on a table next to Charlotte. Collette was on the sofa, curled next to her mistress, who was absently stroking the feline. The homely, domestic scene belied their current circumstances.

“I ordered our carriages to be ready in half an hour, if that suits you.”

“Excellent,” Lady Bellamny replied. “I took it upon myself to write Lady Charlotte’s cousin, asking for her maid to attend her. I also wrote to Lady Worthington. Worthington can be a bit of a hothead where his sisters are concerned. She will be able to exert a calming influence.”

That was probably the best idea anyone had had all day. “Very well.” Con lowered himself onto a chair next to Charlotte. “Is there any tea left?”

“I shall order a new pot.” Lady Bellamny tugged the bell pull.

“Please.” He glanced at Charlotte. She had not even looked up from gazing at the cat.

The blasted chit probably thought that if she ignored him he would go away.

Con opened his mouth to address her when Lady Bellamny caught his eye and shook her head. Very well. He’d leave well enough alone for the time being. She had not been at all ill-mannered or petulant before she had discovered his identity. Perhaps the events of the past day were catching up to her, and she would be better behaved when she was at his mother’s home and had an opportunity to recover.

He had rank, wealth, and had been told by more women than he could count that he was handsome. Con did not believe he was being immodest in thinking that she could really not do much better than him. Unless, that is, she was after a duke, and young dukes were thin on the ground. Sooner or later Charlotte would come around.

He filled his plate with slices of rare roast beef and bread.

If the Fates were with him, he’d have enough time before Worthington arrived to persuade her she wished to spend her life with him.