The young woman whirled around to face him, and he discovered it was indeed Charlotte. “What do you want?” she demanded, glaring at him.
As always when faced with a nerve-racking situation—which was always the situation when he was near the vivacious Charlotte—he summoned up a mask of calm indifference, and answered truthfully. “I’ve come to tell your esteemed uncle that I have changed my mind and cannot marry you.”
Her green eyes flickered and a sardonic smile curved her full lips. “Good, because I am here to tell him the same thing.”
How her emerald green eyes sparkled like jewels when she was angry! How lovely she looked in that charming ensemble, including the ridiculous plume bobbing about like a writer’s quill penning a screed of its own volition. “Excellent. Then we are agreed.”
“Yes!”
“So I see no need to remain here any longer.”
“Nor do I,” Charlotte declared, pushing her way past him and slamming the office door with a bang like a cannon shot that probably sent the clerks scrambling for cover.
Taking a deep breath, James bowed at the openmouthed Mr. Duncan. “Good day to you, sir, and I regret any inconvenience.”
Before he could turn away, Duncan heaved himself to his feet with surprising speed. “Not so fast, Your Grace. I would speak with you.”
James suppressed a sigh as he waited for the man to proceed. No doubt Duncan intended to berate him, and soundly, too.
“You will either marry my niece, or I shall take you to court for breach of promise.”
Chapter Three
James stared, slack-jawed, at Charlotte’s uncle. “Breach of promise?” he repeated in an incredulous whisper.
Malcolm Duncan smiled with malicious pleasure. “Exactly. Several people heard you offer to marry her last night.”
“She didn’t accept!”
Duncan waved his plump hand dismissively as he returned to his seat. “Women are fickle creatures, apt to change their minds.”
“But you can’t be serious! She hates me.”
“Does she?”
James’s eyes widened even more, and even though his mind told him it must not, the small, hidden place in his heart where his hope had been buried cracked open. Charlotte had been living with her uncle since her father’s demise years ago; it could be he knew her well enough….
It didn’t matter. “Of course,” he replied, burying the long-denied hope back where it belonged. “You heard her say she’d rather die than marry me.”
“Well, be that as it may,” Duncan said, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers, “the fact is, you’ve compromised my niece’s honor. Your family has already done her harm, and it’s about time one of you made it right.”
“My family did her harm?”
“Aye,” Duncan said, grave and firm as the bricks of his distillery. “She loved your brother and she was heartbroken when he died. And she’s blamed herself for far too long for what your brother did. Her reputation has suffered for it, too.”
“She did not love my brother, and she is to blame for what John did,” James protested, every line of John’s last letter bemoaning his anguish and shame burned into his brain. If Charlotte mourned anything, it was the loss of his brother’s money.
Duncan eyed him shrewdly, as if James were a merchant trying to sell him something of dubious quality. “Whatever you think of the past, it is last night I am most concerned with today. You compromised Charlotte’s honor, and you will do the honorable thing, one way or another, or you’ll be hearing from my solicitor.”
“I can afford the best solicitor in London to fight the suit.”
“Aye, I have no doubt, but fighting me will cost you a pretty penny, especially as these things can drag on for so long. In the meantime, no woman of character will trust you, should you wish to marry and create an heir. Of course, if you plan to remain a bachelor all your days, that may not trouble you.”
James did not plan to remain a bachelor. He wanted children, and not simply to provide an heir. He liked children. Many nights as he had lain awake listening to his comrades in arms snoring and snorting and tossing and turning, he had envisioned leading the life of a country gentleman, surrounded by a loving family, married to…his brother’s fiancée. He flushed and pushed away that shameful memory. “Do you intend to threaten Charlotte into agreeing, too? Will you sue her, as well?”
“Charlotte will do what is best for her.”
James scowled. “Of that I have no doubt,” he said as he strode to the door. When he went out, he slammed it even harder than Charlotte had.
“But, Papa, I don’t understand,” Dulcie pouted a fortnight later as she sat on the arm of her father’s chair in his mahogany-paneled study, which smelled faintly of cheroots and pomade. “Why did you invite him to dinner again? Charlotte refuses to see him, and he sits here scowling like a bear whenever he comes. Why, they loathe each other!”
“Of course they do,” her father replied with a chortle as he chucked his beloved, but not overly intelligent, daughter on her round little chin. “I don’t intend that they should marry. I have other plans for the duke.”
He eyed Dulcie so significantly, even she caught on. “Me?” she squeaked. “You want him to marry me?”
“Yes.” He patted her arm. “The more annoyed he gets with Charlotte, the lovelier and more pleasant you will seem.”
Dulcie pouted again. “I thought I was pretty and pleasant.”
“Oh, you are, my dear, you are, and the duke can hardly fail to notice that fact every time he comes here.”
Dulcie’s pale forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Yet you said you’d sue him if he doesn’t marry Charlotte.”
“Only to ensure that he would stay in London and visit us. The moment he tells me he would rather marry you instead, all talk of breach of promise will be quite forgotten.”
Dulcie toyed with her rings and didn’t meet her father’s gaze. “That seems a bit hard on Charlotte, Papa, using her to lure the duke here to fall in love with me.”
“All’s fair in love and war, my dear. Indeed, we are really doing her a favor.” He warmed to his subject. “The gossip will go against her if the duke doesn’t at least seem to be doing the honorable thing, but if he jilts her in your favor, she’ll appear to be the one hard done by. All the ladies will sympathize with her, even those who were so quick to blame her in that other unfortunate business.”
Dulcie continued to frown. “What if they blame me for stealing the duke away?”
“They won’t,” he assured her. “If there’s any blame in this, it will attach to him.” He gave his daughter an indulgent smile. “Besides, what does it matter what they say if you marry a duke in the end?”
Chapter Four
Charlotte looked unseeing out the tall, narrow windows of the town house in Mayfair. She felt like a prisoner in her home—or at least, her uncle’s home. She had never been completely comfortable living with her uncle and cousin, but after her father’s death, she had no other alternative. Now, with the unwelcome presence of the Duke of Broverhampton haunting her like a ghost, she felt more imprisoned than ever.
She heard a small sound and turned away from the window, to find Dulcie standing near her dressing table.
“Yes?” she asked, noting that her usually placid cousin looked worried and uncertain. Perhaps the strain of this forced marriage nonsense was wearing on her, too.