Charlotte’s jaw dropped in disbelief. One…thousand…pounds. For the rest of her life. Her heart thudded. The sum was unthinkable.
“Mrs. Fairfax,” she stammered inanely. “I’m Mrs. Fairfax now.”
“Mrs…Fairfax?” Lady Upchurch turned to Lady Roundtree. “Is this the woman you claimed was an angel sent to earth because she performed nothing short of a miracle organizing your downstairs staff?”
Lady Roundtree glared back stonily.
Lady Upchurch arched a disbelieving eyebrow toward Charlotte.
“The very one,” Charlotte admitted, peering up through her lashes with an embarrassed smile.
“There,” Lady Pettibone said briskly. “Surely no Courteland has hubris enough to blame an angel for the sins of her father. Do you disagree, Mabel? Are you qualified to cast the first stone?”
Lady Roundtree shook her head mutely.
Charlotte could not gloat over witnessing a baroness being put squarely in her place. Her head was still spinning at the sum she had just received. It was enough for a non-Society family to live quite comfortably. More than enough. She tried to catch her breath. Her mother had no debts, or Charlotte would pay them off without blinking an eye. Anthony—
Anthony. This could shorten his contract with the Duke of Lambley. Next year, perhaps, they could purchase a small cottage in the country. It would not be the life Anthony had hoped for, but it would have to do. She let out a shallow breath. ’Twas actually far better than she had dared to dream.
“How did the duke learn of my existence?” she asked in a small voice.
“He always knew,” Lady Pettibone replied flatly.
Charlotte’s heart fell. Her father hadn’t been ignorant of her existence. He simply hadn’t cared.
Lady Pettibone’s tone was imperious. “I, however, only learned of the matter after my brother took ill.”
Charlotte glanced up.
“I came to his bedside to oversee the final draft of his will,” Lady Pettibone continued. “When I saw no mention of Mother’s ruby necklace or ear bobs, I inquired as to their whereabouts. When Courteland confessed he had given them to the mother of his illegitimate daughter, I was shocked not to have learned of his indiscretion earlier.”
Charlotte flinched. She had spent her life fighting to be seen as someone of value. Even now, after inheriting an annuity, she was still nothing more than a mere indiscretion.
She lifted her chin. The devil could take the lot of them! She didn’t care about their high-flown opinions or their world-weary lack of interest. She was a person whether they cared to acknowledge her or not. If her esteemed “betters” had no use for her, well, the feeling was mutual. She didn’t need their approval.
Lady Pettibone cast a cold eye at her niece. “While a by-blow is not in fact a legal relation, a family such as ours must meet our obligations.” She lifted her nose. “I handed Courteland that quill, and informed him that he would fulfill his responsibility, by God, even if it was on his deathbed.”
Charlotte’s chin jutted defiantly. “Thank you, my lady. No one appreciates your attention to obligations more than I do.”
“You were Courteland’s responsibility,” Lady Pettibone corrected. “You’re my niece. You may not have known your father while he was alive, but now that he’s gone… In my home, you will always be welcome to call. I hope you do.”
Shock stole the breath from Charlotte’s lungs as she stared at Lady Pettibone in amazement. And in hope.
Of all the fashionable people who had disdained and belittled her, these were the individuals who should despise her the most. She was an embarrassment. She had no legal claim, yet had been bequeathed money that would otherwise have gone to them. She was a bastard. A whore’s worthless mistake.
And yet the most feared dragon in London would welcome her into her home.
Charlotte’s throat stung. Perhaps she wasn’t worthless after all.
Perhaps she was family.
Chapter 23
In a daze, Charlotte left the Courteland estate. She was so focused on scanning the street for potential hackney cabs that at first she didn’t even register the smart black barouche at the end of the walk, with its beautiful open carriage and gorgeous matched horses.
Until her husband leaped down from his perch to swing her into a sweeping kiss.
“Anthony?” She gazed up at him breathlessly. “What are you doing with a barouche?”
“Celebrating!” He swung her up and into the carriage. “Borrowed it for the rest of the afternoon.”
She blinked in surprise. “Celebrating? But I haven’t even told you—”
“Not the Courtelands. I don’t care a fig what they think you’re worth.” He pulled himself up onto the seat beside her and kissed the tip of her nose. “I know you’re worth everything. And I’d like to prove it to you.”
“To prove…what?” she stammered in surprise.
Rather than reply, he shook the reins and set the carriage in motion.
She laughed in delight as the wind fluttered her bonnet and chapped her cheeks. Until this past week, she’d never ridden in a conveyance more prestigious than a humble hackney cab. And even that wasn’t a privilege she took for granted.
She’d thought the baroness’s fine coach-and-four would be the pinnacle of her elegant travel memories, but this—this! The sun on her face, the wind in her hair, the warmth of her husband at her side as the horses clopped smartly into Mayfair and down Upper Grosvenor Street.
When an expansive, bustling garden appeared at the end, she turned to her husband in wonder.
“Hyde Park?” She clasped her hands to her chest and laughed in pure joy. “We’re going riding in Hyde Park?”
“Where else does a gentleman take a lady?”
Before she could remind him she was nothing of the sort, they were already inside the park and entering the legendary cavalcade known as the Ring. She tamped down her bonnet to hide her face.
Fashionable people filled the park. Charlotte’s eager eyes could scarcely drink it all in. Dashing gentlemen in splendid driving clothes. Elegant ladies in sumptuous day dresses, eye-catching feathers, glorious spencers. Even the liveried servants were the very picture of impeccable taste and unparalleled style.
She tried to stare everywhere all at once. “How many people are here?”
“A thousand, perhaps.” Anthony grinned at her obvious delight. “It’s mid-afternoon. By six, there will barely be room to move and you will be begging me to leave at once due to your boredom with it all.”
She smacked his elbow. Now that she was Mrs. Fairfax, the wife of a town gentleman, she would never beg him to leave. This experience was thrilling. She hoped to stay until they were the very last carriage left on the graveled path. She could almost pretend she belonged.
To her surprise, Anthony pulled the barouche to a stop at the inner edge of the Ring and leaped out to the grass below.
“Anthony,” she hissed as she gripped the side of the barouche to stare down at him in consternation. A few of the fine ladies and gentlemen with painted crests on their carriages gave them curious glances as they passed. She tried to avoid eye contact with them. “What are you doing?”
“Charlotte Fairfax,” he called out loud as he dropped to one knee. “We may have wed by accident, but our marriage is no mistake. You are the love of my life and I would do it all over again. In fact, I’d like to.” He gazed up at her and raised his voice even more. “Will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage, in a proper ceremony before God, with both our families present?”
She gripped the edge of the barouche even tighter as tears pricked her throat. Blast the romantic man. He’d brought her amongst the crème de la crème in London…to pick her.