Page 24 of Not his Marchioness
Charlotte sighed as well. All her hopes had rested on her brother-in-law—that somehow he would find a way to put an end to this arrangement. And perhaps he might have, had he been able to return home. But he was trapped abroad, contending with floods that continued to threaten his vineyards in Portugal.
He had instructed his friend and agent, Julian, to investigate Rhys—to uncover anything that might offer Charlotte an escape. But Julian had found nothing more than what was already known: his parents and elder brother had passed away not long ago, leaving him as the sole heir.
He was known as a rake, a dandy, but not a criminal. Unlike other men in their circle, he had no reputation for cruelty or scandal. His vice was debauchery, but no worse than half the lords in Mayfair.
Evelyn cleared her throat delicately. “Julian called on me again this morning.”
Charlotte turned to her. “And…?”
“He said that, in honor of your wedding day, he’s obtained a small morsel of information that may ease your mind. Apparently, your intended has a rather… peculiar reputation in St. Giles. In certain… houses of ill repute.”
“Peculiar?” Aunt Eugenia repeated, clearly intrigued.
“Yes. It seems he’s rather popular among the women there—not just for his coin but for his kindness.” Evelyn’s lips twitched in bemusement. “He apparently takes a genuine interest in their well-being.”
“My future husband has a sterling reputation among the cyprians of St. Giles?” Charlotte asked flatly. “Well, that is a comfort.”
“Well,” Evelyn replied with a shrug, “it’s better than if he were known to mistreat them or leave his bills unpaid. He seems the sort who wishes to be disreputable but can’t quite manage it. He shows a certain… tenderness, I am told.”
Charlotte spun around. “Please stop extolling my husband’s virtues in London’s brothels.”
“Charlotte!” Aunt Eugenia gasped. “Mind your language.”
“Why should I not speak plainly? All of London knows where he spends his time, or where hewillspend it. Why should I pretend otherwise?”
“You might at least take comfort in the fact that he’s kept every promise so far,” Evelyn said. “The library, for one. The more-than-generous dowry. The arrangement allowing you to hire your own lady’s maid and cook. And the freedom to come and go as you please.”
“Yes,” Charlotte relented.
She had seen her betrothed only once or twice, and always in the presence of Aunt Eugenia and his uncle, alongside her father’s solicitor. He’d suggested they promenade together, but she’d had no desire to spend more time with him than was necessary. They would see enough of one another in the future.
Likewise, she had refused to see her father or allow him to interfere with the arrangements, and then had declined his request to attend the wedding ceremony. Of course, he had been in high dudgeon, wanting to be seen walking his daughter down the aisle, but she had put her foot down.
They had come up with a tale of a sick cousin in France to explain his absence.
Rhys had been courteous and decisive. He had easily agreed on the wedding breakfast menu and insisted they forgo a honeymoon. Instead, they would be seen together around London in the days following the ceremony—attending musicales, promenading in parks, making the appropriate appearances. Once the ton was convinced of their union’s legitimacy, he would retire to his country estate, and she would remain in town.
That had been their agreement.
They would live separately, trade places between the country and town as needed, and should both be summoned to the same location, they would keep separate chambers. She would gowhere she pleased, spend as much money as she pleased. It was all written—every line—in the contract.
And yet none of it made her feel better.
At least Marianne would be safe. In his single letter since all of this had begun, Nathaniel had made it clear that he would deal with their father. And he had. Marianne and Aunt Eugenia would go to Aunt Eugenia’s home in Bath.
Her father, of course, had claimed the idea as his own. But everyone knew the truth. He depended on Nathaniel’s purse and had clearly underestimated his resolve, even at a distance.
With Marianne away in Bath, Charlotte could breathe easier.
“We ought to go,” Evelyn said gently. “Or else the wedding will begin without you.”
“And would that not be a tragedy?” Charlotte murmured with a wry smile. “I still cannot believe that all these people agreed to attend.”
“Of course they did,” Evelyn drawled. “London loves a spectacle. And you and Rhys together? That is spectacle, indeed.”
Rhys.
The name sounded strange in Charlotte’s mind, but her betrothed had insisted on it. He had a peculiar aversion to his title, perhaps because it had once belonged to his father and was meant to be his brother’s.
