Page 2 of Not his Marchioness
His voice thundered so loudly that she thought the windows might shatter. Even her father stood with his hand still in the air, pointing toward the window, but his mouth now hung open, as if waiting for a swarm of flies.
How dare the man speak to her in such a manner? How very beyond the pale!
She couldn’t deny it—this was her opportunity to leave, and she took it. She rushed outside, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it, shaking as she tried to compose herself.
This was not going to happen to her. No way. She wasn’t going to allow it.
Later that afternoon, she was sitting in her chamber when her aunt Eugenia entered.
“Dearest,” she said gently, “you must get ready.”
“Get ready?” Charlotte asked, confused. “Get ready for what?”
“The musical soirée at the Swansons’ home, dear,” Aunt Eugenia replied. “Why are you not getting dressed? You said you?—”
“I said?” Charlotte suddenly leapt from her bed, her voice sharp. “Did you know? Did you know what he was planning?”
“Pardon?”
“Your brother. My father. He’s up to his old shenanigans again. He has found some horrible man for me to wed.”
Her aunt’s jaw slackened, and she staggered backward, dropping into a chair. She looked as though she might have the vapors right then and there.
“He cannot mean it. Surely he cannot.”
“But he does. And it is Lord Emery, of all people.”
“Lord Emery?” her aunt gasped. “But he is?—”
“A rake of the highest order,” Charlotte cut in. “Everyone knows he’s spent half his newly acquired fortune in gambling houses across the country. And the number of bastards he fathered—I couldn’t count them on one hand. And that poor maid…”
“Now,” Aunt Eugenia said cautiously, “we do not know that he had anything to do with?—”
Charlotte glared at her. “But we do.”
Two months ago, a maid had been found dead in the gardens of Emery Estate. It was said that she had leapt from a window to her death. Upon discovering she was with child, word that the father was Lord Emery himself spread.
Some said that she had made demands he didn’t wish to fulfill, and that he had rid himself of her. Others whispered that he had forced himself on her—a notion too terrible for Charlotte to fully grasp.
In any case, a man titled but tarnished was certainly not a suitable husband.
“Nathaniel will not allow it,” Aunt Eugenia insisted.
“We cannot delay,” Charlotte murmured. “Father wants me to be wed by the end of the week. I’m sure he’ll find some archbishop or another to issue a special license. You know how he is. He’s conniving. He will find a way.”
“He is your father,” Aunt Eugenia said, though the disappointment in her voice was unmistakable.
Brother and sister had once fallen out over his decision to force Evelyn to marry an old man, but they had grown close again in recent months, thanks to his supposed transformation. They had all even moved back into his townhouse.
Nathaniel had once arranged for Aunt Eugenia, Marianne, and Charlotte to live in a townhouse at the other end of town until their father showed signs of real change. With that change seemingly complete, they had returned home just a month ago.
Too soon, it seemed.
Aunt Eugenia pressed her lips together, then turned. “I will send word to your sister. Perhaps there is a way to reach Nathaniel. Maybe you can stay with her for the time being. But for now, Charlotte, you must get ready. You must go and show your face. Do not let anyone think you are defeated. If you miss the soirée after your attendance has been confirmed, it will only spark rumors.”
Charlotte wanted to protest, but then a thought occurred to her. Staying with her sister would be futile. Evelyn might be a duchess, but she was still a woman. Their father wouldn’t allow it. And she had to think of Marianne, her youngest sister—so vulnerable, so entirely under their father’s control, especially with Nathaniel away. Even if they could summon Nathaniel, it would take weeks: time to send a letter to Portugal, find him, invite him, and prepare for his trip back home.
She had to stop this. Stop it before it started. But how?
