Page 65 of Not his Marchioness
Her heart thundered as his arm lingered around her waist. She was pressed against him, and despite her better judgment, she savored the warmth emanating from him.
“You need a hot bath and broth and an afternoon spent abed. Then, you will be right as rain.”
“But you mentioned there was one more property,” she protested, unwilling to appear weak.
In truth, she desired nothing more than to lie in her bed and change out of her damp garments. Contrary to his assertion, it was not merely her right foot and leg that had suffered, but the entire right side of her dress as well.
She extricated herself from his arms and wrung the sodden fabric. The water splattered on the grass beneath.
“I confess I do not believe the third location to be a particularly suitable option,” he said. “Lady Woodhaven may find it… objectionable.”
“For what reason?” she inquired.
“She does not seem quite so progressive in her thinking as you do.”
She regarded him with curiosity. “What could be controversial about the building itself?”
“Nothing about the structure, but perhaps about those who occupied it previously. It hosted a Catholic convent most recently, and housed a Jewish community before that. Prior to that, it was a poor house.”
“But you told me that it was situated most advantageously, superior even to this location.”
“Indeed,” he acknowledged. “And if you insist, I will show it to you. But I fear Lady Woodhaven may not approve.”
“I wish to see it,” she declared firmly.
“You are as obstinate as you are determined, Charlotte Ellingsworth.” He tutted, and her heart fairly leaped at hearing her Christian name paired with his surname. “Would you risk catching a cold just to prove a point?”
“I will not catch a cold. I have been thoroughly soaked more than once in my life and have never once fallen ill. Furthermore, I am resolute, not obstinate. There is a considerable difference.”
“Very well, but you must promise me you will wrap yourself snugly in the travel rug whilst we are in the carriage.”
Charlotte nodded her agreement, and together they made their way back through the house. Her right side felt considerably heavier than before, and she was conscious of the water sloshing within her boots with each step. By the time they emerged, her shoe produced a most unfortunate squelching sound with every movement, and Rhys was clearly struggling to suppress his laughter.
“Charlotte!” Margot exclaimed upon their return. “I leave you unattended for a few minutes, and you return resembling a drowned rat? Whatever occurred out there?”
“There was a pond,” Charlotte replied.
Margot burst into laughter. “A pond? Did it spring forth out of nowhere like some sort of mirage?”
“Rather like a mirage, indeed,” Rhys confirmed. “It was concealed beneath a great deal of overgrown grass. And I had advised your cousin to avoid the garden entirely.”
Charlotte looked up at him sharply. “You cannot help yourself, can you? You derive such pleasure from being proven correct.”
“I confess I do, if only because it occurs so infrequently,” he replied with a wink.
She felt her cheeks flush and silently cursed herself, then focused on drying herself as thoroughly as possible with the travel rug he provided.
A quarter-hour later, they exited the carriage once more.
“Good heavens, it occupies the entire plot by itself?” Charlotte marveled.
“There were buildings flanking it on both sides, but the convent had them demolished to create space for gardens. I believe their intention was to eventually build a cemetery on the right-hand side.”
“A cemetery?” Margot echoed with alarm. “I would not think that a suitable environment for a school.”
“They never built it. They have relocated to a different property that better serves their needs. Perhaps we ought not to mention that detail to Lady Woodhaven.”
“That would be wise,” Charlotte agreed.
