Page 61 of A Virgin to Tame the Duke
“Perhaps, though I’m surprised if she had minded—everyone knows men such as that do not stay true to their wives.”
Aaron’s head pounded. Constance sent him a significant look indicating she, too, had heard it. He could turn around and give the gossiping old biddies a piece of his mind, but if he did that, he would merely give fire to the rumors. If he let them be, they would slowly die.
Especially once he selected his future bride.
Miss Langley, a voluptuous lady with dark curls and a practiced smile, took her place by her harp, and Aaron followed his aunt to sit behind Charlotte. A few rows separated them, but he had the unfortunate view of her elegant neck and the way she inclined it toward Lord Routley whenever he directed a whispered question her way. Not too long ago, he had kissed that very same neck. Now, she turned it toward someone else.
“Really, Aaron, you could at leastpretendyou are invested in the playing,” his aunt whispered. “Miss Langley’s playing is exquisite.”
With difficulty, Aaron turned his attention to Miss Langley, noticing as he did so that Charlotte’s attention did not appear to be on Miss Langley. Instead, she gazed off to one side in what he could only presume was in deep thought. Or, considering the tilt of her head and the tension in her shoulders, a fit of melancholy.
He should be glad, really. She had brought her misery on herself by making a fool of him and almost tricking him into marriage. Anything she reaped now was from her own selfish actions.
And yet when the performance finished, and she clapped politely, and the crowd once again formed their own parties, there was a certain cast to her face that suggested despite Lord Routley’s best efforts, she was not at ease. And, confound him, he hated seeing the grief that drenched her eyes whenever she thought no one was looking.
Believe me when I say Charlotte had nothing to do with this.
It would be foolishness to believe it after everything. Lady Lowood had clearly conspired to make her daughter a Duchess, and it only followed that Charlotte was complicit.
“You may not want to accept advice from me,” Constance said, her tone a little sharp as she joined him where he stood in the corner of the room. “You look down on my decision because it was born from love, not sense. You think me young and stupid and foolish.”
“I don’t—”
“Spare me your excuses,” she said in a scary impression of him. They had always been similar in appearance, but the last few weeks had given her an air he feared had always been around him: one of cold contempt toward those who failed to offer her respect. “I know, Edward knows, Aunt Octavia knows—you think my marriage a bad one, and you wish I had never undertaken it.”
“I wish you had never run away.”
“And yet I am happy, and you are not. Who is the foolish one, Aaron? Because from where I stand, it is not me. I have my Edward, and I am content with him. Who do you have? Where is your contentment?” She glanced across at Charlotte. “I think we both know where your contentment is. The question is, why is she not with you?”
The answer was not one Aaron could give; how could he, after everything he had put his sister through, admit to the plot that had so almost lured him into a life he… may not have ever regretted.
“You know how I feel on the subject,” Constance said. “The rest falls in your hands.”
“I regret what I said before,” Aaron said though the words were difficult to form. Apologizing was not something he was famed for though the sentiments behind the apology were genuine. “I should not have said it. I’m sorry, Constance.”
“Of everyone who needs your apology, I am not the person you should be apologizing to.” After another scornful glance, Constance left him to his thoughts. More specifically, left him wondering if he did indeed need to apologize to Charlotte. If he was wrong about her involvement—but no. Surely, he couldn’t be wrong.
Surely.
His aunt approached, glancing after Constance. She brought with her a glass of punch and handed it to him.
“Headstrong girl,” she said. “She’ll come round. You’ll see.”
Aaron accepted the glass, hardly able to articulate that it wasn’t Constance coming around that he worried about. If he was wrong about Charlotte, he doubted she would ever forgive him.
ChapterTwenty-Four
Charlotte’s head throbbed. Everywhere she went, she didn’t seem quite able to escape Aaron. There were plenty of voices asking her—in strict confidence, she was to understand—what had happened between her and the Duke. He had not come to acknowledge her, and she didn’t wish he had, but the fact he had not rankled.
Lord Routley was everything that was charming and kind. He went out of his way to entertain her, telling her stories of when he was fresh out of Oxford and entering society for the first time. He deflected awkward questions and did his best to make her at ease. Yet despite all that, she was aware his actions had an ulterior motive; he was hoping to win her affections by doing so.
When she was not with Lord Routley as she could not be all the evening, she was forced to stand with her mother and Sebastian, who circled back to her like a vulture every time she was unaccompanied by another man. Once placed by her side, he did his utmost to dissuade any other gentlemen from approaching. Only Lord Routley appeared to be unaffected by Sebastian’s smile, and so Charlotte was tossed between the two men like a boat on the bobbing seas.
“You look a little pale,” Sebastian said critically as they rose from the whist table. “Perhaps you should consider going home.”
Charlotte glanced across at her mother, who was part of another table and for once was having a raucously good time. “Mama is not yet ready to leave.”
“You are not required to wait on her convenience. I’m more than happy to take you home.”
