Page 18 of A Virgin to Tame the Duke
“Very well. You may decorate the house in as many flowers as you wish, but we mustn’t forget about Constance.”
“And plan a ball,” she reminded him, but the strictness in her voice was softened by the hint of a smile around her mouth. She loved a ball. “I suppose we are to hold it here?”
“I don’t mind either way, but I fancy the inflexibility of the Earl may well result in us having it here.” Aaron shrugged. “It matters little as long as we are seen to be celebrating it properly.” Even if Constance hadn’t been found, and every day she was missing chafed at him. “I trust I can count on you to be discreet. I wouldn’t want them to feel as though we are taking pity on them.”
“My dear boy,” his aunt said with a smile, “I am thesoulof discretion.”
* * *
“A package for Lady Charlotte.”
Charlotte glanced up at the butler’s announcement, directed at least partly to her and partly to Sebastian, who had come in with a thought of interrupting her pianoforte practice, no doubt.
“Oh,” she said, seeing she was required to give an answer. “How exciting. Thank you, Simmons.” The package was wrapped in brown paper and neatly tied with a ribbon. On an accompanying card were the words,To my beloved, A.B.
“A.B.,” she mused aloud. “What could that stand for?”
“No doubt Aaron Brighton, the Duke of Hexham,” Sebastian said bitterly. “Unless you have another lover you’re concealing from the family.”
She fixed him with a steady gaze. “I’m not concealing anything from the family,” she said. Although that wasn’t strictly true, she was concealing no great love affair, and that was close enough to the truth that she didn’t wince even a little. “You may believe what you like, but I was not the architect of our engagement.”
“I believethat,” he said hotly, “but that does not explain why he sends you gifts and insists on marrying you regardless of provocation.”
Charlotte frowned at his words, but instead of attempting to decipher them—as no doubt he wanted—she turned her attention to the package and tugged at the ribbons. Inside the crackling paper lay a box with a rather fine ruby necklace nestled in the velvet.
“Oh, my,” she said, holding it up to the light. The teardrop pendant was beautiful indeed, framed by gold and a delicate chain. “How very generous.”
“Consider, Cousin, the folly in marrying this man,” Sebastian said, eyeing the necklace jealously. “Surely you cannot be considering it.”
This necklace would look so very well against her creamy skin. She had not a dress to wear with it, but she could imagine she did. Indeed, if it had been from any other man, she would have been delighted.
As it was, uncertainty curled in her gut. Of course, she would not show Sebastian any of her feelings. “I hardly see why I should not consider it,” she said coolly, “when he is so very kind.”
“Is it kindness to trap a young woman into marriage?”
“Really, Sebastian,” she said in exasperation, lowering the necklace and looking up at him. “Do you consider me so fragile that I have been trapped in an engagement against my will? Do you not think that had I wished it, I would not have expressed my wish to be freed from such a match?”
“I can credit the Duke with having not released you,” Sebastian said darkly.
“And if that had been the case, I would have charged you to duel for me.” With a sigh, she held out a hand. “Come, let us not argue over this. There can be no reason for ill feeling, surely. You may not like him, but you can’t deny he makes an excellent match.”
Sebastian didn’t take her hand, his eyes still narrowed at the necklace on her lap. “I do not like the man,” he said, “and I do not value money so highly when it may come at the price of your happiness.”
“Then allow me to considermyselfresponsible for my happiness and all acts I take to further it.” She dropped her hand and looked again at the necklace. One day she would have to return it, but for now, she would pretend to Sebastian. The sooner he believed she was invested in the match, the better. “I must show Mama his gift before we leave for our walk. Pray excuse me.”
Her mother was in her boudoir, applying powder to her face, when Charlotte entered. Her sharp eyes immediately spotted the box in Charlotte’s hands.
“Well,” she said, turning with a smile. “Is that a gift from the Duke I spy?”
“It’s too generous, Mama. I can’t accept it.”
“Nonsense. You may accept all gifts from your betrothed.”
Her betrothed. The word felt unfamiliar in her mouth as though it didn’t belong there. “And if he were not my betrothed?”
“But he is. And,” she added, with a pointed look, “he no doubt expects to see it on you.”
Another step in their game. Very well, she would wear the necklace and enjoy it for a single night, and when the deception was up and the engagement ended, she would return it, and he could gift it to a new bride. Or perhaps better, he could return it to the shop from whence it came, and someone entirely more deserving could purchase it. Still, she couldn’t quite prevent her fingers from tracing the stone. She’d never owned something quite so ostentatious and large.
