Page 65 of A Lady's Wager
Father shook his head. “Not yet, but … the Season is nearly over.”
Making matches was far more difficult outside of the London Season. If her father didn’t arrange a marriage for her soon, he’d likely struggle to do so until thetongathered again the next year.
She had known this. It was the reason she had done what she could to turn her father’s attention to gentlemen who were not objectionable. But the thought of being wed to either of them now didn’t feel “unobjectionable.” She felt something far nearer to dread.
Dread.
“I realize the Season is ending soon, but could we possibly delay this until after Louisa’s wedding?” If she didn’t know with certainty her friend would not mind Charlotte using her wedding as a means of delaying this monumental decision, she wouldn’t have done so. But she needed time. Time to sort herself out. Time to determine how to best move forward. “I wish so much to celebrate with Louisa free of distractions.”
He reached over and patted her hand. “Of course, dearest.” He then turned his attention to his book and was quickly lost in his reading.
Until after Louisa’s wedding.That was only a matter of days. She didn’t think it likely her father could be put off again.
To her surprise and dismay, emotions rose in her chest, thickening in her throat. She was not an unfeeling person, neither did she require herself to keep her emotions tamped down. But she did not often find herself unable to maintain her composure in public.
Charlotte rose. “I will go find a volume for myself,” she told her father, keeping her tone light.
Father nodded but kept his attention on his reading.
Charlotte tucked herself down the other row created by a different set of shelves, this one more to the back and out of sight of anyone wandering in. She breathed in and out, slowly, deliberately.
It is time you were settled and beginning the next chapter of your life.
Settled.It was about as promising and enthusiastic a description as she felt she could reasonably apply. But it wasn’t what she wanted. Not any longer. She wanted to be able to think on her approaching nuptials with some degree of joy and happiness. Surely that wasn’t so much to ask.
“Lady Charlotte?” A quiet voice spoke her name in a tone of concern and uncertainty.
Lord Wesley.
He joined her beside the shelves she had not even attempted to peruse. “I saw you and your father through the front windows and stepped inside to offer my greetings.” He was watching her with such a look of tenderness that it nearly undid what little composure she’d managed to retain. “You’re upset about something.”
She shook her head. “Nothing I have any right to truly be upset about. It is expected and ordinary and …” She stopped at the break in her voice, swallowed against the burning in her throat. “I oughtn’t complain.”
“You aren’t complaining, dear; you’re crying.” He brushed moisture from her cheek, moisture she hadn’t even realized was there. “Please tell me what’s upset you and what I can do.”
She was not an inherently untrusting person, but neither was she one to spill all her troubles in another’s ear. Yet she told him immediately and without hesitation. “My father has decided itis time I married, and he means to see that arranged and final before the end of the Season. I’ve known he would soon enough; I’d even guessed that this would be my last Season unattached. But facing the reality of it is proving rather dreadful, I’m afraid.”
“Has he chosen someone awful?”
Charlotte shook her head. “Not that I know of. I’ve been trying to influence any list he might be forming in his mind in the hope that he would choose someone at least pleasant.”
Lord Wesley offered her his handkerchief, and she dabbed at the tears that continued pooling on her lashes. “Your birthday is near to the end of the Season, is it not?”
An odd question. Odder still that he knew her birthdate. “Yes, it is.”
“Is Lord Tarrant a gambler, by chance?”
Odder still. “Not beyond the ordinary. An occasional wager over cards or a small, harmless one between friends.”
“You insisted itwaspossible for me to grow angry with you,” Lord Wesley said. “I think it more likely thatyouare soon to become angry withme.”
Apprehension tiptoed over her. “Why do I get the impression you are not speaking in general terms?”
“There is a wager I recently learned of, and the mystery of who placed it has been plaguing me.”
“You think my father might be the wagerer?” She didn’t know whether to be intrigued or insulted. That would depend on what the wager was about, she supposed.
“Actually, no.” That seemed to be a sudden realization. “Though, I had wondered.”
