Page 6 of A Conspiracy in Belgravia
“Yes, I have.”
“He also tells me you had a positive impression of it.”
The place had boasted the most... exuberant interior she had ever come across, a combination of color blindness and willful abandon—and she would have liked it just fine if its excesses had been pared back by a half dozen or so orange-and-blue cushions. “There was much to admire about the decor.”
It was a gaudy zoo, and she enjoyed gaudy zoos.
“I had once hoped we would dwell there as husband and wife.”
And so it begins.He would now propose that they dwell there as man and mistress.
“I still entertain the same hope,” he said.
Her teacup paused on its way to her lips. In fact, she had to set it down altogether. Had she heard him correctly? “My lord, I am no longer eligible.”
“You are no longer welcome in Society, but as you are of sound mind the Church can have no cause to consider you ineligible for matrimony.”
Matrimony.It wasn’t easy to surprise Charlotte, but Lord Bancroft was coming dangerously close to flabbergasting her. “You are most kind. Nevertheless, I remain ill-suited to marriage.”
“But you are not ill-suited to me. I would be happy to never be invited anywhere again—you would serve as a good excuse. I wouldbe happy to never indulge in small talk again—I have a feeling you share that sentiment. And I will be busy and away from home a great deal—not something most brides look for in a groom, but for you it would count as an added attraction, no doubt.”
Whatever his faults, he was an intelligent and honest man.
“I am not a rich man, but I can provide comfortably for a wife. By marrying me, you will not rehabilitate your reputation completely. But at least you will be received by your family again. That must count for something.”
She didn’t believe in being grateful for marriage proposals—men did not pledge their hands out of the goodness of their hearts. Even so, she found herself inclined to consider this particular union, at this moment in time, on sentimental rather than rational grounds.
With a small shake of her head, she pulled herself back to reality. “I am honored by your gesture, sir. But I take it you would require me to give up my friendship with Mrs. Watson, as well as my practice as Sherlock Holmes.”
“It will not be necessary to cut Mrs. Watson. She was an acquaintance of our father’s. Ash is on excellent terms with her and even I have crossed paths with her on occasion. She strikes me as a sensible woman, not one to exploit your position to promote her own. I do not see why you shouldn’t be able to call on each other in the future, provided it is done discreetly.
“As for the business with Sherlock Holmes, I understand Mrs. Watson has invested in the venture. If you feel that she has not received a sufficient return against that initial outlay, I will be more than happy to compensate her as a part of our marriage settlement.”
In other words, she was to discontinue as Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. “I thank you most warmly, my lord, for the honor of—”
He raised a finger, forestalling theno, thank youpart of heranswer. “However, given that mental exertion gives you pleasure, I shall be happy to supply the necessary exercises. After all, I come across them on a regular basis.”
He opened a leather portfolio he had brought, extracted a slender dossier, and set it before her. “These are but a small sprinkling of items that make their way to my desk. Do please examine them at your leisure.”
And with that, he rose and saw himself out.
Two
Charlotte and Livia Holmes approached life very differently.
Livia viewed everything through a lens of complications, real and imaginary. From where to sit at a tea party, to whether she ought to say something to the hostess if her table setting was missing a fork, her lugubrious and plentiful imagination always supplied scenarios in which she committed a fatal misstep that destroyed any chance she had at a happy, secure life. For her, every choice was agony, every week seven days of quicksand and quagmire.
Charlotte rarely resorted to imagination—observation yielded far better results. And while the world was made up of innumerable moving parts, in her own personal life she saw no reason why decisions shouldn’t be simple, especially since most choices were binary: more butter on the muffin or not, run away from home or not, accept a man’s offer of marriage or not.
Not necessarily easy, but simple.
But Lord Bancroft’s proposal... She felt like a casual student of mathematics faced with non-Euclidean geometry for the first time.
Her marriage would be a boon to her family. Her parents might be deeply flawed individuals who could not be made content by anymeans, but her continued status as an outcast certainly increased their unhappiness, both now and in the long run. They cared desperately about their façade of superiority—and as shallow a façade as it was, to them it remained infinitely preferable to being seen for their true selves: two middle-aged, less-than-accomplished people in a loveless marriage, their finances in tatters, and without a single child they could count on for comfort and succor.
Henrietta, the eldest Holmes sister, had distanced herself from her family almost before she returned from her honeymoon. Bernadine, the second eldest, had never been able to look after herself. Livia despised both her parents. And Charlotte, of course, had delivered the worst blow, a sensational and salacious fall from grace.
Should Charlotte regain her respectability, even partially, her parents would be able to walk around with their heads held high again—or at least without an overabundance of shame.
