Page 10 of Not his Marchioness
“Nathaniel was going to find a match for me.”
Her father waved a hand. “Nathaniel is not even here. He is in Portugal. He has other matters to think about and consider other than marrying off his sister-in-law.”
“And you have done a poor job of it,” Charlotte fired back. “You married my sister off to acorpse! And you sought to marry me off to one of the worst men in the entire kingdom. A man who may shove his maid out the window, if he didn’t actually do it. Why not find a highwayman with blood on his boots and offer me to him?”
“Charlotte!” Aunt Eugenia gasped. “This is your father you’re speaking to. Please do not raise your voice in such a manner.”
“Why should I not?” Charlotte challenged. “He does not hear me any other way. Perhaps if I shouted from the rooftops, he would understand.”
“You are the one who will understand,” her father threatened. “You will understand that you will speak to Lord Emery and apologize. I just came from his house, and he is willing to give you another chance, as long as you apologize properly. We will tell the scandal sheets that you were under the influence of laudanum.”
Aunt Eugenia cleared her throat. “Laudanum would have made her quieter, not louder.”
“Whatever it was,” her father said, waving toward her, “she was under the influence of a substance. Be that laudanum or wine or whatever. We will explain all of this away, and youwillmarry, Charlotte.”
“I will not marry that man,” Charlotte insisted. “I will not. I would sooner die an old maid.”
“Oh, you will be an old maid,” her father sneered. “A poor old maid. If you do not, you will be cast out of this house with nothing but the clothes on your back. And I will make sure that Evelyn does not take you in either. If she does—” He paused, pointing a finger at her. “I will marry Marianne off to Emery instead.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Charlotte shouted. She wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her, but she was not going to take this lying down. “Same old threats. You are like a fishwife berating passersby for not doing as told. Do you think anyone will allow this to happen?”
“Charlotte, dear,” Aunt Eugenia interjected. “Maybe you ought to reconsider. All these things that are being said about Lord Emery—they may be unkind, and they may be fabrication. He may not be as bad as?—”
“Aunt Eugenia?” Charlotte croaked, her heart breaking, for she had truly believed her aunt would stand with her. “You would see me marry him?”
“No,” Aunt Eugenia said. “I would not. And I would have counseled your father against it. But what you did at Swanson’s soirée… it has caused such trouble for this family. His fault or not, your father is losing allies. Nathaniel certainly will as well when he comes back. He will not be pleased to read about his courtship with Evelyn in the scandal sheets once more. And Marianne? Your poor sister.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. Hearing her aunt voice everything she had been thinking earlier was harder than she had anticipated.
For a split second, she wondered if she should do it—beg Lord Emery for forgiveness. Claim that she had been out of her mind, taken leave of her senses for a moment.
But then she pictured herself as his bride. Standing at the front of some church, with the entire ton assembled behind them. And then she saw herself as his wife, putting up with his pompous ways and who knew what else. She had heard the tales of his horrid temper, too.
And she would be expected to have children with him.
Her stomach churned, and bile rose in her throat.
No, she wasn’t going to do it.
“I will not marry him. I will not apologize.”
“I will cut you off. I will do it,” her father threatened. “I will do everything I said I would.”
He puffed, as though even he could not quite believe her defiance.
“Father, do what you must. Tell Nathaniel whatever you want. But he will not let you marry off Marianne. And after the scandal I have caused, I doubt that anyone in London would look at this family for some time. As for your threat to cut me off? Do it. I would rather sell potatoes on a street corner than marry that man.”
“Charlotte!” Aunt Eugenia cried.
Charlotte ignored her.
She held her head high, tossed her hair back, and marched out of the room. In the hall, she continued until she reached the front door. Then, as if her limbs had a mind of their own, she opened the door and stepped out into the cold. She broke into a run.
She ran. And ran. Until she reached the street corner, where she stopped, one hand on a lamp post.
“My, my,” a familiar voice drawled. “Don’t you look smashing when you’re running. Pray, what such haste? Are you running late for another spectacular announcement?”
She raised her head and spun around.
