Entrapping a Lord's Love: A Regency Fairy Tale (Fairfield Fairy Tales Book 3)
Page 9
His father gave him a stern look. Despite the absence, he knew his son well. Graham had always been handsome and very popular with the ladies. “She is a maiden, and a favorite cousin of the PrinceRegent. You will mind your manners. That goes for all of you.”
Nickolas rolled his eyes, “You only need give the warning to Graham. I have heard of Lady Beaumont. The richest and most noble men press for her favor, but she refuses to choose a husband. She will not be interested in any of us.”
“You know of the lady?” Thomas turned to his youngest brother. Nick tended to be shy.
“Of course, Tom. You can’t be in London and not have heard of Lady Charlotte. Woven hair of gold and eyes blue as the sea. Rosy red lips and as sweet as the summer dawn. She is also well known for her work in orphanages and soup kitchens. She is said to be as beautiful as she is fair. I haven’t actually met her, but she is on the tongue of every man in London and beyond.”
The Baron’s grimace had turned to a full scowl. “How are we ever going to entertain such a lady?”
Will patted his father on the back and spoke quietly, “We will do the best we can. How long do we have until she arrives?”
“Less than a fortnight, depending on the weather,” the Baron sighed.
Tom stood, squaring his lean shoulders. “We will begin first thing in the morning. We should get a good’s night sleep. Tails of our adventures will have to wait for another day.”
The brothers agreed and headed to their old rooms. Tomorrow, the work would begin.
Charlotte Beaumont sat atop her dappled white horse. Her father would have preferred she ride in the carriage, but she couldn’t abide it. It was hot and dull. Her chaperones, because her father insisted she have two, talked incessantly. It was also, in her opinion, more dangerous. She was clueless to the world around her in that carriage. It made her feel like a pheasant waiting to be shot and roasted.
She didn’t blame her father. Most men would think a lady should ride in the carriage. Certainly Lord Bolton, the gentleman she had just visited, would think that it was necessary.
Her father had insisted that she stop and stay with aristocrats along the journey. He said it was for her protection, but she was no fool. Each of her stops had included eligible and acceptable men for marriage.
She knew this was the only reason her father had allowed her to visit Elizabeth; he was trying to marry her in the process. He reminded her constantly that she was almost twenty-one and should be married. Although he had been unusually insistent recently, almost as though he was possessed.
The visit with Lord Bolton had been particularly painful. He was full of praise, of course. “Your hair is like spun gold. Your eyes are like the sea. Such a small waist you have compared with…” He had let his words fall off but she could see the lust in his eyes. She tried not to roll her own. She had heard it so many times, it had lost meaning to her.
She knew she was beautiful. Big blue eyes that tilted up at the corners. She had a straight nose and full lips. Her jaw was a little strong for a woman but her high cheekbones mostly hid it. Her breasts that were almost overlarge for her waist and her hips flared out suggestively. Honestly, Charlotte found her looks to mostly be a curse. Between her beauty and the title her husband would inherit, men rarely left her alone. It was so difficult to sort out who truly cared for her and who just lusted after her or her title or both.
It wasn’t that she was opposed to marriage. Look at Elizabeth—he had fallen madly in love with a Scot, and now she was having his child. Her letters glowed with happiness. Charlotte wanted what her friend had. She wasn’t going to marry for less than love. Unlike many titles and estates, her father’s was not entailed which meant she was free to inherit it. She didn’t need a husband or a male relative.
With all that said, she had met a few men she had considered as suitors. Men she at least thought she could grow to love. But six months ago, that had all changed. She couldn’t explain it and it was particularly troubling. It almost felt as though she had been cursed. If a lady could believe in that sort of thing.
She had first met him at a dinner party held by the Earl of Winthrop. Allister Bard, the Marquess of Huntly had singled her out almost immediately. He walked straight up to her and looked her over from top to bottom. There was something sinister in the way his narrow beady eyes traveled over her. His greasy black hair was slicked back and pulled into a ponytail at the nape. He was tall and broad but the set of his shoulders was rigid and angry. His thin lips were set into a hard line. There was no softness about him.
“You are Lady Beaumont, cousin to Ewan MacPherson?” The Marquess’ eyes narrowed and his lips thinned even more. She shivered at the sound of his voice.
“Y-Yes. It is a p-p-pleasure to meet you,” she stuttered out.
He smiled slightly, twisting his face even further. Charlotte felt herself cringe. “You’ll do,” he spoke softly, almost to himself. Then he turned and walked away.
He had made her shiver in fear. She would risk being trapped by any man to avoid the Marquess of Huntly. She shivered again despite the heat. The Marquess had continued to pursue her over the last year making her increasingly uncomfortable. No wonder her father had arranged these visits.
Now she was to stay in the home of the Fairfields. Not one but four eligible brothers lived at the manor. They must be hideous to all still be unwed. The house was set to ruins which meant that their father would surely want to match her with one of the brothers.
Her own father would approve. He wouldn’t have arranged the visit if he didn’t. He must be getting desperate or he wouldn’t be suggesting sons of a poor baron for her suitors. Her close relationship with the Prince Regent meant that her husband would be accepted by society.
Charlotte came to a crossroads. The sun was setting to her west. Night would fall soon. Her two servants riding with her, stopped just behind her. There was a sign for the Fairfield Manor, but it was pointing the way she had just come. Her eyebrows furrowed. Her thought was to head north but she had no way of knowing if that was the right path. Should she take the wrong one, she could be stuck in the woods for the night.
Suddenly a fierce gust of wind whipped the still summer air. The sign began spinning around its post. Around and around it went until slowly, it creaked to a stop. The sign now pointed due north. The wind had slowed to a gentle breeze that tickled her cheeks after a long day in the saddle. It seemed almost delighted with its own antics. Charlotte laughed at the absurdity of a moving sign but somehow, it seemed right to be guided by the wind. She kicked her horse forward.
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