Lady Charlotte's Marquess (The heir and a spare Book 2)

by Fiona Miers

  In typical Charlotte fashion, she was not only discussing a topic that no unmarried lady of breeding ever did, but she also spoke with such passion that Archie wished he could suck on her lips until they bruised.

  Archie closed his eyes as the longing coursing through him made him want to drop to his knees and beg her to be his. He slowed their dancing as the orchestra stopped, his palms beginning to sweat. One day, he would do something very foolish when it came to Charlotte. He could only hope it didn’t include a ballroom full of people.

  “Charlotte, if you like, I could speak to Oliver. I don’t believe he is happy to be away from his wife.”

  Archie led Charlotte away from the dance floor, dropping her hand as quickly as he could.

  “It doesn’t matter whether he’s happy or not. She must be miserable.”

  And with that declaration, she had stormed off.

  Archie suddenly came back to the present with a jolt and smiled to himself at the memory he’d just been reliving. He recalled that that had been the last time he had enjoyed a real conversation with Charlotte. It was now nine months later, the beginning of another season and she was miraculously still unattached. Archie watched her twirl around the room in the arms of a wealthy young lord and found himself wishing she would get married, so that he could also find someone suitable to marry. He could never commit himself to another until she was settled. It didn’t make sense of course, but Archie couldn’t bring himself to marry while Charlotte, the one and only woman he had ever really desired, was still available.

  “Archie,” Oliver approached Archie with a genuine smile and shook his hand with vigor. Oliver was wearing a rose-colored waistcoat, a black evening coat, and breeches. It sat very well on him.

  Archie smiled warmly, his heart lifting at the sight of the Duke of Lincoln. His friend had never looked better, or happier.

  “You look well, Oliver. How are things?” Archie asked, although he knew without asking that everything was well.

  “Excellent. Thanks to your advice, my finances have never been better, and my new estate manager has everything running smoothly.”

  Oliver had been the second son of the late Duke of Lincoln and he had once confided to Archie that his father had told him that he would never inherit so there was no reason to actually teach him anything about being a duke. So, when at twenty-five years of age, Oliver had unexpectedly inherited the estate, he’d had no idea how to manage anything, let alone a dukedom. He had floundered greatly. Not only with regard to the needs of his property and his various dependents such as servants and tenants, but also with regard to his position in society, where he was expected to fulfill the role of a duke to the manner born.

  “And your family?” Archie asked, noticing himself matching Oliver’s grin unconsciously.

  “Sarah’s extremely well, thank you and my son is wonderful.”

  The pleasure which Oliver felt in being able to say those words was apparent and when Sarah, his beautiful wife. glided up, complementing her husband’s attire in a rose silk gown and slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, he seemed to glow like the stars.

  “Archie,” Sarah greeted him warmly, her smile matching her husband’s. “Duchess,” Archie couldn’t resist addressing the lady before him, bowing deeply over Sarah’s outstretched hand and placing a chaste kiss on her knuckles.

  Sarah blushed crimson, the color extremely becoming on her. She had been born a clergyman’s daughter and Archie knew that she was still a little overwhelmed about the title she had inherited upon her marriage to Oliver.

  She tapped at him playfully with her fan, reminding him that he should address her only by her first name and Archie laughed. His friend was really very lucky.

  ****

  Across the room, Lady Charlotte Dunford watched the scene between Archie and their mutual friends, the Duke and Duchess of Lincoln, with eyes which should have been a bright sky blue, but instead was closer to a glowing green. Why did Archie never tease her like that? Why did he never smile at her like he was smiling at the Duchess right now? Because he thinks you’re a spoilt little girl, the cynical voice in her head reminded her.

  Archie had been friends with her brother, Lord John Dunford, since Charlotte had been a little girl. Five years younger than John, she had been barely eight years old when she’d first met Archie. She had thought him polite, but nothing more. At eight years of age, she really wasn’t interested in boys and her brother’s solemn friend had not commanded her attention. When she had reached sixteen and had become a debutante, she had seen Archie as the man he was. Twenty-one years old, handsome as sin and as proud as a peacock.

  He had danced with her once. As her brother’s friend, he had been obliged to ease her way into society by offering to dance with her and Charlotte had felt safe with him, knowing he wasn’t assessing her suitability as the perfect wife, as some of the more mature gentlemen had been. He had been polite, but distant and had kept that distance for six years.

  No, that was untrue. This dawned on Charlotte as she reflected on their association. They had danced once, the previous year. Charlotte sighed at the memory. She recalled how she had been furious at Oliver and Archie had whisked her away for a dance to prevent her from scolding his friend in public, thereby creating a spectacle. Archie was loyal to those he loved, he always had been. John always said that you could count on Archie to always do the right thing, no matter the cost to himself. During that waltz, Charlotte had finally seen a little of the real emotion Archie could express, which she had been looking for since she’d been a young girl. He had cracked open his mask for just a moment and she had been surprised. Shocked senseless, actually. Lord Archibald Turner was not a heartless machine after all, it seemed. He had feelings, she just wasn’t sure how much. Either way, he had captured her attention that night.

  Raising her social armor and breezing effortlessly across the ballroom, she approached, the young Duchess of Lincoln, feeling her traitor of a heart beating with a fast pace in her ears.

  “Charlotte,” Sarah cried happily, her whole face lighting up with joy.

  She looks so well, was Charlotte’s first thought. Sarah had always been slightly pale and a little thin, but now she glowed with happiness and was nicely plump after giving birth to her son just three months previously. She was also wearing a rose silk gown that beautifully complemented her creamy skin and blonde hair, not to mention the newly acquired curve of her bosom, which only added to her beauty.

  Charlotte leaned forward and gave the Duchess of Lincoln a quick hug.

  “Sarah, I have missed you,” she told her friend, honestly. She hadn’t seen Sarah in almost a year, not since her wedding. Sarah had disappeared on her honeymoon and then hadn’t returned.

  Sarah’s eyes glistened slightly and then she smiled brightly.

  “I have missed you too, although I do remember a certain invitation from Scotland that you declined.” She teased her friend, poking her lightly with her fan.

  Charlotte suppressed a sigh. She would have loved to visit her friend in Scotland after her baby had been born, but the combination of envy for her happiness and respect for the young couples’ need for privacy had kept her in London.

  “I would have loved to visit you, my friend, but I knew how much you would enjoy having your husband to yourself,” she replied, giving Oliver a very pointed glance as the duke looked at the floor in embarrassment. He must have been recalling that the last time he had seen Charlotte; she had railed at him for leaving Sarah in Scotland. She smiled to herself, feeling so glad that she had.

  “We all know that you never leave London, however odd that is, Lady Charlotte. Scotland would be far too uncivilized for you.” Archie’s cold voice broke into the conversation and Charlotte swung her eyes around towards him. How dare he try to make me look selfish in front of Sarah?

  “Lord Archibald, good evening sir,” she replied haughtily, giving Archie a half curtsey.

  He bowed low in return. He was a Marq
uess’ son, but he was the second son and she was the daughter of a duke. Both unmarried, she outranked him.

  “I rarely leave London, it is true, but I would have loved to have visited Sarah,” she repeated, daring him to contradict her again.

  Archie would usually have ignored any attempt of hers to bait him, yet tonight, she was succeeding while barely trying.

  “How can you say that you would have loved to have ventured to Scotland when you rarely even visit Hampshire in the off season?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

  “That’s only because...” Charlotte began to explain, until her brother Lord John Dunford cleared his throat, stopping her in mid-sentence.

  Charlotte sighed loudly. What could she say? She could hardly divulge that by tacit understanding between her parents, her father took his long-time mistress to the country estate every year once the Season was over, while Charlotte and her mother stayed in London. It was common enough knowledge that her father had a mistress, but no one knew just how much time the Duke spent with her. How could she tell Archie why she couldn’t leave London if John didn’t want them to know?

  “You are right Lord Archibald, how remiss of me to forget how shallow I am.”

  Sarah gasped but Charlotte ignored her, focusing instead on Archie. Although most of the time she hated him, part of her loved their exchanges. No one saw her as more than a wealthy Duke’s daughter, to be caught for marriage and used for her hostess skills and to provide an heir. Those wanting to marry her included false flattery and flummery in their way of talking to her, Archie never did any of that. Even if he only noticed her flaws, she liked how he treated her as a person, not as the daughter of a wealthy Duke.

  “Not shallow Lady Charlotte, simply too focused on London,” Archie replied, injecting humor into his voice.

  Charlotte ignored the tone. She got some perverse pleasure out of sparring with Archie in public and she wouldn’t be backing down.

  “Oh, self-centered? Really? Even better.” She snorted inelegantly and flushed slightly in response.

  Archie just smiled at her, in a most agreeable manner. That annoyed her even more than a cutting reply would have done.

  Charlotte had just opened her mouth for a blistering rejoinder, when Sarah intervened.

  “How is your brother, Archie?” Sarah asked, linking her arm with Charlotte’s.

  Charlotte looked down at Sarah’s hand and realized she was being cautioned to be quiet. She noticed Archie’s face pale slightly and wondered why that was.

  “He is not so well, I thank you for asking, Duchess,” he murmured. Sarah leaned forward and tapped him with her fan again.

  He smiled reluctantly and fixed his mistake. “Sarah,” he said.

  Charlotte inhaled sharply at the interchange. How did Sarah know how to tease him to make him smile? All Charlotte knew how to do was to annoy him. Maybe she should try hitting him with her fan? Her fingers tightened reflexively on her new silk adornment. She knew she could never flirt so blatantly with Archie.

  “What ails your brother?” Charlotte asked, wondering what everyone else knew that she didn’t.

  Archie’s posture went rigid as he met her gaze. He had the most beautiful brown eyes.

  “Arthur left for a grand European trip almost ten years ago. After a few years of travel, he came down with a lung illness which has kept him overseas. The doctors believe that the damp British climate will only worsen his condition.” Archie told her, so stiffly that it seemed rehearsed.

  How many times had he repeated that exact speech? Was his brother really so unwell? Still?

  “So, is that where you disappear to every year once the season is over?” Charlotte asked, not thinking about how much that would reveal about her.

  Archie gave her a quizzical look, but instead of answering, just inclined his head.

  Charlotte flushed and tried her best to conceal her discomfiture.

  “I must go. Mother said she wanted to leave early tonight,” Charlotte excused herself and moved away from the group, promising Sarah she would visit soon.

  When she looked back, she noticed that only one person was looking after her. Archie.

  Chapter Two

  The next day was a Saturday and Charlotte needed to speak to her father about her birthday ball. Generally, money was not among the subjects of discussion in her family but as she had decided to hire a second French chef to help with the catering, Charlotte thought perhaps she should consult her father first. Finding no sign of him in his usual place, the library Charlotte found her mother in her sitting room, writing a letter.

  “Is Father out at the moment, Mother?”

  Charlotte watched her mother’s shoulders stiffen and knew what the answer was going to be. Oh dear! Why hadn’t she just asked the butler?

  “He’s gone to his whore,” her mother turned around in her chair and beckoned Charlotte inside with a flick of her bony finger.

  Charlotte knew that her father had long ago established a mistress in a different part of town. As long as she could remember, she had been discreetly aware of her existence. It had always seemed odd to her that her father kept the same woman for so long. Charlotte would have thought that the idea of a gentleman having a mistress would be to change them regularly for variety. But what did she know?

  “Oh, I’m sorry mother.” She automatically responded, ready for the emotional onslaught that would surely follow.

  “Why are you sorry Charlotte? It is not your fault that your father is a normal man. No man ever stays faithful to his wife and I would say that you have been clever to stay unmarried for so long.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows rose, Inwardly, she could feel her belly squirming in an uncomfortable way. Her mother thought that her not marrying was a good thing? Although she had never been pushed into marrying any of the men who had proposed to her, she had always felt that she was letting her mother down in some way. Obviously, she had been wrong.

  “Oliver is faithful to Sarah,” Charlotte said quietly, dipping her head to avoid her mother’s eyes.

  Her mother made a very unladylike noise, close to a snort.

  “That is only because she is little better than a whore herself.”

  Charlotte gasped and quickly lowered her head again. How could her mother say such a thing?

  “Mother! Sarah is a beautiful person.” It was true that most men of Oliver’s standing would have made Sarah their mistress rather than marry her, but she has been brought up as a lady.

  “She is little better than a servant, Charlotte, I can only imagine that he married her because she tricked him into it. He may be faithful now, as they’ve only been married for a year, but give it time.”

  She noticed that her mother was smiling rather wickedly now, her lips turned up higher than Charlotte had seen it for years.

  Charlotte couldn’t imagine Oliver ever wanting another woman whilst he had Sarah, but then again, wasn’t her mother right too? What man stayed faithful his whole married life? Which gentleman didn’t have one mistress or even more? She knew John did and it was even whispered that her older brother Cyril had a wife and a mistress. Maybe her mother was right and it was just a matter of time.

  “You have done very well, Charlotte. A woman can enjoy being her own mistress. You need never know the humiliation of the marriage bed nor the pain of childbirth.”

  Charlotte stifled her sigh. What was her mother up to now?

  “So you are happy for me never to marry, then, Mama?” Charlotte asked cautiously.

  Charlotte couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. Every mother she knew was practically throwing her daughters down the aisle, yet her mother didn’t care one way or the other?

  “Of course, I would like to see you marry Charlotte. It is a woman’s greatest achievement. But there are very few eligible, titled gentlemen available and I refuse to allow you to marry below your rank.”

  Charlotte paled. If this really was the case, then she’d probably never marry
. There were few, if any unmarried dukes in London nowadays.

  Her mother continued. “You will never want for anything as I’m sure your brother will continue to support you throughout your life, as your father does now.”

  Charlotte nodded, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

  So it was true, then. Her mother, like all women before her, only married if they could improve their station in life by marrying.

  She had always believed she would marry and had always hoped to find a man with whom she could have an amicable good relationship. A marriage based on mutual affection and not just the joining of two wealthy families.

  Men like Oliver could marry almost anyone. They could choose a woman for her beauty, her bloodlines or her dowry. Most women married the man who could make their life the most comfortable.

  But Charlotte had been born into a noble family and few women of the ton had the comfort and facilities which she enjoyed. She already been bestowed with some personal wealth by her father and even had a small country estate of her own which was currently leased. As the daughter of a Duke, she had high status in society. By the ton’s standards, she would gain nothing of worth from marrying. However, the man who managed to win her hand in marriage would gain significantly.

  As for Charlotte herself, she knew inwardly that nothing short of unconditional love would tempt her into marriage, but unlike in the case of Sarah, the young Duchess of Lincoln, most men would look at Lady Charlotte Dunford and see what they could acquire.

  Curtsying to her mother she sadly left the room, with a new sense of inevitability and a heavy sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  ****

  A week later, it was Charlotte’s birthday ball.

  After Archie had pointedly sent her flowers on her real birthday. rather than on the actual day of her ball as everyone else had the year before, Charlotte had chosen to celebrate on her actual birthday so he would have nothing to complain about this time.

  She had been secretly thrilled when his bouquet of flowers had arrived this morning. All her other friends and admirers chose expensive, well known and therefore common flowers. Archie, as always, had chosen something memorable. A bouquet of yellow daffodils and a posy of pale pink rose buds. Charlotte admitted to herself that she really wanted to take them up to her room and leave all of the plain white and red roses in the foyer. Instinct told her that this would be too much cause for suspicion and in the end, she told the footmen to take several bouquets to her room, including the daffodils.