Charlotte

The drawing room door had scarcely closed behind her father when Evelyn Fitzgerald crossed to her daughter. Charlotte remained standing, her posture rigid.

“Charlotte, my dear,” Evelyn said gently, taking her hands. “Come, sit with me a moment.”

They settled on the settee together. For a long minute neither spoke. Evelyn studied her daughter’s face.

“I know this is not what you hoped for,” she began. “Your father… he sees only the immediate relief. The Earl’s offer came at a difficult time.”

Charlotte’s voice remained low but clear. “Mama, he is fifty. Old enough to be my father. I have barely spoken to him beyond the usual pleasantries at balls. And Tobias… Sir Tobias has been so attentive. He told me only last week that he intended to speak to Papa once I turned eighteen. I thought… I believed we might have a future together.”

Evelyn sighed. “Sir Tobias is charming, and closer to your own age, I grant you. But he has not your father’s ear in matters of finance. The railway shares have left us in a precarious position, and there have been other… expenses. Your father believes the Earl will settle everything. As for the age difference, many successful marriages have begun with greater gaps. Still, I understand your feelings. You are young, and this has come upon you suddenly.”

Charlotte looked down at their joined hands. “I do not love him, Mama. I do not even know him. How can I possibly marry a man who could be my father?”

Evelyn squeezed her fingers. “We shall see what the coming days bring. For now, try not to despair. Your father has given his word, but perhaps there is still room for discussion.”

Later that evening, after the household had retired, Charlotte slipped downstairs and out through the French windows into the small walled garden at the back of the townhouse. The rain had eased to a drizzle, and the air smelled of damp earth and early roses. She pulled a shawl tighter around her shoulders and waited beneath the arbour.

A figure appeared at the garden gate. Sir Tobias Ashton let himself in quietly, his fair hair catching the faint light from the house. At thirty-three he carried himself with easy confidence, though tonight his expression was tense.

“Charlotte,” he said, taking her hands at once. “I came as soon as I received your note. Tell me it is not true. You cannot be promised to Blackmoor.”

“It is true,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Papa announced it this evening. He says there is no alternative. The debts… the railway investment failed, and more besides.”

Tobias’s blue eyes flashed with anger. “Blackmoor? The man is ancient. And cold. I have heard stories of his ruthlessness in business. Charlotte, you cannot be sacrificed to save your father’s gambling losses. I have means enough. Not as vast as the Earl’s, perhaps, but sufficient for a comfortable life. I intended to speak to your father next week. If only I had come sooner—”

“I wish you had,” Charlotte said, a catch in her voice. “But Papa was quite firm. He will not hear of it. He says your fortune is not enough to mend the damage.”

Tobias drew her closer, his grip urgent. “Then we must find another way. I will not stand by and watch you handed over to that man. Meet me again tomorrow night. We can plan. I refuse to let this happen.”

Charlotte hesitated, glancing back at the darkened house. “I will try. But we must be careful. If Papa discovers—”

“He will not,” Tobias promised. “Not until it is too late for him to stop us.”

Three days later, the Earl of Blackmoor called at the Fitzgerald townhouse at the appointed hour. The drawing room had been prepared with fresh flowers and the best tea service. Charlotte stood beside her mother, wearing a simple afternoon dress of pale blue, her hands clasped tightly to hide their trembling.

Armand Sterling entered the room with measured steps. At fifty he remained an imposing figure: tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His grey eyes fixed on Charlotte immediately, intense and unwavering.

“Miss Fitzgerald,” he said, his voice deep and cultured. “It is a pleasure to see you again under happier circumstances.”

He took her hand and bowed over it, holding it a fraction longer than strictly necessary. Charlotte curtsied, her gaze lowered.

“My lord,” she murmured.

Jonathan stepped forward, all affability. “Lord Blackmoor, you are most welcome. Shall we sit? Evelyn, my dear, perhaps you might pour the tea.”

The conversation turned to polite topics — the weather, the upcoming season, a recent concert at the Albert Hall — but Armand’s attention rarely left Charlotte. When her father mentioned the wedding date, the Earl gave a small, satisfied nod.

“I see no reason for delay,” he said. “A quiet ceremony at Blackmoor Hall would suit me well. You will find the estate comfortable, Miss Fitzgerald. I have already given instructions for your rooms to be prepared.”

Charlotte managed a faint smile that did not reach her eyes. “You are most kind, my lord.”

Armand’s gaze sharpened slightly, as though he could read her reluctance and found it intriguing rather than discouraging.

That same night, once the Earl had departed, Jonathan found Charlotte alone in the small morning room. He closed the door behind him and took a seat opposite her.

“I know this is difficult for you,” he began, his tone more conciliatory than it had been earlier. “But you must understand the full picture, my dear. The railway line has swallowed nearly everything we had. On top of that, some unfortunate evenings at the tables and a few bets on the turf have left matters worse. The Earl’s settlement will clear all debts and provide a generous income besides. He has been most understanding.”

Charlotte looked at him steadily. “And afterwards, Papa? Will he continue to be so generous once the marriage is done?”

Jonathan shifted in his chair. “I have every reason to believe he will look favourably upon us. A son-in-law in his position naturally wishes to see his wife’s family comfortable. You need only be a good wife to him, Charlotte. That is all that is required.”

He reached across and patted her knee. “This match will secure your future, and ours. In time you will see the wisdom of it.”

Charlotte said nothing. She simply nodded, but inside her chest the quiet resolve to meet Tobias again the following night only strengthened.

The following evening, Charlotte once more slipped into the walled garden after the household had gone to bed. The air was cooler now, and a thin mist clung to the rose bushes. She waited beneath the arbour, her shawl drawn close.

Sir Tobias appeared promptly, letting himself through the gate with the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to moving unseen. He took her hands at once, his blue eyes searching her face.

“Charlotte, thank God you came. I have thought of little else since our last meeting. Have they set a date?”

“Not yet,” she replied, her voice low. “But the Earl called yesterday and made it clear he wishes for no delay. Papa is pressing for the banns to be read soon.”

Tobias exhaled sharply. “This cannot stand. I have made discreet enquiries. Blackmoor’s reputation in the City is one of iron control. He does not share, and he does not yield. You would be little more than a prized possession to him.”

Charlotte glanced back at the darkened windows of the house. “I know. Yet Papa will not listen. He speaks only of the debts and how the match will save us.”

“Then we must act before the arrangements become irreversible,” Tobias said, his grip tightening. “I have a cousin in Scotland with a small estate near the border. If we can reach him, a marriage there would be binding. It is risky, but I see no other path. Can you obtain a few days’ freedom? Perhaps a visit to a friend in the country?”

“I shall try,” Charlotte whispered. “Mama may help if I confide in her. But we must be careful. The Earl watches everything.”

Tobias lifted her hand and pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles. “We have time yet. Write to me when you know more. I will make the necessary preparations. You will not be sacrificed, Charlotte. I swear it.”

They parted with a hurried embrace, the mist swirling around them as Tobias disappeared into the night.

Two days later, the carriage turned through the wrought-iron gates of Blackmoor Hall. The journey from London had taken several hours, and Charlotte had spent most of it in silence beside her mother. The estate unfolded before them: formal gardens, ancient oaks, and the great grey-stone house itself, solid and imposing under a pale sky.

Armand Sterling stood on the wide steps to receive them, tall and immaculate in a dark morning coat. As Charlotte descended from the carriage, he stepped forward immediately.

“Miss Fitzgerald. Welcome to your future home.”

Before she could respond, his hand settled at her waist, drawing her closer than propriety strictly allowed for a first greeting. The touch was firm, warm through the fabric of her travelling dress. Charlotte stiffened slightly but did not pull away.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said quietly.

Armand did not release her at once. Instead, his fingers shifted a fraction higher, resting just beneath her ribs as he guided her up the steps. “You will find the house entirely at your disposal. I have had the west suite prepared for you. It catches the morning light most agreeably.”

Inside, the hall was vast, panelled in dark oak and lined with ancestral portraits. Servants moved discreetly. Evelyn lingered a few paces behind, allowing the Earl his moment.

As they walked through to the long gallery, Armand’s hand moved again, this time to the small of her back, steering her gently but insistently towards a particular painting.

“You see here my great-grandmother,” he said, his voice low near her ear. “A beauty in her day. I believe you will outshine her.” His palm remained pressed there, thumb tracing a small, possessive circle against the fabric. When Charlotte shifted, attempting to create a little distance, he simply adjusted his grip, drawing her back against his side.

“Forgive me if I seem forward,” he continued, though his tone suggested no real apology. “I have waited a long time for this, Charlotte. I see no reason for unnecessary restraint between us now that the arrangement is settled. You will grow accustomed to my touch, I assure you.”

Charlotte’s cheeks warmed. She kept her gaze on the painting. “My lord, I… we are scarcely acquainted.”

“Precisely why we must become better acquainted without delay.” His hand slid from her back to her shoulder, squeezing lightly as he turned her to face him. His grey eyes held hers steadily. “You are to be my wife. There is nothing improper in a husband knowing his wife’s form, her warmth. I intend to be a most attentive husband.”

Evelyn cleared her throat softly from the doorway. “Perhaps Charlotte might like to see her rooms and refresh herself after the journey, Lord Blackmoor?”

Armand’s hand lingered on Charlotte’s shoulder a moment longer before he released her. “Of course. But we shall continue our tour after luncheon. There is much I wish to show you, my dear.”