Poor thing, someone murmured behind a fan. Still clinging to society after what happened. Charlotte’s spine straightened. Six months. Six months since Thomas had died. And somehow that made her a ghost at her own cousin’s wedding. Not quite dead enough to be forgotten, not quite alive enough to be welcomed. The receiving line stretched before her like a gauntlet.
She’d already seen the bride’s mother glance away, already felt the cold courtesy of relatives who’d once called her dear. Her late husband’s family had made their position clear. Thomas’s debts were not their concern, and neither was his widow. She was 26 years old and entirely alone. “Miss Hartley,” the whisper came from beside her, low and commanding.
She’d been demoted from Mrs. Ashford back to her maiden name in the eyes of society, as if her marriage had been erased along with her husband’s life. Charlotte turned. The Duke of Thornbridge stood at her elbow, his presence somehow both startling and inevitable. She’d seen him from across ballrooms before. Who hadn’t? He was the kind of man who seemed carved from authority itself.
Dark hair swept back from a face too severe to be handsome in the conventional sense, but impossible to look away from. Eyes the color of smoke. Your grace. She managed, dropping into a curtsy that felt absurdly formal given that they’d never been introduced. Walk with me. It wasn’t a question. Charlotte’s breath caught. I don’t now.
Um, his hand was already at her elbow, guiding her away from the receiving line with the casual certainty of someone who’d never been told no. Before Lady Ashford’s nephew reaches you, she glanced back. Sure enough, Richard Ashford was cutting through the crowd, his expression carrying that particular blend of false concern and cruel satisfaction that had become familiar.
He’d been making noises about the house she still occupied, Thomas’s house, which apparently Richard felt entitled to, along with everything else her husband had left behind. The Duke’s grip tightened almost imperceptibly, steering her toward the edge of the garden, where rose trelluses created pockets of privacy, her heart hammered against her ribs. “This was improper.
This was,” “How much do you owe?” he asked, his voice pitched for her ears alone. Charlotte stopped walking. I beg your pardon. Your late husband’s debts. How much? Heat flooded her cheeks. That is none of your £3,000. He said it with the certainty of someone who already knew. Give or take. And Richard Ashford has been circling like a vulture, hasn’t he? offering to settle matters if you’ll just sign over the house and disappear quietly to some cottage in the country.
She couldn’t breathe. How did he know? How could he possibly? Your grace. I don’t understand why you Because I need something from you. His eyes met hers. And there was something almost desperate beneath that commanding exterior. Something that made her forget to look away. And you need protection.
So, we’re going to help each other. I don’t pretend you’re my bride. The words hung in the air between them like something impossible. Charlotte heard herself laugh, a short, sharp sound. Have you lost your mind? Not yet. His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Though my mother’s matchmaking efforts are bringing me close, she’s invited seven eligible ladies to my estate for the summer.
Seven? I need them gone, and I need society to stop treating me like a prize bull at auction. Charlotte shook her head. You want me to pretend to be engaged to you? Yes, that’s insane. That’s practical. He glanced back toward the wedding party. Richard Ashford was still looking for her, his expression darkening.
You need money and protection from creditors. I need freedom from fortune hunters and my mother’s schemes. We announce an engagement tonight. You come to Thornbridge Manor for the summer as my intended. At the end of the season, we part amicably. You keep a generous settlement that will clear your debts and secure your independence. I keep my peace. It was insane.
It was also the first offer of help anyone had made since Thomas died. Really died. Not the careful fiction everyone pretended about his fall from his horse. the fall that had come after months of gambling and drinking, after the creditors had started circling, after he’d stopped looking her in the eye. “Why me?” Charlotte heard herself ask.
The Duke’s expression shifted, became something raw. “Because you’re the only woman in this garden who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. because you won’t actually want to marry me at the end and because he paused because you looked at me just now like I might be a real person instead of a title and a fortune.
Something in Charlotte’s chest cracked open. This powerful, unreachable man looked almost lonely. “If I say yes,” she said slowly, “what exactly would this arrangement entail?” public appearances, enough affection to be believable. You’d have your own rooms at Thornbridge, your own freedom. All I ask is that you help me discourage my mother’s matchmaking efforts and look convincingly devoted when society is watching.
And at the end of summer, we part as friends. You get £20,000 and a story about mutual unsuitability that preserves both our reputations. I get my mother off my back for at least another year. £20,000. It was more than she’d earn in a lifetime of teaching or sewing or any other respectable poverty she’d been contemplating. It was freedom.
It was also a lie. Charlotte looked at the Duke. Really looked at him at the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion around his eyes. Whatever drove him to this desperate proposal, it was real. And somehow that mattered. One condition, she said, “When we part, you tell the truth, that I wasn’t suitable, that I’m still too too marked by grief and debt to be a proper duchess.
I won’t have you shouldering the blame.” Something flickered in his expression. Respect. Maybe you’d rather be seen as damaged than let me be seen as fickle. I’m already seen as damaged, your grace. You have a reputation to maintain. I have nothing left to lose. It was the wrong thing to say. She saw it in how his expression tightened, how his hand at her elbow became almost protective.
“Then we agree on one thing,” he said quietly. “You have nothing left to lose. So take the risk, Miss Hartley. Let me help you.” Charlotte thought of Richard Ashford and his vulture smile, of the landlord’s letters piling up on her desk, of the way people looked through her now instead of at her.
“Yes,” she whispered. The Duke’s shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly as if he’d been holding his breath. “Then let me do this properly.” He raised his voice just enough to carry, and suddenly Charlotte realized they’d gathered an audience. Half the wedding party had drifted close enough to eavesdrop, their interest barely concealed behind fans and champagne glasses.
“Miss Hartley,” the Duke said, his voice resonating with authority and something else, something that almost sounded tender. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” The garden went silent. Charlotte’s hands trembled. This was it, the moment that would define everything that came after. She could refuse, walk away, return to her cramped, rented rooms and mounting debts, or she could step into this beautiful, terrifying lie.
“Yes,” she said clearly. “I will.” The Duke smiled, a real smile this time, one that reached his eyes and transformed his severe face into something almost devastating. “Thank you,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. “Then louder. You’ve made me very happy. He raised her gloved hand to his lips. The kiss was perfectly proper, barely a brush of his mouth against silk, but Charlotte felt it like a brand, like a promise of something neither of them had agreed to.
The garden erupted into carefully modulated chaos. Congratulations and shock and poorly hidden malice, all mixing together. Charlotte saw Richard Ashford’s face go white with rage. saw the bride’s mother calculating the social implications, saw seven beautifully dressed young ladies deflate with disappointment, and then she saw the Duke’s mother, the Daager Duchess of Thornbridge, swept toward them like a force of nature, her expression unreadable.
She was a tall woman, elegant and formidable, with her son’s same smoke gray eyes. Adrien, she said coolly. How unexpected, mother. The Duke’s voice carried a warning. Allow me to introduce my fianceé, Miss Charlotte Hartley. The dowager’s gaze cut to Charlotte, sharp, and assessing. Charlotte felt herself being evaluated, measured, and found wanting in the space of 3 seconds.
I see, the daager said. How long have you been acquainted? Long enough to know my own heart. the Duke said smoothly. I trust you’ll welcome Charlotte to the family. It wasn’t a question. It was a command wrapped in courtesy. The daagger’s mouth thinned. Of course, how could I do otherwise? She turned to Charlotte with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
My dear, you must be overwhelmed. We’ll have so much to discuss once we return to Thornbridge. It was a threat disguised as welcome, and everyone knew it. Charlotte forced herself to smile back. I look forward to at your grace. Don’t, the Duke muttered as his mother swept away. Don’t look forward to any of it.
Charlotte watched the daajger disappear into the crowd, already gathering allies and gossips. I think I’ve just made a powerful enemy. You’ve just become my fiance. You’ve made seven powerful enemies. Every woman my mother invited to Thornbridge this summer. But you’ve also gained a rather useful ally. he offered his arm.
Shall we face the wolves together, Miss Hartley? Charlotte slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. The wool of his jacket was fine beneath her gloves, expensive and perfectly tailored. Everything about him screamed old money, ancient title, the kind of power she’d never been close to. Together, she agreed, even though she wasn’t sure what she’d just committed to.
As they walked back toward the wedding party, Charlotte caught a glimpse of her reflection in a garden mirror. She looked different. Not happier exactly, but present, visible, like she’d somehow become real again after months of being a ghost. The Duke’s voice interrupted her thoughts. We leave for Thornbridge in 3 days. Pack light.
You’ll have new wardrobes made once we arrive. Anything you need, tell my secretary. Your grace, Adrien,” he corrected quietly. “If we’re to be convincingly engaged, you should probably use my name.” Charlotte’s breath caught. Using his Christian name felt impossibly intimate. More intimate than the fake engagement somehow. “Adrien,” she managed.
The name felt strange in her mouth. “What happens if we fail? If no one believes us?” He looked at her, then really looked at her, and Charlotte felt pinned by that smoke gray gaze. Then we’ll fail together. But I don’t intend to fail, Charlotte. And neither, I suspect, do you. He was right. She’d already lost everything once.
She wasn’t going to lose again. Even if the price of winning was pretending to love a Duke she barely knew. The carriage to Thornbridge Manor was more luxurious than anything Charlotte had ever experienced. Velvet seats, brass fixtures polished to a gleam, and windows large enough to watch the countryside unfold like a painting.
She sat across from Adrien, the Duke. She had to remember to think of him properly, even in her own mind, and tried not to feel like an impostor. 3 days had passed since the wedding. Three days of hasty preparations, shocked callers, and Richard Ashford’s barely contained fury. He’d shown up at her boarding house the morning after the engagement announcement.
All false concern and thinly veiled threats. You’re making a mistake, he’d said, blocking her doorway. The Duke is using you. Everyone knows it. A widow with nothing when he could have anyone. Charlotte had looked him in the eye and smiled. Perhaps he prefers someone who wants him, not his money. It had been a lie, but a satisfying one.
Richard had left, but not before promising that this humiliation, her elevation, he meant, would be temporary. Now she was alone with her fake fiance, rolling through the English countryside toward a house she’d only heard about in gossip. Thornbridge Manor, seat of the Duchy of Thornbridge for 300 years. a place so grand that even its gate house was larger than the home she’d shared with Thomas.
“You’re nervous,” Adrienne observed. Charlotte glanced at him. He’d been reading correspondence for most of the journey, dealing with what seemed like an endless stream of estate business. Now his attention was entirely on her, and it was more unnerving than his distraction. Would you believe me if I said no? Not remotely. his mouth curved slightly.
It’s a reasonable reaction. You’re about to walk into a house full of people who will despise you on site. How encouraging. I prefer honesty to comfort. He set aside his letters. My mother has already arrived with her seven candidates for duchess. They were supposed to have a month of my undivided attention.
Now they’re attending a house party where they’ll watch me be devoted to someone else. They will not be kind. Charlotte’s stomach tightened. Perhaps you should tell me about them. Know your enemy and all that. Adrienne’s expression shifted to something almost amused. Practical. I like that. He leaned back against the velvet seat. Lady Beatatrice Ashford, no relation to your late husband’s family, is beautiful, accomplished, and utterly convinced that being a duchess is her birthright. She’ll attack your dignity.
noted. Lady Cordelia Winters is quieter, but perhaps more dangerous. She’ll befriend you, learn your weaknesses, then use them. Miss Elellanena Hartwick is young and romantic. She’ll cry loudly frequently. It’s surprisingly effective as a weapon. Charlotte absorbed this, her mind cataloging threats.
And the others? Miss Sarah Peton is brilliant with numbers and will likely try to prove you’re after my money. Lady Victoria Somerset has political connections that could make your life miserable. Miss Jane Hartley. Hartley? Charlotte interrupted. Like me. Distant relation. Apparently, my mother thought it would be charming.
Jane will probably use that connection to claim your social climbing through family shame. Seven women. Seven elegant, accomplished, furious women who’d expected to compete for a duke and instead found him already claimed. “And your mother?” Charlotte asked quietly. Adrienne’s expression went carefully blank. “My mother is grieving?” Charlotte blinked.
“Grieving? My father died 2 years ago. She believes that finding me a suitable wife is the last duty she owes him. She’s convinced that if she just introduces me to the right woman, I’ll finally move on from He stopped himself. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that she’ll see you as an obstacle to my happiness, not its source.
There was something in his voice, something raw and quickly suppressed. Charlotte wanted to ask what he’d been about to say, what he was moving on from, but the walls were already back up. I’m not sure I can do this, she admitted. pretend to be in love convincingly enough to fool everyone while seven women actively hate me. You don’t have to fool everyone.
Adrienne leaned forward, his eyes intense. You just have to convince them that I’m convinced that I chose you despite all logic. That I’m He paused. That I’m too far gone to be saved. Charlotte’s breath caught. The way he said it, like he was giving her permission to destroy him. How do I do that? she whispered.
Let me court you, Adrienne said simply. Not as a pretense, not as a performance, but properly. Let me show you Thornbridge, introduce you to my world, treat you like someone I’m actually trying to win. If you respond honestly, even if that honesty is confusion or discomfort or fear, it will look more real than any amount of acting. It was brilliant and terrifying.
Instead of playing roles, they’d just be honest about the strangeness between them. “And if I genuinely start to dislike you,” Charlotte asked. “If you’re terrible to live with, and I can’t hide it.” Adrienne’s smile was brief but genuine. “Then it will be the most convincing engagement in history. No one doubts a couple who fights.
” The carriage hit a bump, throwing Charlotte slightly forward. Adrienne’s hand shot out, steadying her with a touch to her arm. Even through her sleeve, she felt the warmth of his palm. Thank you, she managed. He didn’t move his hand. Charlotte, I need you to understand something. Once we arrive at Thornbridge, we’re on display constantly.
Every servant, every guest, every tenant on my land will be watching. They’ll be looking for cracks, for proof that you’re a gold digger or I’m a fool. So, we need to establish rules. Charlotte nodded, trying to ignore the heat of his hand still on her arm. In public, I will court you openly, Adrienne continued. I’ll be attentive, protective, and affectionate within the bounds of propriety.
You’ll have access to everything, my library, my stables, my private gardens. I want everyone to see that I’ve given you the keys to my world. And in private, his hand fell away. In private, we’re honest. You’ll have your own suite, separate from mine, your own space to breathe. But we should probably spend some time actually talking, learning about each other.
It will make the public performance easier. It was sensible. It was also lonely somehow, the idea that their connection would only be real when no one was watching. The carriage slowed. Charlotte looked out the window and felt her heart stop. Thornbridge Manor rose from the landscape like something from a fairy tale.
Not the kind with happy endings, the kind with warnings. Pale stone glowed in the afternoon sun, windows reflecting light like watching eyes. The house sprawled across what must have been acres, wings and towers and chimneys, creating a silhouette that spoke of centuries of power. Oh, Charlotte breathed. Overwhelming, Adrienne asked dryly. Terrifying.
Good. At least you’re honest about it. He gathered his papers. Remember, Charlotte, you belong here because I want you here. Let them question that at their peril. The carriage stopped. A footman appeared to open the door. Adrien descended first, then turned to offer his hand. Charlotte took it, her gloved fingers trembling slightly in his grip.
The entrance hall of Thornbridge Manor opened before her like a cathedral. Marble floors, soaring ceilings, portraits of stern ancestors watching from gilded frames, and assembled at the base of the grand staircase seven beautifully dressed women and one formidable Daajer Duchess. “Adrien,” the Daager said, her voice echoing in the vast space. Welcome home, mother.
Adrienne kept Charlotte’s hand firmly tucked in his arm. Ladies, may I present my fianceé, Miss Charlotte Hartley. Seven pairs of eyes fixed on Charlotte with varying degrees of hostility. She felt stripped bare, evaluated, and dismissed in the space of seconds. Lady Beatatrice Ashford spoke first, her voice honey, and poisonous.
Miss Hartley, how unexpected. We’d all been so looking forward to getting to know the Duke this summer. But now, of course, you’ve rather changed those plans, haven’t you? It was a direct attack, disguised as politeness. Charlotte felt Adrien tense beside her. I’m sorry to have disrupted your summer, Charlotte said carefully.
Though I hope we can all still become friends. Friends? Miss Sarah Peton, the one who was good with numbers, smiled sharply. How modern. Tell me, Miss Hartley, how long have you and the Duke been acquainted? Not long, Charlotte admitted, because lying would only make it worse. Sometimes connections happen quickly. Indeed.
Lady Cordelia Winters stepped forward, all soft concern, especially when one is in difficult circumstances. I heard about your late husband’s unfortunate debts. It must be such a relief to have found security. The implication hung in the air. gold digger. Charlotte felt heat rise in her cheeks. Adrienne’s hand covered hers, a gesture of solidarity and ownership.
Charlotte’s circumstances are irrelevant, he said coldly. She could be penniless or an aires. My feelings wouldn’t change. Of course not, the daager interjected smoothly. How could they when you barely know her? The blow was elegant and devastating. Even Adrienne couldn’t counter it without revealing the truth of their arrangement.
Charlotte felt the ground shifting beneath her feet. This was what the summer would be. Constant attacks, constant defense, constant performance, and she’d agreed to it. She’d walked into this gilded cage willingly. “I’m rather tired from the journey,” she heard herself say. “Perhaps someone could show me to my rooms. I’ll do it.” Adrienne’s voice was firm.
I want Charlotte to feel welcome here. The daagger’s expression tightened. Adrien, we have guests. Who can entertain themselves for an hour? He was already guiding Charlotte toward the stairs. Mother, I’m sure you remember what it’s like to be a new bride in a strange house. Some consideration, please. They climbed in silence, their footsteps echoing on marble.
Charlotte didn’t dare look back, but she felt seven pairs of eyes burning into her spine. “That was brutal,” Adrienne said once they were out of earshot. “That was restrained,” Charlotte corrected. “They were being polite,” his laugh was short and humilous. “Then we’re in for an interesting summer.” He led her through corridors that seemed to stretch forever, past portraits and tapestries and doors that probably opened onto rooms she’d never see.
Finally, he stopped before a carved oak door. “You’re sweet,” he said, pushing it open. Charlotte stepped inside and felt her breath catch for the second time that day. The rooms were beautiful, cream and gold and soft blue, with tall windows overlooking gardens that seemed to go on forever. A sitting room, a bedroom visible through an open door, and what looked like a private dressing room beyond that.
It’s too much, she whispered. It’s appropriate. Adrienne moved to the windows. These were going to be the Duchess’s room someday. They should be yours now. Charlotte joined him at the window. From here she could see the formal gardens, the lake in the distance, the rolling hills beyond. It was breathtaking.
It was also a prison of sorts, beautiful and inescapable. My rooms are in the east wing, Adrienne continued, connected through a private hallway, but you’ll have your own entrance. No one can access your space without your permission except you. Except me. He turned to face her. But I won’t use it without invitation. Despite appearances, Charlotte, I’m not a monster.
This arrangement benefits us both, but I won’t make you uncomfortable in your own rooms. Charlotte studied his face, looking for deception. She found only exhaustion. Why did you really propose this? She asked. Not the surface reasons, the real one. Adrienne was quiet for a long moment. Then because I’m tired of being hunted, because every woman my mother introduces looks at me and sees a title, a fortune, a legacy to produce heirs for, they don’t see me, and I’ve started to wonder if anyone ever will.
The honesty was unexpected and painful. Charlotte recognized that ache, the loneliness of being invisible, even while everyone was looking. “I see you,” she said quietly. His eyes met hers. That’s why I chose you. Something passed between them, not attraction exactly, but recognition. Two people who’d been rendered invisible by grief and circumstance, suddenly visible to each other.
A knock interrupted the moment. A maid appeared with Charlotte’s trunk. Her pitifully small trunk, which looked absurd in these grand rooms. “I’ll leave you to rest,” Adrienne said. “Dinner is at 8. Formal dress.” Charlotte’s stomach dropped. I don’t have. Your wardrobe should arrive tomorrow from the modist. Tonight, wear whatever you have.
I don’t care if it’s black crepe or cotton. You’ll still be the most important woman in the room. He left before she could respond, the door closing softly behind him. Charlotte stood alone in her beautiful cage and wondered what she’d gotten herself into. Charlotte’s only formal gown was 2 years old, slightly too large from recent weight loss, and undeniably plain compared to what she suspected the other women would wear.
She stood before the mirror in her new rooms, trying to feel like someone who belonged in a duchess’s suite. She failed. A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Miss Hartley, I’m here to help you dress. The maid who entered was young, perhaps 20, with kind eyes and efficient hands. I’m Annie, Miss.
His grace assigned me to you personally. Annie, Charlotte tried to smile. I’m afraid my wardrobe is rather limited. We’ll make do, Miss. Annie moved to the trunk with professional assessment. Oh, this is lovely. She pulled out Charlotte’s black silk, the one concession to quality that Thomas had bought her before everything fell apart.
It was morning dress technically, but in candle light it would read as sophisticated rather than grieving. Probably. Let’s get you dressed, Annie said. And don’t you worry about those ladies downstairs. They can drip jewels all they like. You’re the one wearing his Grace’s ring. Charlotte glanced at her left hand.
The engagement ring Adrienne had slipped on her finger that morning was a family heirloom, sapphires and diamonds in an intricate setting that probably cost more than her late husband’s entire estate. It felt heavy both literally and metaphorically. Annie worked in comfortable silence, pinning Charlotte’s dark hair into an elegant knot and adjusting the fit of the gown with a few strategic pins.
There. You look like a duchess already. Charlotte looked in the mirror. She looked like herself, just more. The black silk made her skin seem luminous. The sapphire ring caught the light. Her eyes looked larger, darker, more serious than usual. I look terrified, she admitted. Good, Annie said. Better to be honest than fake. Now come on.
His grace doesn’t like to be kept waiting. The walk to the dining room felt like a death march. Charlotte descended the grand staircase, her hand trailing on the marble ballastrade, acutely aware of every portrait watching her pass. Duchesses and their children, generations of wealth and power, looking down on the impostor in their midst.
The dining room doors stood open. Charlotte paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. The table could easily seat 30. Tonight it held 11. Adrien at the head, his mother at the opposite end, seven beautifully dressed women arranged between them, and one empty chair at Adrienne’s right hand, the place of honor.
Everyone looked up as she entered. Charlotte saw it all in an instant. Lady Beatatric’s ice blue gown that matched her eyes. Lady Cordelia’s diamonds that probably rivaled the crown jewels, Miss Elellanena’s pink confection that made her look like a fairy tale princess, and Charlotte’s own stark black silk mourning among celebration.
She felt like a crow at a peacock convention. Adrienne stood immediately, his eyes finding hers across the room. Charlotte. He crossed to her in three strides, offering his arm. You look beautiful. It was said loud enough for everyone to hear, and with enough conviction that Charlotte almost believed it. He led her to the empty chair, holding it himself, rather than letting a footman do it.
Ladies, the daagger said coolly once they were seated. Shall we continue our conversation about the summer schedule? Of course, your grace. Lady Beatatrice smiled. We were just discussing the garden party next week. Such a shame Miss Hartley doesn’t know anyone in the county. It will be quite overwhelming for her.
I’m sure Charlotte will manage, Adrienne said. She’s remarkably resilient. Resilience is such a practical quality. Miss Sarah Peton observed, though not always what one looks for in a duchess. The first course arrived, a delicate soup that Charlotte barely tasted. Around her conversation flowed with the smooth viciousness of society warfare.
Tell us, Miss Hartley, Lady Victoria Somerset said, “What are your accomplishments? Do you paint? Play the pianoforte?” Charlotte’s hand tightened on her spoon. “I read extensively, and I have some skill with estate management. I ran my late husband’s household for 5 years.” estate management.
Miss Jane Hartley, her supposed distant relation, repeated, “How rustic! Though I suppose when one marries young to a gentleman of limited means, one must be practical.” The implication was clear. Charlotte had married beneath herself, and now was marrying above herself. Both choices were equally suspicious. “Charlotte married for love,” Adrienne interjected quietly.
an increasingly rare thing among our class. E. And yet here she is, Lady Cordelia said sweetly, engaged again so soon after her loss. One wonders at the speed of such recovered affection. Charlotte felt the trap. If she admitted to still grieving Thomas, she was heartless for becoming engaged.
If she claimed to be over him, she was shallow. There was no right answer. I wonder at it myself, she said honestly. Grief is strange. It doesn’t follow convenient timelines or social expectations. Sometimes healing comes from unexpected places. She felt Adrienne’s attention sharpen. That had been honest, perhaps too honest. But the other women seemed momentarily uncertain, as if her cander had disrupted their script.
The daagger recovered first. How philosophical, though one must wonder if healing is the same as love. Isn’t it?” Charlotte asked. “Don’t we love people who make us feel whole?” Adrienne’s hand found hers under the table. A brief squeeze of solidarity. “Charlotte makes me feel whole,” he said simply. “The words hung in the air.
Charlotte realized with a start that he’d just claimed something real, that their pretend engagement was based on genuine connection, even if not romantic love. The other women shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t going according to plan. Miss Elellanena Hartwick, the romantic one, looked close to tears. “That’s beautiful,” she whispered. “I hope.
I hope you’ll both be very happy.” “Ellanena,” Lady Beatatrice said sharply. “But the damage was done. One of the seven had broken ranks. The dinner continued through six more courses, each one a fresh battlefield. Charlotte was asked about her family, dead, her education, governness until 14, then self-taught, her expectations for the role of duchess, a minefield she navigated by saying she hoped to learn from those more experienced.
Every answer was judged. Every pause was noted. By the time dessert arrived, Charlotte felt exhausted. Her face hurt from maintaining a pleasant expression. Her hand achd from Adrienne’s periodic squeezes of support. Perhaps we should take coffee in the drawing room. The dowager suggested. The gentleman, well, gentlemen can join us there.
It was a calculated insult. Usually men took port separately, but with only Adrien present, the division was pointless, just a reminder that he was outnumbered by women with designs on him. The drawing room was another exercise in intimidation. Silk sofas, priceless art, a piano forte that probably cost more than Charlotte’s entire year’s income.
The seven women arranged themselves like a court, leaving Charlotte isolated on a seti near the fire. Adrienne sat beside her without hesitation. Comfortable? Not remotely, she muttered. His smile was brief. Good. Discomfort means you’re paying attention. Ladies, the daagger said, settling into her chair with the air of a queen.
Perhaps Miss Hartley would favor us with some music. It was a test. Charlotte saw it immediately. Either she’d play poorly and be mocked or refuse and be called rude. I’m afraid I don’t play, Charlotte admitted. I was never taught. Never taught the pianoforte. Lady Beatatric’s eyebrows rose. How extraordinary.
It’s such a basic accomplishment. Charlotte’s accomplishments lie elsewhere, Adrienne said coldly. Not everyone needs to perform like trained monkeys. The room went silent. The insult was direct and unmistakable. He just called his mother’s carefully selected candidates performing animals. The dowager’s expression went rigid.
Adrien, surely you don’t mean I mean exactly that. He stood, drawing Charlotte up with him. It’s been a long day. Charlotte and I are retiring. It’s barely 9:00, Miss Sarah protested. And yet I find myself exhausted by company. Adrienne’s smile was razor sharp. Imagine that, he guided Charlotte from the room before anyone could respond.
They walked in silence through the corridors, footsteps echoing. Only when they reached the private hallway between their suites did Adrien finally speak. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was worse than I expected.” Charlotte laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. “Worse?” “Adrien, they want me dead.” “Metaphorically, probably.
Definitely metaphorically.” My mother draws the line at actual murder. He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting its perfect style. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. You defended me. Charlotte’s voice came out smaller than intended. No one’s done that in a long time. Something shifted in his expression. Get used to it.
For the next few months, defending you is my primary occupation. They stood in the quiet hallway, the sounds of the house distant. Charlotte was acutely aware of how close he was, how the lamplight softened his severe features. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For tonight, for all of it. Don’t thank me yet.
That was just the opening salvo. It gets worse from here.” “How encouraging!” Adrienne’s smile was genuine this time. “I’m beginning to appreciate your sarcasm, Charlotte. Good. I have a lot of it stored up.” He moved toward his rooms, then paused. “Tomorrow morning, I’d like to show you the estate, just us, before everyone else wakes and we have to perform again.
” “I’d like that,” Charlotte admitted. “Good,” he hesitated. “And Charlotte, you did well tonight. Better than well. You were honest when they expected manipulation. It threw them off balance.” He disappeared into his suite before she could respond. Charlotte stood alone in the hallway, her heart racing for reasons she didn’t want to examine.
She’d survived one dinner, only an entire summer to go. Charlotte woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar windows. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then, memory crashed back. Thornbridge. Adrien, the gauntlet of dinner. She’d survived. A soft knock announced Annie’s arrival. Good morning, miss. His grace requests your company for breakfast.
Just the two of you. The other ladies won’t rise for hours. Charlotte dressed quickly in her only riding habit, a dark green wool that had seen better days. When she descended to the breakfast room, she found Adrienne already there reading correspondents and drinking coffee. He looked different in morning light, less duke, more man.
His hair was slightly disheveled, his jacket more casual. He looked up as she entered, and something in his expression eased. “You’re awake,” he said. “I half expected you to barricade yourself in your rooms after last night.” “Tamping,” Charlotte admitted, fixing herself a plate from the sideboard. “But I didn’t come here to hide.
” “No,” Adrienne agreed. “You came here to fight.” “Good.” They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Charlotte felt herself slowly relaxing into the quiet. “No performance required, no audience watching.” “Tell me about Thomas,” Adrienne said suddenly. Charlotte’s fork froze. “Why?” “Because if we’re going to be convincing, I need to know who you were before, who you are now,” and he shaped both those people.
It was unexpectedly insightful. Charlotte set down her fork, trying to find words for the complicated truth. Thomas was beautiful, she said finally. Charming. Everyone loved him, including me at first. We married when I was 21, too young, but I thought I knew what I wanted. For the first year, it was good. He was attentive, kind.
We laughed a lot. And then, and then his father died. Thomas inherited debts no one had known about. He started gambling, trying to win back what was lost. started drinking, started disappearing. Charlotte’s voice remained steady through will alone. By the end, I barely knew him. The man I married was gone, replaced by someone desperate and cruel.
Did he hurt you? The question was direct and dangerous. Charlotte met Adrienne’s eyes. Not physically, but there are other ways to hurt someone. Ways to make them feel small and worthless and stupid forever believing in promises. Adrienne’s jaw tightened. He didn’t deserve you. Maybe not, but I chose him. That’s on me. You were 21 and in love.
That’s not a crime. Charlotte felt something in her chest crack. She’d blamed herself for so long for not seeing Thomas’s flaws, for not preventing his decline, for being relieved when he died. The night he fell from his horse, she said quietly. He’d been drinking. We’d argued. I told him I was leaving, going to live with my aunt.
He rode off in a rage, and she stopped. Everyone pretends it was an accident. But Thomas knew those paths. He’d ridden them his whole life. I think I think he just gave up. That’s not your fault, isn’t it? If I’d been more patient, more understanding, he’d still have been an alcoholic gambler who blamed everyone but himself.
Adrienne’s voice was fierce. Charlotte, you can’t save people who don’t want to be saved. Trust me, I’ve tried. There was a story there, something raw beneath his words. But before Charlotte could ask, Adrienne stood. Come, I want to show you something. He led her through the house to the stables where two horses waited already saddled.
Charlotte hesitated at the sight of the beautiful chestnut mare. I haven’t ridden in months, she admitted. Then we’ll go slowly. Adrienne mounted his black geling with easy grace. This is Thornbridgeidge, Charlotte. It belongs to you now, at least for this summer. You should see it. They rode through morning mist, Adrien leading them away from the formal gardens into wilder country.
The estate stretched for miles, rolling hills, ancient woods, tenant farms in the distance. It was breathtaking and overwhelming. 3,000 acres, Adrienne said, held by my family for 12 generations. Sometimes I forget what it looks like to someone seeing it for the first time. It’s beautiful, Charlotte said honestly. And terrifying.
How do you manage all this? I don’t. I have estate managers, stewards, an army of people who keep things running. My job is to make decisions and pretend I know what I’m doing. You’re good at pretending, then? Adrienne’s smile was ry. Years of practice. They rode in silence for a while, following a path that wound through woods where blue bells carpeted the ground.
Charlotte felt herself breathing easier out here, away from the house and its watching eyes. There’s something I need to tell you, Adrienne said finally about why my mother is so determined to see me married. Charlotte waited, sensing this was important. 5 years ago I was engaged, Adrienne continued, his voice carefully neutral. Lady Catherine Pembbrook, beautiful, accomplished, everything a duchess should be.
The wedding was planned, guests invited, future secured. What happened? 3 weeks before the wedding, she ran away with my younger brother. Charlotte’s breath caught. Oh, Adrien. Thomas was always the charming one, the fun one. I was too serious, too beautiful. Catherine chose passion over duty. Can’t really blame her. His jaw was tight.
Thomas died 2 years ago in a racing accident. Drunk, showing off. Katherine has been a widow ever since, and my mother has been matchmaking ever since, terrified I’ll die alone because my own brother stole my fiance. The pieces clicked into place. The desperate need for a fake engagement. The exhaustion with being hunted. the loneliness of a man who’d been betrayed by the two people he should have been able to trust most.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said quietly. “That’s a terrible burden to carry. Is it? Sometimes I wonder if I’m just selfish. If I should have let it go by now, moved on, given my mother the grandchildren she wants.” Adrienne looked at her. But I can’t stomach the idea of marrying someone who wants the title more than the man.
Someone who will leave the moment a more exciting option appears. So you chose me, someone who definitely doesn’t want to be a duchess. Exactly. He smiled faintly. You’re the safest option. You’ll leave on schedule, take your settlement, and I’ll be alone, just like I want. But he didn’t sound like he wanted it.
He sounded like a man who’d convinced himself that loneliness was better than risk. Charlotte understood that. She’d been making the same choice herself. They reached a clearing where a small stone folly overlooked the valley. Adrienne dismounted, then helped Charlotte down. His hands on her waist felt warm even through her riding habit.
“This is my favorite spot on the estate,” he admitted. “When I was a child, I’d come here to hide from lessons. Later I’d come here to think about what? Everything. My father’s expectations. Thomas’s resentment. The weight of a title I never wanted but can’t escape. He leaned against the stone railing and lately about how to survive my mother’s matchmaking without losing my mind entirely.
Charlotte joined him at the railing looking out over the valley. From here Thornbridge Manor looked like a toy in the distance. pretty and manageable. “I’m glad you brought me here,” she said. “You’re the first person I’ve ever shown this place.” The admission hung between them, intimate and unexpected. Charlotte felt something shift, the fake engagement taking on edges of real connection.
“We should get back,” Adrienne said abruptly, before my mother sends search parties. They rode back in silence, but it was different now. comfortable like two people who’d started to actually see each other. As they approached the stables, Charlotte saw a familiar figure waiting. “The Daaja Duchess, dressed for the day, her expression cold.
” “Adrien,” she said as they dismounted. “How lovely that you could spare time for private rides while your guests wait. They’re your guests, mother, not mine. Nevertheless, they’re here, and Miss Hartley seems to be monopolizing your attention quite effectively. The daagger’s gaze cut to Charlotte. How convenient. How intentional, Adrien corrected.
Charlotte is my fiance. She comes first. First, before duty, before courtesy. The dowager’s voice was sharp. Your father would be disappointed. Adrien flinched. It was barely visible, but Charlotte saw it. The wound that comment opened. My father is dead, Adrienne said flatly. And I’m tired of living for ghosts.
He walked away, leaving Charlotte alone with the daager. The older woman studied her with cold assessment. You think you’re clever, don’t you? Catching a duke with tears and vulnerability. But I know what you are, Miss Hartley. You’re a desperate widow clinging to security. and when my son realizes it, you’ll be cast aside just like you deserve.
Charlotte felt anger rise hot and cleansing. You don’t know anything about me, your grace. But you know what? I don’t need you to approve. I just need Adrien to want me here. And he does for now. The daager smiled coldly. But summer is long, and there are seven women in this house who would make far better duchesses than you ever could.
She swept away, leaving Charlotte shaking with suppressed fury. Annie appeared from the stables. Don’t let her rattle you, miss. Her grace doesn’t like anyone who threatens her control. And I’m threatening her control. You’re making his grace happy. That’s the worst threat of all. Charlotte watched the dowager disappear into the house.
The battle lines were drawn, and she had a feeling things were about to get much worse. The garden party arrived with relentless inevitability. For 5 days Charlotte had endured subtle warfare, snide comments at breakfast, pointed exclusions from activities, accidental social slights that left her isolated.
The seven women had formed a united front with Lady Beatatrice as their general and the Daager as their silent endorser. Adrienne had defended Charlotte at every turn, but even he couldn’t be everywhere. And the women were clever. They attacked when he wasn’t watching in ways that left no proof. Now the cream of County Society was descending on Thornbridge Manor for an afternoon of elegant torture.
Charlotte stood in her rooms wearing one of her new gowns. A cream silk that Annie had insisted made her look regal. She didn’t feel regal. She felt like an impostor about to be exposed. You look beautiful, Annie said firmly. Now stop fidgeting with your gloves. There will be 200 people at this party, Charlotte said.
200 people who’ve known Adrien his whole life who remember his engagement to Lady Catherine. who who will take their cues from his grace,” Annie interrupted. “And he’ll make it very clear where his affections lie. You’ll see.” Charlotte wasn’t so sure. She descended to the garden where footmen were setting up tables and string musicians were tuning instruments.
The scene was something from a painting, too. Adrienne found her immediately, as if he’d been watching for her arrival. He looked devastating in his formal jacket. Every inch the powerful duke. But when he smiled at her, something in his expression softened. “Ready?” he asked quietly. “Not even slightly.” “Good. Honesty looks good on you,” he offered his arm. “Let’s shock some people.
” The first guests had already arrived. Local gentry, minor, nobility, people whose names Charlotte would never remember. Adrienne introduced her to everyone with the same steady formality. My fiance, Miss Charlotte Hartley. Some responded with genuine warmth. Most responded with barely concealed speculation.
And then Lady Catherine Pembbrook arrived. Charlotte recognized her immediately, not because they’d met, but because every eye in the garden turned. She was stunning, golden hair, perfect features, an ice blue gown that matched her eyes. She moved like someone who knew everyone was watching and expected nothing less.
Adrienne’s entire body went rigid. “Breathe,” Charlotte whispered. “He did, though it looked painful. I didn’t know she’d be here. Your mother invited her, didn’t she?” “Of course she did.” Adrienne’s voice was flat. Mother’s been trying to convince me to forgive Catherine for 2 years. She thinks we should heal old wounds.
Lady Catherine approached with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no. Adrien, how lovely to see you. Catherine. His voice could have frozen glass. And you must be Missartley. Catherine’s smile was polite and utterly false. How unexpected. Adrienne always preferred elegance over obviousness. It was a perfectly constructed insult.
Charlotte was obvious where Catherine was elegant. Charlotte felt Adrienne’s arm tense beneath her hand. I prefer honesty over performance, Adrienne said coolly. Which is why I’m engaged to Charlotte. Catherine’s smile didn’t waver. Of course. How modern. She turned to Charlotte. You’re very lucky, Miss Hartley, though I suppose you know that, given your circumstances.
There it was, the implication that Charlotte was a fortune hunter, desperate and grasping. I am lucky, Charlotte agreed calmly. Adrienne is remarkable, though I suspect you already know that, given your history, Catherine’s expression flickered. Ancient history. Yet here you are, Charlotte observed. How interesting.
For a moment something raw crossed Catherine’s face. Regret maybe, or jealousy. Then it was gone, replaced by social armor. “Enjoy your summer,” Catherine said sweetly. “Though I imagine it must be exhausting, playing a role so far above your station.” She drifted away before Charlotte could respond, leaving a wake of poisoned implications.
“Ignore her,” Adrienne said tightly. “Hard to do when she’s right.” Charlotte kept her voice light, but the words hurt. I am playing a role above my station. No. Adrien turned to face her, his eyes intense. You’re exactly where you should be. Catherine gave up any right to judge when she chose my brother over me. Her opinion means nothing, but it clearly meant something.
Charlotte could see the old wound reopening. The way Adrienne’s shoulders carried new tension. Catherine’s arrival had shifted something. made their pretend engagement feel more fragile. The afternoon descended into carefully orchestrated chaos. Charlotte was introduced to dozens of people whose names blurred together.
She smiled until her face achd, made polite conversation about weather and gardens, and tried to ignore the way people’s eyes kept sliding toward Lady Catherine as if comparing. The seven ladies in residence circled like sharks, each taking opportunities to undermine Charlotte’s position. Lady Beatatrice cornered her near the refreshment table.
“Such a lovely party, though I couldn’t help noticing you don’t know anyone here. How isolating that must be.” “Adrien knows them,” Charlotte replied. “That’s enough for now. But what happens when the novelty wears off? when he remembers what a real duchess looks like. Beatric’s smile was razor sharp. Catherine is here after all, and old loves die hard.
Miss Sarah Peton was more direct. I’ve been doing calculations, Miss Hartley. Your late husband’s debts totaled approximately £3,000. His Grace’s annual income is 60,000. Quite the upgrade, isn’t it? I wouldn’t know, Charlotte said evenly. I don’t think of Adrien in terms of income. How refreshingly naive.
Sarah’s eyes were cold, though. I suppose that act works on men. The innocent widow so grateful for rescue. Each attack was small, targeted, designed to leave Charlotte feeling exposed and inadequate. By the time afternoon tea was served, she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her rooms and hide. But Adrienne found her. Always he found her.
Walk with me,” he said quietly, offering his arm. They escaped to a quieter section of the garden where Rose arbers created pockets of privacy. Charlotte felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. “That bad?” Adrienne asked. “They’re relentless,” Charlotte admitted. “Every conversation is an ambush.” “I know.
I’ve been watching.” His jaw was tight. “I’m sorry. I thought bringing you here would give you protection, but I’ve just made you a target. It’s not your fault, isn’t it? I created this situation. I asked you to pretend, and now you’re paying the price. He stopped walking, turning to face her.
Charlotte, if this is too much, if you want to end the engagement and take the settlement now, I’ll understand. Charlotte looked at him. Really? Looked. She saw exhaustion in the lines around his eyes, tension in his shoulders, something almost desperate in his expression. He was giving her an escape, but he didn’t want her to take it.
And suddenly, neither did she. “No,” she said firmly. “I’m not running. These women think I’m weak, that I’m here for your money. But I’m not. I’m here because,” she paused, searching for truth. Because you asked me. Because I want to prove them wrong. Because I’m tired of being invisible and overlooked and told I don’t belong. Adrienne’s expression shifted. Surprise.
Then something warmer. You’re not invisible, Charlotte. Not to me. Then help me fight back, she said. Not by defending me constantly, but by teaching me how to navigate this world, how to be the fiance they have to accept, even if they hate it. A slow smile crossed Adrienne’s face. You want to go on the offensive. I want to survive.
There’s a difference. Not as much as you think. He glanced back toward the party. All right. Lesson one. Stop trying to please them. They’ll never like you. So, stop wasting energy on the attempt. Instead, focus on the people who matter. The tenants, the servants, the people who actually run this estate. win their loyalty and the rest becomes noise.
It was pragmatic and slightly ruthless. Charlotte found herself smiling. What else? Stop apologizing for taking up space. You’re my fiance. Act like it. When Lady Beatatrice makes a snide comment, don’t deflect. Agree and make it sound like a compliment. When Sarah questions your motives, laugh like she’s told a joke.
Take their weapons and turn them into toys. Charlotte absorbed this. her mind already racing. And Catherine, Adrienne’s expression went carefully blank. What about her? She still affects you. Everyone can see it. She betrayed me with my own brother. Of course, she affects me. But you’re not over it, Charlotte said gently. And that gives her power.
Until you let go of that wound, she can keep using it. Adrienne was silent for a long moment. How do I let go of something that changed everything? Thomas and Catherine didn’t just betray me. They made me question every relationship I have. Every woman my mother introduces. I look at them and wonder how long until they find someone better.
The honesty was devastating. Charlotte felt her heart crack for this powerful man who’d been taught to expect betrayal. “I can’t promise people won’t hurt you,” she said quietly. But I can promise I won’t lie to you. This engagement is fake. Yes, but my respect for you is real. My friendship is real. I’m not here to betray you, Adrien.
I’m here because we made a deal and I keep my promises. Something in Adrienne’s face transformed. You mean that? Yes. He reached for her hand, his fingers warm around hers. Then let’s make them see it. Let’s show everyone, my mother, Catherine, those seven vultures, that what we have is real, even if it’s not romantic love.
How? Adrienne glanced toward the party, then back at her. Trust me. Yes. He led her back toward the garden party, where guests milled around tables laden with delicacies. The daagger sat in state beneath a rose arbor, Catherine at her side. The seven ladies formed a court around them. Adrienne walked directly to that gathering, Charlotte’s hand firmly tucked in his arm.
“Mother,” he said clearly. “Ladies, I have an announcement.” The garden quieted. 200 pairs of eyes turned toward them, Charlotte’s heart hammered. “What was he doing?” “I know there’s been speculation about my engagement,” Adrienne continued, his voice carrying across the lawn. questions about timing, about suitability, about whether Charlotte and I are truly suited for each other.
The daagger’s expression was frozen. Catherine looked fascinated. So, let me be absolutely clear, Adrienne said. Charlotte is the finest woman I’ve ever met. She’s honest when others play games. She’s brave when others hide. She treats people with kindness regardless of their station. And yes, she’s unconventional.
She doesn’t play the pianoforte or paint watercolors or know all the rules of society. He looked directly at his mother. She’s better than that. She’s real. Charlotte felt tears prick her eyes. It was a performance. She knew that. But it felt true. So anyone who questions my choice, Adrienne finished, questions my judgment.
and I don’t take kindly to that silence. Absolute silence. Then someone began to applaud. One of the tenants, a middle-aged woman Charlotte had met earlier. Others joined. Not everyone, but enough to make a point. The dowager’s expression was glacial. “How touching,” Adrien, though perhaps a bit dramatic for a garden party. “I disagree,” Catherine said unexpectedly.
Everyone turned to her in shock. I think it’s exactly what needed to be said. Miss Hartley is fortunate to have such a devoted champion. There was something in her voice. Regret maybe, or wistfulness, as if she was remembering when Adrienne had once defended her that way. Indeed, Lady Beatatrice said coolly.
Though devotion can be blinding, or it can be clearsighted, Adrienne counted. Time will tell. He led Charlotte away from the gathering back toward the house. Once they were out of earshot, Charlotte let out a shaky breath. That was either brilliant or disastrous, she said. Possibly both. Adrienne’s smile was tight. But necessary.
I’m tired of letting people question you. Even when their questions are valid, especially then. He stopped walking, turning to face her. Charlotte, this started as a practical arrangement, but somewhere in the past week, you’ve become important, not romantically, he added quickly, but as a friend, as someone I trust, and I protect the people I care about.
Charlotte felt warmth spread through her chest. I care about you, too, which is why I need to ask, are you sure about this, about us continuing this pretense? Because the longer we go on, the harder it will be to walk away. Adrienne’s eyes held hers. I know, but I’m not ready to walk away yet.
Are you? No, Charlotte admitted. Not yet. Then we continue together. They stood in the shadow of Thornbridge Manor, the sounds of the garden party distant. And Charlotte realized something terrifying. This fake engagement was starting to feel dangerously real. 3 weeks into the summer, Charlotte began to understand the rhythm of Thornbridge.
Mornings were for riding with Adrien, exploring the estate, and talking about everything from books to politics to their complicated pasts. Afternoons were for enduring the seven ladies and their increasingly creative attempts to undermine her position. Evenings were for formal dinners where the daager presided like a judge and Catherine watched with unreadable eyes.
It was exhausting. It was also becoming something like home. Charlotte sat in the library late one evening, unable to sleep. The room was vast, walls lined with books that represented centuries of collected knowledge. She’d claimed this space as her refuge, somewhere to breathe without performance.
Can’t sleep either, she startled. Adrienne stood in the doorway, still dressed but disheveled, his jacket discarded and crevat loosened. Too much on my mind, Charlotte admitted. May I? He gestured to the chair beside hers. It’s your library. It’s yours now, too. He settled into the chair with a sigh. What’s keeping you awake? Charlotte considered lying, then remembered their promise of honesty.
I’m starting to forget this is pretend. Adrienne went very still. What do you mean? I mean, when we ride together in the mornings, when you defend me at dinner, when you look at me like I actually matter, I forget we’re performing. And that’s dangerous because in 2 months this ends. I get my settlement, you get your freedom, and we go back to being strangers.
Is that what you want? To go back to being strangers? It’s what we agreed to. That’s not what I asked. Charlotte met his eyes in the lamplight. They looked almost warm. No, it’s not what I want. But wanting more doesn’t change our arrangement. Adrienne leaned forward, elbows on his knees. What if I told you I’m having the same problem? That somewhere between showing you my favorite places and defending you from social vultures, this stopped being purely practical.
Charlotte’s breath caught. Adrien, “I’m not saying I’m in love with you,” he interrupted. “I don’t know if I’m capable of that anymore. Catherine and Thomas broke something in me, but I am saying I like you. I respect you, and I don’t want to lose you when summer ends.” “And what do you propose? We can’t stay engaged forever.
” “Why not?” “Because it’s a lie, is it?” Adrienne’s voice was intense. We’re partners. We care about each other. We’re building something real, even if it started as pretense. Plenty of society marriages are based on less. Charlotte shook her head. You’re talking about a real marriage, a real life together.
But what happens when you meet someone you actually love, someone who makes you feel what Catherine did? I don’t want to feel that again, Adrienne said flatly. That kind of passion leads to disaster. What we have is better. Friendship, respect, partnership. It’s sustainable. It’s also not fair to either of us. Charlotte stood pacing. Adrienne, you deserve someone who sets your heart racing.
And I deserve I deserve to be more than a convenient solution to your mother’s matchmaking. You’re not convenient. You’re essential. He stood too, following her. Charlotte, these past 3 weeks have been the first time I felt like myself since my father died. You don’t treat me like a title or a duty. You treat me like a person.
How is that not worth fighting for? Because fighting for it means risking real heartbreak. The words burst out before Charlotte could stop them. I already lost one husband, Adrien. I can’t lose another, even if this one is fake. Duck. The admission hung between them, raw and revealing. Adrienne’s expression softened. You won’t lose me.
That’s the whole point. We build something stable, something that doesn’t depend on volatile emotions. But I want volatile emotions, Charlotte whispered. I want to feel alive again. And settling for partnership without passion, that’s just another kind of death. She left the library before Adrienne could respond. Her vision blurred with tears she didn’t understand.
She’d spoken truth she hadn’t meant to acknowledge. She wanted more than this careful arrangement. She wanted to feel something real. But real meant risk, and she’d already lost too much to risk again. Charlotte didn’t see Adrien the next morning. He’d left early for estate business. Annie reported the absence felt like abandonment.
Even though Charlotte knew she’d driven him away with her honesty. She spent the morning in the gardens trying to find peace. Instead, she found trouble. Lady Beatatrice and Miss Sarah were walking together deep in conversation. They didn’t see Charlotte behind the hedge row. Absolutely perfect, Beatatrice was saying.
If we can arrange for them to be discovered together, the scandal will force the engagement to end. But how do we get Ashford into her rooms? Sarah asked. Charlotte’s blood went cold. Ashford, Richard Ashford, her late husband’s cousin, the man who’d been circling her debts like a predator. He arrives tomorrow for the Midsummer Ball. Beatrice said the daager invited him specifically.
She thinks he can provide context about Charlotte’s unsuitability. We just need to make sure he finds Charlotte alone at the right moment. And then and then he compromises her publicly enough that Adrienne has no choice but to break the engagement. His grace can hardly marry a woman caught in a scandal with another man. Sarah sounded uncertain. That seems extreme.
It’s necessary. Beatrice said coldly. Charlotte doesn’t belong here. She’s common, desperate, and unsuitable. We’re doing Adrienne a favor by removing her before he makes a terrible mistake. They moved away, leaving Charlotte shaking behind the hedge. This was more than social warfare. This was a plot to destroy her reputation and end her engagement through manufactured scandal.
She had to tell Adrien, had to warn him. But when she found him later that afternoon, he was in meetings with his steward. When she tried again at dinner, the daagger monopolized his attention, and when she finally cornered him after dinner, he looked so exhausted that she couldn’t add to his burdens.
Tomorrow, she told herself, “I’ll tell him tomorrow.” But tomorrow brought the arrival of Richard Ashford and 100 guests for the Midsummer Ball, and by then it might be too late. The ballroom at Thornbridge Manor blazed with a thousand candles. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow light across marble floors where couples whirled in perfect formation.
Charlotte stood at the edge watching the spectacle and feeling utterly out of place. Her new ball gown was beautiful pale gold silk that Annie had insisted matched her eyes. But Beauty couldn’t erase the fact that Charlotte didn’t know most of these dances, hadn’t been introduced to half the guests, and was about to be the target of a deliberate scandal.
She still hadn’t told Adrien. Every time she’d tried, something interrupted, and now Richard Ashford was here, cutting through the crowd with predatory purpose. “Miss Hartley,” he bowed with false courtesy, “Or should I say, your grace to be. How far you’ve climbed, Mr. Ashford. Charlotte kept her voice neutral. I’m surprised to see you here.
The Dowager Duchess invited me personally. She thought my perspective on your character might prove illuminating. His smile was cruel. After all, I knew you when you were just poor Thomas’s desperate wife, drowning in debt. Charlotte felt her face flush around them. People were starting to notice the confrontation.
My past is no secret,” she said quietly. “Isn’t it? Does his grace know about the creditors who visited your house daily? The furniture you sold piece by piece? The nights Thomas came home wreaking of jin and gambling losses?” Richard leaned closer. “Does he know you were relieved when Thomas died?” “That’s enough.
” Adrienne’s voice cut through the crowd like ice. He appeared at Charlotte’s side, his expression dangerous. You forget yourself, Ashford. I merely speak truth, your grace. Someone should, before you bind yourself to a woman of such dubious character. The only dubious character here is yours.
Adrienne’s hand found Charlotte’s, his grip protective. You’re no longer welcome at Thornbridge. Leave now. Richard’s expression went ugly. You’re making a mistake. She’s using you just like she used Thomas. Out. Adrienne’s voice carried across the ballroom, commanding absolute attention. Security will escort you to the gates.
If you ever speak Charlotte’s name again, I’ll ruin you. Financially, socially, completely. Do you understand? Richard’s face went white with rage. But he was no match for a duke’s authority. Within minutes, Footman had escorted him from the ballroom. The crowd buzzed with speculation.
Charlotte felt herself trembling both with relief and residual fear. Adrienne turned to her, his expression softening. “Are you all right?” “I need air,” Charlotte managed. He led her through the French doors onto the terrace, away from watching eyes. The night air was cool against Charlotte’s flushed skin. “I’m sorry,” Adrienne said.
“I should have refused my mother’s invitation to him.” It’s not your fault. Charlotte’s voice shook. But Adrienne, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said yesterday. Adrien. Lady Beatatrice appeared on the terrace, her expression concerned. Oh, Charlotte, I’m so sorry about that awful scene.
How humiliating for you. It was perfectly calculated sympathy. Just sincere enough to sound real. Just poisonous enough to reinforce the humiliation. I’m fine,” Charlotte said tightly. “Of course you are. Though perhaps you should rest. I’d be happy to keep Adrienne company while you recover. Charlotte staying,” Adrienne said flatly.
“We’re going back to the ball together.” Beatric’s mask slipped for just a second, revealing frustration. Then she smiled. “Of course, though I did want to mention, I saw Mr. Ashford earlier in the East Wing near Charlotte’s rooms. Actually, isn’t that odd? Charlotte’s blood turned to ice near her rooms. Of course, Richard wasn’t working alone.
Beatatrice had coordinated this. The plan wasn’t over just because Richard had been ejected from the ball. They’d already set the trap. “Adrien,” Charlotte said urgently, “I need to check my rooms. Now, his eyes sharpened. Why? Please, just trust me. They moved quickly through the corridors, leaving Beatatrice behind. Charlotte’s mind raced.
If Richard had planted something in her rooms, a love letter, evidence of an affair, anything that could be discovered at the right moment, it could still destroy her reputation. When they reached her suite, the door was a jar. Adrienne’s expression went deadly. He pushed the door open carefully. Inside, Charlotte’s sitting room had been ransacked.
drawers hung open, papers scattered across the floor, and on her desk a letter in unfamiliar handwriting dated months ago, signed, “Your devoted Thomas!” But Thomas had never written Charlotte letters. He’d barely managed coherent conversation by the end. Adrienne picked up the letter, reading quickly. His face went white, then red with rage.
“This is a forgery,” he said flatly. It’s supposed to be from your late husband, but it’s clearly fabricated. Look, the handwriting is wrong. The phrasing formal when Thomas was always casual. Someone planted this to make it look like you were keeping secret correspondence. Beatrice, Charlotte breathed. Or one of the others.
They’re trying to prove I’m unsuitable, secretive, a liar. Who else knows about this? No one yet. But if they’d succeeded in getting me alone up here, if you weren’t with me when this was discovered, people would assume I’d hidden it on purpose, that I had something shameful to conceal. Adrienne’s jaw was so tight Charlotte thought he might crack teeth.
They tried to trap you, to manufacture a scandal that would force me to break our engagement. Yes. Who? His voice was soft and absolutely terrifying. Who planned this? Charlotte hesitated. Then I overheard Beatatrice and Sarah yesterday. They were plotting with Richard to compromise me. This letter must be part of it.
If I’d come up here alone, they’d have discovered it and demanded to know why I was hiding letters from my dead husband. Adrien was silent for a long moment, the letter trembling in his grip. Then he walked to the fireplace and threw it into the flames. They watched it curl and blacken, the forged words disappearing into ash.
Tomorrow, Adrienne said quietly. All seven of those women leave Thornbridge. I don’t care if my mother objects. I don’t care if it creates a scandal. They attacked you in my own home. That’s unforgivable. Adrien, no. He turned to face her, his eyes blazing. I brought you here to protect you. Instead, I put you in danger.
From my mother, from Catherine, from these vipers pretending to be ladies. I’m done. Done with performances, done with games, done with letting people hurt you because I’m too concerned with propriety. Charlotte felt something shift inside her, a wall crumbling. What are you saying? I’m saying this engagement doesn’t end in 2 months. It doesn’t end at all.
Adrienne crossed to her, taking her hands in his. Marry me, Charlotte. Really? Marry me. Not for convenience or protection or practical reasons. Marry me because these past weeks have been the best of my life. Because you make me laugh and challenge me and see me as more than a title. Because I can’t imagine going back to the emptiness I lived in before you. Charlotte’s heart hammered.
This wasn’t the plan. This was real and terrifying and everything she wanted and feared. “You don’t love me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what love is anymore,” Adrienne admitted. Catherine taught me that passion fades, that romance is unreliable. But I know partnership. I know respect. I know that I’d rather spend my life with someone I trust than chase some fantasy of perfect love.
And I trust you, Charlotte, completely. It should have been romantic. It should have been everything she wanted. But Charlotte heard what he wasn’t saying. He’d settled for safety over passion. Chosen her because she was reliable, not because she made his heart race. That’s not enough, she said, pulling her hands free.
You deserve more than good enough. And so do I. Charlotte, you’re proposing because you’re angry. Because those women tried to hurt me, and you want to prove a point. But a real marriage needs more than protective anger. It needs needs what? Adrienne’s voice was raw. Tell me what I’m missing. What I’m doing wrong. You’re not doing anything wrong.
You’re just not in love with me. And I can’t marry someone who’s still in love with the ghost of Catherine Pembroke. Adrien flinched like she’d struck him. That’s not fair, isn’t it? You said yourself you can’t feel that way again. But that doesn’t mean you’ve let her go. It means you’re hiding from feeling anything real. Charlotte’s voice broke.
I already lived with a man who couldn’t love me properly. I won’t do it again, even if the cage is gilded. She left her ransacked rooms, left Adrien standing among scattered papers and ashes, left before she could change her mind and accept a proposal that would give her everything except what she actually needed.
Behind her, she heard Adrienne say her name. Once quietly, like a man who just realized what he’d lost, Charlotte kept walking. The morning after the ball, Charlotte woke to find Thornbridge in chaos. The seven ladies were packing, protesting loudly to anyone who would listen. The daager was locked in Adrienne’s study, her raised voice audible through the thick oak door, and Catherine Pembrook sat in the morning room, pale and silent.
Charlotte entered the room cautiously. She hadn’t expected to find Catherine alone. “Miss Hartley,” Catherine said quietly, “May I speak with you?” Charlotte considered refusing. Then curiosity won. Of course. Catherine gestured to the chair across from her. Up close, Charlotte noticed the lines around her eyes, the careful way she held herself like someone afraid of breaking.
I owe you an apology, Catherine said. And an explanation, though you’re entitled to neither. Charlotte waited. 5 years ago I was engaged to Adrien, Catherine continued. He was perfect, beautiful, honorable, kind, everything a woman should want. But I didn’t want perfect. I wanted passion. Thomas offered that reckless, consuming, dangerous passion.
So I chose him and destroyed Adrien in the process. Yes, Catherine didn’t flinch from the truth. I told myself he’d be fine, that he was too controlled to truly hurt. I was wrong. I broke something in him that day. Made him believe that love was a weapon, that vulnerability was weakness. Charlotte felt her throat tighten.
Why are you telling me this? Because last night I watched him defend you. Really defend you. Not out of duty, but out of genuine feeling. And I saw something I never saw when we were engaged. Adrienne letting someone matter. Catherine’s eyes were sad. He’s falling in love with you, Charlotte.
Maybe already has, but he’s so terrified of being hurt again that he’ll sabotage it rather than risk the vulnerability. He proposed last night, Charlotte admitted, out of anger and protectiveness, not love. Did he say he didn’t love you? He said he didn’t know what love was anymore, that he wanted partnership instead of passion. Catherine laughed, the sound bitter.
Of course he did, because admitting he loves you would mean admitting he’s capable of being hurt again. It’s easier to frame it as practical arrangement than face the truth. Which truth? That he’s terrified? Catherine said simply, terrified of trusting someone with his heart. Terrified of being abandoned again.
So he’ll push you away rather than risk the pain. Unless you fight for him. Charlotte shook her head. I can’t fight for someone who won’t meet me halfway. I already did that with Thomas. Tried to save someone who didn’t want to be saved. I won’t do it again. Adrien isn’t Thomas,” Catherine said firmly. “Thomas was weak, self-destructive, unable to face his problems.
Adrienne is strong but wounded. There’s a difference. One can’t be saved. The other just needs someone brave enough to wait out his fear.” That’s not fair. Why should I have to be the brave one? Because you already are, Catherine said. You walked into this house knowing you’d be attacked. You endured weeks of social warfare without breaking.
You turned down a proposal from a duke because you wanted real love instead of comfortable settlement. That takes courage Adrien doesn’t have yet. But he’s learning. You’re teaching him. Charlotte felt tears threaten. What if I wait and he never changes? What if I give him my heart and he breaks it because he’s too afraid to keep it safe? Then you’ll survive, Catherine said quietly.
Just like you survived Thomas’s death, just like you survived poverty and scandal and all the things that should have broken you. But Charlotte, what if you don’t wait? What if you walk away from the one man who actually sees you, respects you, would burn the world down to keep you safe? Can you survive that regret? The question hung in the air, unanswerable. The door burst open.
Adrienne stood there, his expression wild. Charlotte, I need. He stopped, seeing Catherine. What are you doing? Helping, Catherine said, standing. Something I should have done years ago. She moved toward the door, pausing beside Adrien. Don’t be an idiot, Adrien. You know what you feel. Stop hiding behind logic and admit it before she leaves.
She swept out, leaving Adrienne and Charlotte alone. “I talked to my mother,” Adrienne said abruptly. “Told her if she ever manipulates my life again, I’ll cut her off completely. The seven ladies are gone. Richard Ashford is banned from the county, and I’ve made it clear to every servant, every tenant, every person on this estate.
You are to be treated with absolute respect.” “Thank you,” Charlotte said quietly. But that doesn’t change what I said last night. I know. Adrienne crossed the room, stopping a few feet away. Charlotte, I handled everything wrong. The proposal, the timing, the reasons. I was angry and scared, and I said all the wrong things. You said what you felt.
Partnership over passion, safety over risk. No, I said what I thought I should feel, what made sense logically. He ran a hand through his hair, destroying its careful style. But here’s the truth I’ve been too afraid to admit. I don’t want safe. I don’t want logical. I want you. Charlotte’s breath caught. Adrien, let me finish. Please. His eyes were raw.
When Thomas and Catherine betrayed me, I decided emotion was the enemy. That if I just stayed controlled, rational, I’d never be hurt again. And it worked. I was perfectly protected and completely miserable. Then you showed up at that wedding looking lost and brave. And something in me recognized something in you.
What? Someone who’d been broken but refused to stay that way. Someone who’d lost everything and was still fighting. You terrified me from the start, Charlotte. Because you made me feel things I thought I’d buried. Anger on your behalf. Pride in your strength. And yes, his voice dropped. Desire. Not just physical, though God knows that’s there, too.
But desire to know everything about you, to see you smile, to be the person you turn to when the world gets too heavy. Charlotte felt tears spill over. Then why frame the proposal as partnership? Why not just say this? Because I’m a coward, Adrienne admitted. Because saying I’m falling in love with you means admitting you have the power to destroy me.
And I’ve been destroyed before. It nearly killed me. The thought of going through that again, especially with you, he stopped, his voice breaking. Charlotte, you could hurt me worse than Catherine ever did. Because this time it would be real. So you pushed me away first, Charlotte realized before I could leave. Yes. and it was stupid and self-destructive.
And I’m sorry, Adrienne took a step closer. I’m not asking you to marry me out of anger or convenience. I’m asking because I love you messily, terrifyingly, completely. And if you can’t feel the same, I understand. But don’t walk away thinking I don’t care enough. I care too much. That’s the problem.
Charlotte felt her walls crumbling. Every defense she’d built, every reason she’d had for keeping distance, none of it mattered in the face of Adrienne’s raw honesty. “I’m scared, too,” she whispered. Scared of trusting someone again. Scared of being the desperate widow who settled for security.
Scared that if I let myself love you, I’ll lose myself. Then we’ll be scared together.” Adrienne’s smile was tremulous. And if you need time to trust me, I’ll wait. A month, a year, however long it takes. The engagement can be real or fake or somewhere in between. Just don’t leave thinking you don’t matter to me. You’re not a convenient solution, Charlotte.
You’re everything. Charlotte crossed the space between them, reaching for his hands, his fingers closed around hers, warm and solid. I don’t need time, she said. I’ve known for weeks how I felt. I just didn’t think you could feel the same. What do you feel? Like I’ve been half alive since Thomas died. And you reminded me how to be whole.
Like every morning riding with you is the best part of my day. Like when you defend me I feel visible for the first time in years. She met his eyes like I might be falling in love with a duke who’s too stubborn to admit he needs someone. Adrienne’s laugh was choked. I’m completely transparent, aren’t I? completely.
Charlotte stood on her toes, bringing her face close to his. So stop being stubborn and kiss me. He did. It wasn’t gentle or tentative. It was desperate and claiming and absolutely right. Adrienne’s hands came up to frame her face, his mouth moving against hers like he was trying to memorize the shape of her.
Charlotte gripped his jacket, pulling him closer, pouring weeks of suppressed feeling into the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Adrienne rested his forehead against hers. “Marry me,” he whispered. “For real this time, because I love you, because I can’t imagine my life without you.
Because you’re brave and brilliant and you make me want to be better.” “Yes,” Charlotte said. But on one condition, anything, we do this slowly. We court properly, get to know each other without the performance. And if we still feel this way when summer ends, we marry. But Adrien, I won’t be the consolation prize. If we do this, it’s because you choose me, not because you’re afraid of being alone.
I do choose you, Adrienne said fiercely. over safety, over logic, over every practical reason to protect my heart. I choose you, Charlotte, every time.” She kissed him again, softer this time, a promise instead of a claim. Behind them, someone cleared their throat. They broke apart to find the daager standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.
“Mother,” Adrienne said wearily. “I came to apologize.” The words seemed to cost her. To Miss Hartley, Charlotte, I’ve been unfair, unkind. I wanted to protect you, Adrienne, and in doing so, I made you miserable. Both of you. Charlotte glanced at Adrienne, who looked as stunned as she felt. I spoke with Catherine this morning, the Dowager continued.
She made me see that my grief over your father, my fear of losing you, like I lost Thomas, I’ve let it poison everything. You’re not your brother, Adrien, and Charlotte isn’t, Catherine. I should have trusted your judgment instead of trying to force mine. Mother, Adrienne’s voice was rough. I appreciate I’m not finished. The dowager’s expression softened fractionally.
Charlotte, you’ve brought life back to this house, to my son. I’ve watched him laugh more in the past month than the past 2 years. That’s worth more than pedigree or accomplishments, or any of the things I thought mattered. So, if you’ll accept it, I’d like to welcome you properly to this family. Charlotte felt tears threatened again.
Thank you, your grace. That means more than you know. Call me Elellanena. The dowagger Elellanena smiled faintly. We’re to be family after all. Might as well start practicing. She left them alone. Charlotte looked up at Adrien, who appeared dazed. Did my mother just apologize and use emotional honesty? I think she did.
Catherine must have performed a miracle. Charlotte laughed, the sound giddy with relief. Or maybe she just reminded your mother what actually matters. Adrienne pulled her close again, tucking her against his chest. Charlotte felt his heartbeat, steady and strong. “I love you,” he said into her hair. “Just so we’re clear. I’m going to say it often so you never doubt it. I love you, too.
” Charlotte tilted her head back to look at him. Even though you’re stubborn and overprotective and you proposed in the worst possible way, I’ll propose again, Adrienne promised. Better with moonlight and roses and proper romance. I don’t need moonlight. I just need you. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, finally her mouth soft and reverent and full of promise.
Summer stretched before them, no longer a performance, but a beginning. And for the first time since Thomas’s death, Charlotte felt something she’d thought lost forever. Hope. 6 months later, Charlotte stood in the same garden where Adrienne had first whispered, “Pretend you’re my bride. Now, in the cris of early winter, she was about to become his bride in truth.
” The small chapel at Thornbridge was filled with people who mattered, estate tenants who’d accepted her with open arms, servants who’d become friends, Elellanor, who’d quietly become the mother Charlotte had lost, and Catherine, who’d given her blessing with genuine warmth before leaving to rebuild her own life elsewhere.
No performance, no pretense, just truth. Annie fussed with Charlotte’s veil, her eyes bright with tears. You look like a duchess, miss. A real one. I look like myself, Charlotte corrected gently. That’s enough. The chapel doors opened. Music swelled, not grand or showy, but achingly beautiful. Charlotte walked down the aisle alone, needing no one to give her away.
She’d given herself freely and completely. Adrienne waited at the altar, his eyes locked on hers. He looked different from the severe Duke who’d made a desperate proposal at a garden wedding. Softer, happier, whole. When she reached him, he took her hands, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You came,” he whispered.
“Did you doubt?” “Every second until now.” His smile was crooked. “I’m still afraid you’ll realize you deserve better. Too late. I signed the license. The ceremony was simple, their vows traditional. But when Adrienne said, “I do,” his voice cracked with emotion. And when Charlotte promised to love and cherish him, she meant every word.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The recctor smiled. “You may kiss your bride, your grace.” Adrienne cuped Charlotte’s face in his hands. “I love you,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. Thank you for choosing me. Always,” Charlotte promised. The kiss was witnessed by tears and applause by people who’d watched their journey from pretense to truth.
At the wedding breakfast, Elellanena stood to make a toast. To the new Duke and Duchess of Thornbridge, may they continue to remind us all that love, real love, is worth the risk. To risk, the guests echoed. Later, as they danced their first dance as husband and wife, Adrienne pulled Charlotte close. “Happy?” he asked. Deliriously, Charlotte leaned her head against his shoulder.
Though I keep waiting for someone to object to reveal this is all a dream. “If it is, I’m not waking up.” Adrienne’s hand tightened on her waist. “Charlotte, I need you to know something. That day at the wedding when I asked you to pretend. I thought I was looking for escape, but I was actually looking for you.
I just didn’t know it yet. We found each other, Charlotte said. That’s what matters. They swayed together, music and laughter surrounding them. Outside the windows, snow began to fall, the first of winter, promising a season of warmth and safety. Charlotte thought of herself 6 months ago sitting alone at her cousin’s wedding, invisible, overlooked, convinced she’d never be chosen, never be seen.
She’d been wrong. Because now in Adrienne’s arms, she was the most visible person in the room. Not because of his title or wealth, but because he looked at her like she mattered, like she was worthy, like she was loved. The young widow, who’d sat alone at a wedding, had found her way home, not through pretense or performance, but through the terrifying, exhilarating risk of letting someone see her, really see her, and choosing to stay anyway. She was never unfit.
She was never too damaged. She was never less than worthy. She was always enough. And in Adrienne’s eyes, Charlotte finally believed it. The end. Thank you for staying with us until the very end. If Charlotte and Adrienne’s journey made you feel seen, the way a lonely heart can become a home again, please leave a like, share this story with someone you care about, and tell us in the comments which moment stayed with you the most.
