Page 11 of A Baron’s Most Inconvenient Marriage (Delightful Lords and Ladies)
Chapter 11
“Are you certain this is wise?” Diana whispered as their carriage approached the Fairfax residence. “Mother made it perfectly clear during our afternoon tea with Miss Fairfax that she does not approve of this… mingling with mayhem.”
Sebastian glanced at his sister, noting how her fingers twisted nervously in her lap. Diana had grown painfully shy since their father’s death, her natural quietness deepening into something that sometimes bordered on withdrawal.
Her dark hair and grey eyes, so like his own, seemed to emphasize her pallor this morning.
“Do not be concerned with what mother said.” He said softly. “Besides, Charlotte has a most uncanny gift for making people feel at ease,” he assured her, though privately he shared some of her concerns. To the eyes of the world, they were courting. And there was always the possibility that Charlotte’s vibrant nature might indeed prove too much for Diana’s retiring personality. “And she is quite eager to meet you properly.”
“But what if I don’t know what to say?” Diana’s voice held that tremulous note that had become all too familiar lately. “What if I don’t seem clever or accomplished enough?”
“You don’t need to be either of those things,” Sebastian reached across to squeeze her hand. “Just be yourself, sister.”
The carriage drew to a halt before the Fairfax’s town house, where spring roses climbed the elegant facade in carefully controlled abundance—much like the family itself, Sebastian mused.
Proper on the surface, but with untamed elements breaking through at unexpected moments.
William met them at the door, his usual diplomatic smile warming at the sight of Diana. Miss Whitmore, how lovely to see you. Charlotte’s been practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation of your arrival.”
“Has she?” Diana asked softly.
“Indeed.” William guided them toward the morning room. “Though, I should warn you, she is in one of her literary enthusiasms this morning. Something about a new novel that is apparently revolutionizing the entire form of romantic fiction.”
Sebastian felt Diana’s step falter. “The Mysterious Recluse?” she asked, her voice strengthening slightly, “by Mrs. Radcliffe?”
William’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve read it?”
A pink flush colored Diana’s cheeks. “It is… quite engaging actually. The way she builds suspense through architectural descriptions is really quite clever.”
Sebastian stared at his sister in surprise. Diana’s reading habits weren’t something he had paid much attention to lately, being too caught up in estate matters and his own complicated courtship.
They entered the morning room to find Charlotte curled in the window seat, a book open on her lap and sunlight catching the rich browns and golds in her hair.
She looked up at their entrance, her face lighting with that particular smile that never failed to make Sebastian’s heart rate speed up.
“Miss Whitmore!” Charlotte rose with unusual grace, her enthusiasm somehow contained within proper bounds for a change. “I am so pleased you’ve come. I have been dying to discuss Mrs. Radcliffe with someone who might actually appreciate her genius. My brothers are utterly useless when it comes to Gothic literature, I’m afraid.”
“I resent that implication,” James called from his position by the fireplace. “I simply prefer my architecture to be less obviously inhabited by specters.”
Diana’s laugh, soft but genuine, caught Sebastian by surprise. “But that is exactly what makes it so effective,” she said, her voice gaining confidence. “The way the buildings become characters in themselves, reflecting the psychological state of the protagonists…”
“Yes!” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled. “And the use of light and shadow to create atmosphere—it is really rather like painting with words, is it not?”
Sebastian watched in amazement as his shy sister was drawn into animated discussion. Charlotte had somehow managed to encourage her without being overwhelming.
They settled on the settee together, Diana’s usual rigid posture relaxing as they debated the finer points of literary technique.
“Rather puts us to shame, doesn’t it?” William murmured, joining Sebastian by the window. “All our years of friendship, and we never noticed they shared such similar literary tastes.”
“I am not sure I knew Diana had such decided opinions about anything since…” Sebastian trailed off, then admitted quietly, “not since Father.”
“Charlotte has a way of drawing people out,” William observed. “Though I notice she is being unusually careful with Diana—normally she would be acting out her favorite scenes.”
Sebastian turned to watch the two women, and his heart clenched. Indeed, Charlotte seemed to have modulated her natural exuberance, matching her energy to Diana’s quieter nature while still maintaining the enthusiasm that made her so engaging.
It was like watching a master musician adjust their performance to complement a less experienced player, creating harmony where discord might have been expected.
“She certainly is full of surprises,” Sebastian said softly, that same warmness curling up in his chest as he watched Charlotte lean in to share a confidence with Diana, drawing a delighted smile from his sister.
“Speaking of surprises,” William’s voice held careful neutrality. “I notice you haven’t tried to redirect their literary enthusiasm toward more appropriate topics. The Bash I know would have had them discussing improving literature by now.”
Sebastian felt his lips curve. “Perhaps I am learning to appreciate different forms of improvement.”
“Or perhaps,” William suggested, “a certain someone is teaching you to loosen your grip on what is proper versus what is genuine?”
Before Sebastian could respond, Charlotte’s voice rose in delighted discovery. “You brought the book! Oh, we must read the scene in the north tower together—Diana, your dramatic interpretation of Gothic prose is absolutely perfect.”
Sebastian started to object—surely such theatrical displays weren’t quite proper—but the sight of Diana’s face, animated with real joy for the first time in months, stopped the words in his throat.
Perhaps, he thought as the girls bent their heads together over the novel, some improprieties were worth embracing for the treasures they revealed.
The morning room had transformed into something Sebastian hardly recognized—not just in atmosphere, but in the way its occupants seemed to have rearranged themselves, like pieces in a complex dance. Diana, usually so reserved, sat forward on the settee, her hands moving expressively as she described a particularly dramatic scene from their shared novel.
Charlotte listened with genuine attention, her own natural exuberance somehow enhancing rather than overwhelming his sister’s growing animation.
“But surely,” James interjected from his post by the fireplace, “the heroine could have saved herself considerable trouble by simply examining the mysterious sounds in broad daylight?”
“That would rather defeat the purpose of Gothic suspense,” Diana replied, surprising Sebastian with her ready wit. “The entire point is the interplay between rational explanation and supernatural possibility.”
“Rather like life itself,” Charlotte mused, her eyes meeting Sebastian’s for a moment that made his pulse stumble. “The tension between what can be logically explained and what must simply be… experienced.”
“Now you sound like William with his philosophy,” Colin said as he swept into the room, joining their growing circle. “Though, I must say, Miss Whitmore, your interpretation of the midnight vigil scene was remarkably compelling. One almost forgets you’re supposed to be the quiet one of the family.”
Diana flushed, but her smile remained steady. “Perhaps I am not so quiet when discussing things that matter to me.”
“Or perhaps,” Sebastian found himself saying, “you simply needed the right audience to draw you out.”
The look Charlotte gave him then—one warm with understanding and something deeper—made him temporarily forget they weren’t alone.
She had drawn their siblings into a comfortable circle, each person’s natural characteristics somehow enhanced rather than subdued by the others’ presence.
“I don’t suppose,” Diana ventured, her voice gaining more confidence, “we might continue our literary discussions during future visits? Charlotte mentioned something about a new volume of poetry that seems to be causing quite the stir…”
“Byron,” Charlotte confirmed, her eyes sparkling. “Though I have to admit I am not entirely sure your brother would approve of such… modern verses. He does tend toward more classical tastes.”
“I am capable of appreciating innovation,” Sebastian protested, though he couldn’t quite suppress a smile at her teasing. “When it has genuine merit.”
“Ah, but who decides what constitutes merit, then?” Charlotte’s question held that intellectual challenge he was finding increasingly addictive. “Society with its rigid standards? Or the individual heart responding to truth in whatever form it appears?”
James groaned theatrically. “And now we have shifted from Gothic romance to philosophical debate. Father would be proud. I do not suppose anyone would care to discuss something more straightforward? The weather, perhaps?”
“You are just bitter because Charlotte consistently bests you in arguments,” Colin observed cheerfully. “Though, I must say, Bash seems to be holding his own against you, dear sister, rather better than expected.”
“Charlotte makes one want to examine one’s assumptions,” Sebastian said quietly, watching as she bent to share some confidence with Diana that made both girls dissolve into gentle laughter. “To question whether the rules we’ve always followed serve any genuine purpose.”
William’s eyebrows rose at this unprecedented admission. “High praise indeed from a man who once cataloged his entire library by subject, author and binding color.”
“The catalog system is perfectly logical,” Sebastian defended, though he felt his lips twitch. “Though I suppose some volumes defy easy classification.”
“Like some people?” William’s voice held careful neutrality as they watched Charlotte demonstrate what was apparently a particularly dramatic moment from the novel, her movements somehow managing to be both graceful and utterly improper.
“Indeed.” Sebastian found his gaze caught by the way the morning light played across the youngest Fairfax’s animated features, the way her hands painted pictures in the air as she spoke, the way her entire being seemed to emanate a kind of joyous energy that drew others into its orbit. “Though, perhaps, that is their greatest value.”
Diana’s laugh was clear and unrestrained in a way he hadn’t heard since their father had passed away from an apoplexy during a business dispute. Sebastian clenched his jaw slightly at the thought of his father.
The Baron had been under immense pressure due to estate debts, and in the middle of a heated discussion with a business partner, he had collapsed.
Sebastian had been thrust into duty since, and it all felt him feeling responsible. Responsible for the estate, his mother and sister, and for untangling the mess his father’s death left behind.
He looked over at Diana, who was sitting straighter now, her usual shadow of melancholy lifted by the warmth of genuine companionship.
“We should organize a reading circle,” Charlotte was saying, her mind already racing ahead to new possibilities. “Nothing formal, of course—just those of us who enjoy discussing literature without pretense. We could meet weekly, take turns choosing works to examine…”
“In proper company, with appropriate chaperonage,” Sebastian added, though he could feel his resistance weakening under the combined hopeful gazes of the two women.
“Of course,” Charlotte agreed too readily, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Though I cannot promise our literary selections will always align with society’s expectations of proper reading material.”
“When do your selections ever align?” Sebastian asked dryly but found himself warming to the idea despite his initial reservation. The thought of regular gatherings like this, watching Charlotte draw his sister further out of her shell while challenging his own careful notions of propriety…
“Do not tell me you are actually considering this, Bash?” William observed with poorly concealed amazement. “I never thought I would see the day when Sebastian Whitmore would endorse potentially improper discussions.”
“People can surprise you,” Sebastian replied softly, watching as Charlotte sketched something in Diana’s notebook, their heads bent together like conspirators sharing secrets. “Particularly when someone shows them possibilities they hadn’t considered.”
“And are you finding many such possibilities lately?”
Sebastian met his friend’s knowing look with a slight smile. “More than I ever expected.”
The afternoon light had begun to soften, painting the room in gentle amber tones that reminded Sebastian of the way Charlotte’s eyes had caught fire when she was particularly passionate about a subject.
She sat now between Diana and Colin, her hands moving expressively as she outlined her vision for their literary circle, each gesture somehow perfectly composed and at the same time, utterly free.
“We could meet in the conservatory,” she was saying, her enthusiasm infectious. “The light there is perfect for reading, and there is something about being surrounded by growing things that enhances the appreciation of art.”
“Mother will certainly have… opinions about it,” Diana ventured, though her usual timidity had been replaced by something closer to playful concern.
“Mothers often do,” Charlotte replied with a conspiratorial smile. “Though I have found them to be generally more concerned with appearances than content. As long as the books look properly improving from the outside…”
“Charlotte…” Sebastian interrupted, though he couldn’t quite suppress his own smile. “Are you suggesting we deceive our mothers about our literary pursuits?”
“Not deceive exactly,” she turned that brilliant gaze on him, making his breath catch. “Simply… present the truth in its most acceptable form. Rather like serving medicine with honey—the beneficial effects remain the same, but the experience becomes more… palatable.”
James snorted from his position by the window. “Trust Charlotte to find a way to make subterfuge sound like a philosophical principle.”
“It is not subterfuge,” Charlotte protested, her chin lifting in that way that always warned of imminent verbal sparring.
“It is merely a diplomatic management of social expectations. Sebastian understands—don’t you? After all, isn’t it that exactly what you do with more traditional business associates when introducing innovative estate management techniques?”
Sebastian found himself caught off guard by her perception. “That is hardly the same—”
“Is it not?” her eyes held that dangerous sparkle that meant she was about to thoroughly dismantle his argument.
“You present new ideas in familiar frameworks, allowing people to adjust gradually rather than shocking them with sudden change. How is that different from introducing more progressive literature through the lens of acceptable social gatherings.”
“She has you there, old friend,” William observed dryly. “Though I must say, watching Charlotte apply logic to the art of gentle rebellion is rather like watching a master fencer use proper form to achieve thoroughly improper victories.”
Sebastian studied Charlotte’s face, noting the flush of intellectual excitement in her cheeks, the way her quick mind seemed to illuminate her entire being. When had he started finding such challenges exhilarating rather than unsettling?
“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “there is merit in examining how we present new ideas to society. Though I maintain that some frameworks exist for good reason.”
“Of course they do,” Charlotte agreed readily—too readily. “Just as garden walls exist for good reason. But even the most carefully maintained gardens can benefit from allowing in certain vines to grow freely, can they not? The structure remains, but it is enhanced rather than overwhelmed by natural growth.
Diana leaned forward, her usual reserve forgotten in the heat of discussion. “Like the ivy on the north wall at Blackthorn Hall! Father always said it actually strengthened the stones by growing between them, creating a kind of living mortar.
The casual mention of their father—something Diana usually avoided—made Sebastian’s chest tighten. He watched as Charlotte reached for his sister’s hand, the gesture natural and comforting.
“Exactly like that,” Charlotte said softly. “The perfect balance between structure and freedom, each supporting the other in ways that might not be immediately obvious to observers.”
Sebastian found himself remembering his father’s study, how the carefully ordered books had indeed been softened by climbing plants visible through the windows, creating an atmosphere that managed to be both scholarly and alive.
Had his father understood something about balance that Sebastian was only now beginning to grasp?
“I suppose,” he said slowly, “that one must be careful not to mistake rigid control for genuine strength.”
The look Charlotte gave him then—surprised, delighted, and something deeper that made his pulse stutter violently—nearly undid his carefully maintained composure.
“Sebastian,” Diana said suddenly, her voice holding an unusual note of decision, “I believe I left my notebook in the carriage. Would you escort me to retrieve it?”
Years of brotherly intuition told him it was no casual request. “Of course.”
In the entrance hall, safely out of earshot, Diana turned to him with unexpected intensity. “You are in love with her, aren’t you?”
Sebastian felt his carefully ordered world tilt slightly on its axis. “Diana—”
“Do not pretend it is just an arrangement anymore, brother dear.” His sister pressed. “I have never seen you like this—questioning your own rules, finding humor in challenges to your authority, actually considering unconventional ideas instead of dismissing them outright.”
“Charlotte has a way of making one reconsider fixed positions.” He admitted carefully.
“She makes you come alive, Sebastian.” Diana said softly. “Like she did for me today. It is as if she sees who we really are beneath all our careful masks and gives us permission to emerge.”
Sebastian stared at his sister, wondering when she had become so perceptive. Or had she always been, and he had been too caught up in maintaining order to notice?
“The real question is,” Diana continued with uncharacteristic boldness, “what on earth are you going to do about it? Because if you think Mother’s next dinner party plans are simply going to fade away…”
Sebastian felt his jaw tighten. “What do you know of Mother’s plans?”
Diana’s face held an expression he hadn’t seen since their father had died—a mixture of concern and determination that made her look suddenly older.
“Only that she is not going to stop trying to separate you from Charlotte. And from what I have observed today… that would be a rather great tragedy for all of us, Sebastian.”