Page 12 of A Baron’s Most Inconvenient Marriage (Delightful Lords and Ladies)

Chapter 12

“Everything must be perfect,” Lady Blackthorn announced, surveying her drawing room with the tactical eye of a general preparing for battle. “Lady Margaret’s performance will be the centerpiece of the evening, of course. I trust the pianoforte has been tuned?”

“Twice, my lady,” her housekeeper confirmed. “And I had the music sheets arranged just as you had requested.”

Lady Blackthorn nodded, adjusting a crystal vase filled with white roses until it caught the late afternoon light precisely. Each bloom had been selected for perfection, much like every other element of this evening’s entertainment.

The drawing room itself was a testament to ordered refinement—elegant furniture arranged to facilitate both music and conversation, each piece placed with the same careful consideration she applied to all aspects of her life.

She sighed. If only she were able to manage her son’s troublesome marital status to perfection as well.

“And the guest list?” she turned to her social secretary, a thin woman whose dedication to proper protocol matched her own.

“All confirmed, my lady. Including…” the secretary hesitated. “Including the Fairfax family.”

Lady Blackthorn’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on her fan. “All of them?”

“Yes, my lady. Miss Fairfax sent her acceptance this morning. Rather… enthusiastically, I might add.”

Of course she had. The girl approached everything with that same untamed energy that made Lady Blackthorn’s teeth clench. How Sebastian had managed to get himself tangled up in this mess, how on earth he could prefer such a wild rose to a carefully cultivated orchid, was beyond her understanding.

“Very well then.” The dowager baroness moved to adjust the music stand, ensuring it would display Margaret’s perfect posture to best advantage.

“We shall simply have to ensure the evening’s entertainment provides for proper perspective on the value of accomplished refinement.”

The secretary’s lips twitched. “Cook has prepared those delicate French pastries you requested, my lady. The ones that require… particular grace to eat without incident.”

Lady Blackthorn allowed herself a small smile. Let Charlotte Fairfax try to maintain her breezy charm while navigating petit fours designed to challenge even the most sophisticated ladies. “Excellent. And the seating arrangements?”

“As specified, my lady. Lady Margaret will be at the pianoforte, positioned to catch the best light. Miss Fairfax…” Another pause. “Rather further back, near the drafty window.”

“Perfect.” Lady Blackthorn surveyed her domain with satisfaction. Every detail had been arranged to highlight the contrast between Margaret’s graceful accomplishments, and Charlotte’s lack thereof.

Surely even Sebastian, with his inexplicable fondness for unconventional behavior, would now clearly see the obvious choice before him.

“Mother?” Diana’s voice from the doorway held a note of concern. “Are you certain this is… wise?”

Lady Blackthorn turned sharply to study her daughter, noting how Diana seemed to have gained a sliver of confidence lately. No doubt another effect of Charlotte’s disruptive influences. “The musical evening? My dear, it is perfectly proper entertainment.”

“You know that is not what I mean.” Diana stepped into the room, her usual timidity warring with something stronger. “Sebastian truly cares for Charlotte. Trying to force him toward Lady Margaret is—”

“I am trying,” Lady Blackthorn interrupted smoothly, “to save your brother from a grave mistake. Charlotte might be entertaining in small doses, but a Baroness? Dear me, the very thought makes my head ache.”

“She makes him happy,” Diana protested. “Surely that counts for something?”

“Happiness is a luxury we cannot always afford, Diana.” Lady Blackthorn softened her tone at her daughter’s flinch. “The estate needs stability, careful management, proper connections. Lady Margaret understands these things. Charlotte… well, she simply brings chaos wherever she goes.”

“Perhaps some chaos is necessary from time to time,” Diana’s voice grew stronger. “Like pruning roses to encourage new growth.”

Lady Blackthorn stared at her daughter, wondering when she had developed such metaphorical thinking.

Another one of Charlotte’s influences, no doubt. “Roses require careful cultivation to achieve their full potential. Without proper guidance, they grow wild and unmanageable.”

“But wild roses often prove hardier than cultivated ones,” Diana countered. “More able to weather storms and adapt to changing conditions.”

“Enough.” Lady Blackthorn turned her back to the preparations, disliking how this conversation had spiraled beyond her control. “The evening will proceed as planned. Your brother must be made to see reason, before it is truly too late.”

Diana’s sigh held a wealth of understanding that made Lady Blackthorn’s chest tighten. “He sees reason perfectly well, Mother. What you have failed to notice is that his definition of it has changed.”

As Diana withdrew, Lady Blackthorn found her carefully maintained composure slipping. When had her quiet daughter become so perceptive? And why did her words strike uncomfortably close to Victoria’s own carefully buried doubts?

She shook off such thoughts, focusing instead on adjusting the candelabras for optimal effect. Margaret’s performance would demonstrate everything a baron’s wife should be—graceful, accomplished, properly refined.

And if Charlotte chose to display her own, less… conventional talents in contrast, well, that would only serve Lady Blackthorn’s purpose.

The first guests would arrive soon. Lady Blackthorn straightened her spine, donning her social armor in preparation for the social battle that lay ahead.

She had designed this evening as carefully as any military campaign, each element positioned for maximum strategic effect.

But as she made her final preparations, her daughter’s words echoed uncomfortably in her mind. What if she had indeed miscalculated?

What if, in trying to protect Sebastian from what she saw as a mistake, she was actually pushing him toward it?

No. She couldn’t afford such doubts. Not when the future of Blackthorn Hall—and her children’s happiness—hung in the balance.

***

“Your technique is absolutely flawless, Lady Margaret,” Lady Blackthorn purred as the last notes of Mozart’s sonata faded into appreciative silence. “Such precision, such elegant control. One hardly dares breathe during your performances.”

Margaret inclined her head with perfect grace, her golden curls catching the carefully positioned candlelight. “You are too kind Lady Blackthorn. Though I fear the piece demands more emotion than I was able to convey.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Blackthorn guided Margaret from the pianoforte with the careful maneuvering of a chess master positioning their queen. “Such restraint is precisely what distinguishes true accomplishment from mere… enthusiasm.”

Her pointed glance toward Charlotte, seated near that troublesome drafty window, did not go unnoticed.

Charlotte sat with uncharacteristic stillness, her blue silk gown a shade too vibrant for Lady Blackthorn’s taste, her brown hair already threatening to escape its careful arrangement.

“Perhaps Miss Fairfax might favor us with a performance?” Lady Cavendish suggested, either missing or deliberately ignoring Lady Blackthorn’s carefully orchestrated program. “I hear she has quite a… unique approach to musical entertainment.”

Lady Blackthorn’s fingers tightened on her fan as Charlotte rose with suspicious readiness. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly follow Lady Margaret’s masterful Mozart. But I do know a delightful Scottish air that always livens up gatherings at Ravensmere.”

“Charlotte,” Frances Fairfax’s warning tone carried clearly across the drawing room.

But Charlotte had already taken her place at the instrument, her fingers dancing across the keys with more enthusiasm than precision. The melody that emerged was indeed Scottish—a rollicking tune that spoke more of country dances than refined drawing rooms.

To Lady Blackthorn’s increasing horror, Charlotte began to sing. Her voice, while not entirely unpleasant, lacked her cousin’s practiced perfection.

But it carried something else—a warmth and vitality that had feet tapping and heads nodding despite their owner’s best attempts at propriety.

“In glen or on mountain, ‘neath snow or in sun, the wild rose blooms freely for everyone’s fun. While garden flowers in frost’s bitter breath, the wild rose keeps dancing and laughing at death!”

Lady Blackthorn turned to gauge Sebastian’s reaction, finding her son watching Charlotte with an expression that made her blood run cold. His usual mask of proper detachment had slipped, revealing something dangerously close to admiration.

“I do not recall that particular version,” James Fairfax commented dryly as Charlotte launched into another verse. “Though I suspect some of those lyrics might be… improvised.”

Indeed, Charlotte’s song seemed to have acquired several verses about the virtues of natural growth over careful cultivation. Lady Blackthorn strongly suspected they hadn’t been part of the original composition whatsoever.

“Quite spirited,” Margaret murmured beside her, her tone genuine and kind. “Though perhaps not quite what you had planned for the evening, Lady Blackthorn?”

The baroness studied her preferred candidate’s face, noting the hint of amusement in those properly downcast eyes. “My dear, surely this will have everyone see why such… performances… only emphasize the importance of proper accomplishments?”

“I see many things, Lady Blackthorn,” Margaret’s voice held a gentle challenge that reminded Lady Blackthorn uncomfortably of her daughter’s earlier observations. “Including the way your son seems more engaged by honest enthusiasm than perfect execution.”

Before Lady Blackthorn could respond, Charlotte’s song reached its finale—a particularly rousing chorus that had even the most proper ladies swaying slightly in their seats. The applause that followed held genuine warmth, though Lady Blackthorn noted several matrons exchanging significant looks.

“Delightful!” Lady Cavendish declared. “Though perhaps we might now return to some more… traditional selections? Lady Margaret, I believe you mentioned having prepared a selection from Handel?”

Lady Blackthorn seized the opportunity to restore proper order, but her victory felt somehow hollow. Charlotte had retreated to her window seat, cheeks flushed with animation, looking altogether too pleased with herself.

Worse even than that, Sebastian had risen and was making his way toward her with clear intent.

“A moment, my lady?” Margaret’s quiet voice drew Victoria’s attention. “I feel I should be candid about something.”

“Of course, my dear.” Lady Blackthorn patted the seat beside her. “I imagine you must be rather embarrassed by such an exhibition.”

“Not at all, my lady.” Margaret’s smile held a wisdom beyond her years. “I simply wish to ensure you understand that while I am deeply honored by your… attention, I have no intention of becoming a pawn in whatever game it is you seem to be playing.”

Lady Blackthorn felt her carefully maintained composure crack slightly. “I assure you, I—”

“It is rather obvious for all to see that your son’s heart is already engaged,” Margaret continued gently. “And while I might make a more… conventional baroness, I suspect Blackthorn Hall might just be in need of Charlotte’s particular brand of chaos more than it needs my… accomplished restraint.”

Across the room, Sebastian had drawn Charlotte into conversation, their heads bend together in a way that made Lady Blackthorn’s chest tighten with frustrated concern.

Even she had to admit they made a most striking picture—Charlotte’s vivid energy somehow highlighting rather than overwhelming Sebastian’s more controlled bearing.

“You cannot possibly think such a match suitable?” Lady Blackthorn protested, though she could hear the uncertainty in her own voice.

“I think,” Margaret said softly, “that suitability comes in many forms, my lady. The only question is: will you recognize it before your interferences drive them toward precisely the outcome you fear?”

***

“Are you deliberately trying to make my mother despise you?” Sebastian asked as he led Charlotte onto the terrace, the evening air providing a welcome relief from the drawing room’s carefully maintained atmosphere, while still remaining within view of the other guests.

Her performance had left the carefully ordered musical evening in pleasant disarray, like a formal garden unexpectedly disrupted by glorious wildflowers.

“Not deliberately,” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with barely contained mischief. “Though I must admit, her expression during the verse about wild roses blooming in frost was rather… delicious.”

“Charlotte…”

“I couldn’t match Maggie’s Mozart,” she said, her tone shifting to something more vulnerable. “So, I thought perhaps I might offer something… different instead. Something genuine, even if it wasn’t entirely… proper.”

Sebastian studied her face in the soft light spilling from the drawing room windows. Her hair had indeed—as usual—escaped its pins, creating that all-too familiar halo that seemed to embody her untamed spirit.

Yet, there was something about her explanation that spoke to his own carefully buried desires—the longing to break free from rigid expectation, to find truth in unexpected places.

“Your performance was certainly genuine,” he said carefully. “Though, perhaps next time we might choose something less obviously aimed at my mother’s prejudices?”

Charlotte’s laugh caught the attention of several guests visible through the windows. “But Sebastian, how else am I to express my opinions, if not precisely so?”

“Through proper channels? Reasonable discourse? Carefully considered debate?”

“All of which your mother would dismiss with perfect politeness.” Charlotte turned to face him fully, her expression suddenly serious. “Tell me truly—would you prefer I behave more like Margaret? All accomplished restraint and perfect execution?”

The question carried a weight far beyond this evening’s entertainment. Sebastian found himself remembering the estate ledgers waiting in his study, the careful calculations that showed just how much Blackthorn Hall needed an infusion of both funds and connections.

Margaret would indeed make a more conventional choice—safe, proper, perfectly suited to society’s expectations.

But Sebastian could not deny the fact that Charlotte’s advice on estate matters had indeed most significantly improved the state of matters. Not to mention the breath of fresh air she had succeeded in bringing to his world.

“I would prefer,” he said slowly, “that you remain exactly who you are. Though, perhaps with slightly less determination to scandalize all of London’s society?”

“Only slightly less?” her smile had returned, though something fragile lingered in her blue eyes. “How very generous of you, my lord.”

“I am learning to appreciate the more… unconventional approaches.” Sebastian said as he moved closer, closer than propriety strictly allowed—drawn by some unseen force as inevitable as gravity. “Though, I must admit, your lyrics seemed rather… pointed.”

“Did they?” Charlotte’s innocence wouldn’t have convinced a child. “I was merely commenting on natural selection and adaptive traits. Very scientific if you think about it, really.”

“Of course,” Sebastian found himself fighting a smile. “Just as my mother was being purely scientific when she arranged those petit fours that require a certain degree of surgical precision to eat without disaster.”

“Ah, so that is why you slipped yours to Diana when you thought no one was looking?” Charlotte’s quick observation skills never failed to impress him. “I myself chose a different approach.”

“Yes, I had noticed. Though I am not entirely sure consuming them in one single bite was quite the elegant solution my mother had hoped to inspire.”

“But highly effective.” Charlotte’s eyes danced. “Rather like my musical selection—perhaps not elegant, but certainly memorable.”

From inside came the strains of Margaret’s next performance—perfect, precise, and utterly proper. Sebastian watched as Charlotte’s expression shifted, and he thought he saw something like doubt cross her features.

“She is remarkably accomplished,” she said softly. “Everything a baron’s wife should be…”

“Charlotte—”

“No, truly.” She smoothed her skirts, a gesture he was learning meant she felt uncertain. “Regardless of the… parameters of our arrangement, I am well aware that I am not… that is… the estate needs…”

“Do you not think the estate needs life?” Sebastian interrupted, surprising himself with his vehemence. “It needs innovation and adaptation, yes, and perhaps even a bit of chaos to shake it out of stagnation.”

Charlotte’s breath caught audibly. “Sebastian…”

“My father understood this,” he continued, the revelation striking him with sudden clarity. “It is why he encouraged new farming methods, why he was willing to try unconventional approaches to the mineral works. I have been so focused on maintaining perfect order that I had forgotten his most important lesson.”

“Which was?”

“That true strength comes from adapting to change, not resisting it.” Sebastian reached for her hand—propriety be dammed. “Just as true music comes from the heart, not just perfect technique.”

The moment stretched and pulsed between them, filled with possibilities neither of them was quite ready to put into words. Then, a sharp tap on the window made them jump apart—Lady Blackthorn stood framed in the doorway, her expression promising future battles.

“We should return inside,” Charlotte said, though her fingers lingered on his for a fraction of a moment longer. “Before your mother adds ‘improper behavior on terraces’ to her list of my shortcomings.”

“Let her.” The words were simple, but Sebastian’s voice held more challenge than he had intended. “I am beginning to think her list of your shortcomings reads remarkably like a catalog of your finest qualities.”

Charlotte’s answering smile lit something in his chest that felt dangerously close to revolution. But as they returned to the drawing room, a messenger was being admitted with obvious urgency.

“My lord,” the man bowed, holding out a sealed letter toward Sebastian. “From the mineral works. They say it cannot wait.”

Sebastian broke the seal, scanning the contents with growing concern. The news confirmed his worst fears about the estate’s financial situation—and highlighted the brutal reality that threatened to shatter his newly discovered appreciation for chaos over control.

The question he had to ask himself was: could he truly follow his heart when duty demanded a more prudent path?