Page 15 of A Baron’s Most Inconvenient Marriage (Delightful Lords and Ladies)
Chapter 15
“I thought I might find you here,” Diana's voice broke the library’s hushed atmosphere. She stood in the doorway, her slender figure silhouetted against the corridor's darkness.
“Mother mentioned she had directed you to the library with that particular tone she uses when she believes she has won a tactical advantage.”
Charlotte looked up from the volume she'd discovered—a magnificent, illustrated treatise on English painters from where she sat nestled in a window seat in Blackthorn Hall’s impressive library.
“Your mother does not like me visiting you, that much is clear. But does she consider literary pursuits a punishment, then?”
Diana stepped forward and entered the room, her movements possessing a deliberate grace Charlotte had noticed developing over their weeks of acquaintance—as if Diana were consciously crafting herself into a more assured version of the shy girl Charlotte had first met in London.
“She considers your isolation from Sebastian a strategic victory,” Diana replied, settling into a nearby armchair with surprising frankness. “Though I suspect she underestimates your capacity to find contentment independent of male attention.”
Charlotte closed the book with care, giving Diana her full consideration. “Your mother does not understand me,” she acknowledged. “But then again, she has made no attempt to.”
“Few people truly try to understand others,” Diana observed, absently tracing the chair’s embroidered pattern with one finger. “It requires effort and carries the risk of having one’s own assumptions challenged.”
The insight, delivered with such casual precision, reminded Charlotte why she had grown so fond of Sebastian’s sister. Beneath Diana’s conventional exterior lay a mind of remarkable clarity and independence.
“You sound so like your brother,” Charlotte mused, setting the volume aside. “He expressed almost identical sentiments regarding the tenant farmers’ petition earlier this week.”
Diana’s smile held a mixture of pride and wistfulness. “We were raised on the same philosophical diet, after all. Father believed in rigorous thinking for both his children, even if society—and my mother for that matter—would only value it in one of us.”
The statement contained no self-pity, only straightforward assessment, yet Charlotte felt its poignancy deeply. She was well aware of how fortunate she was with her own parenting.
How many brilliant female minds remained unexpressed because society provided no outlet for their development?
“Your thinking is evident in everything you do,” she told Diana with sudden earnestness. “In how you manage the household, in your conversations, in your understanding of people.”
Diana’s cheeks colored slightly at the direct praise. “Mother believes such qualities will make me a suitable wife. Father had hoped they would turn me into a different person.”
She rose, moving toward the window with unusual restlessness. “Sebastian is the only one who believes they might allow me to be both.”
Charlotte joined her at the window, where they could see Blackthorn Hall’s estate stretching toward distant hills.
Unlike the formal gardens, the broader landscape retained a wilder character, with ancient woodlands and meadows interrupted by the occasional tenant farm.
“And what do you believe, Diana?”
Diana considered the question with characteristic thoughtfulness. “I believe that life’s most interesting possibilities often exist in unexpected combinations,” she said finally, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. “Like you and Sebastian.”
Before Charlotte could formulate a response, a commotion outside the window drew their attention. Below, in the graveled courtyard, a rider was dismounting from a clearly hard-ridden horse.
Even from a distance, Charlotte recognized Sebastian's fluid grace as he handed the reins to a waiting groom, his expression set in lines of concentration she had come to associate with urgent estate matters.
“Something must have happened at the mine,” Diana said, her voice tight with sudden anxiety. “He wouldn't ride like that otherwise.”
Charlotte studied Sebastian's posture, noting the tension in his shoulders and the particular angle of his head that indicated focused problem-solving rather than genuine alarm. “Not a catastrophe,” she assessed with careful precision. “But certainly, a significant development.”
Diana turned to her with visible surprise. “How can you possibly determine that from here?”
“Observation,” Charlotte replied simply. “Your brother’s body language communicates quite clearly for those who know how to read the signs.”
A strange expression crossed Diana's face—assessment mingled with dawning realization. “You've studied him quite closely then.”
Heat rose in Charlotte's cheeks at the accuracy of this observation. “I study everything of interest,” she demurred, returning her attention to the window where Sebastian had disappeared into the house. “It's simply a passionate habit.”
"Quite passionate, I would say," Diana jested, her tone suggesting she found this characterization amusingly inadequate. “Of course.” She moved toward the door with sudden purpose. “I should discover what's happened. Will you come?”
Sebastian had barely made it back into the entrance hall when the two ladies approached.
“And you are certain of this?” he asked to the rider who had just arrived.
“Yes, my lord. There is trouble at the western mine. A cart had overturned, blocking the entrance. Some of the workers are demanding additional pay to clear it.”
“And the foreman?” Sebastian asked, already moving toward the stables where a fresh horse was being saddled.
“Trying to keep things in order, but it is a mess.”
“Sebastian?” Charlotte couldn’t help but cut in on their conversation after noticing his expression. “What’s happened?”
“A … minor issue at the mine.” He hesitated. “It is not—”
“Serious?” Charlotte arched a brow. “Then you wouldn’t be leaving in such a hurry.”
He exhaled, his frustration clearing battling with something else.
“Come then,” he finally said, after some time. “If you truly wish to see how the world outside of dinner parties work.”
Minutes later, Charlotte found herself gripping the pommel of a borrowed horse, galloping beside Sebastian toward the mines.
The air was thick with dust when they arrived, and voices were raised in dispute. Charlotte barely had time to process the scene before any of the workers spotted Sebastian and called out.
“Your lot expects us to dig through this with our bare hands, while the nobility sips their morning tea?”
Charlotte surprised herself by swinging down from her horse. “Or,” she countered, her voice pitched to carry, “we can move the lighter debris together while the stronger men shift the cart. Surely that would serve more purpose than arguing?”
Silence fell. Then, grumbling. A few workers stepped forward to volunteer. It was not an immediate resolution, but it was a start.
Sebastian watched Charlotte with something unreadable in his expression as she picked up a wooden beam and moved it aside without hesitation or regard for her dress.
“I should be utterly scandalized,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
The mine workers, initially resistant, observed Charlotte with a mixture of incredulity and reluctant respect as she continued to assist with the smaller debris.
Her riding habit—a practical garment by fashionable standards, but hardly designed for manual labor—was soon marred with dust and splinters, the expensive fabric collecting the honest soil of labor like a canvas taking on pigment.
Sebastian shed his coat without ceremony, handing it to a bewildered groom before setting his aristocratic hands to the task alongside his tenants.
“My lord,” one of the older men protested, his weathered face creased with confusion. “This ain’t proper work for gentry.”
“Proper work is whatever needs doing, Smith,” Sebastian replied, his voice carrying the quiet authority that seemed woven into the very fabric of his being. “I would not ask any man to undertake a task I considered beneath my own dignity.”
The statement, delivered without self-congratulation, had an immediate effect. The workers’ resistance melted like morning frost beneath spring sunlight, and within moments, a coordinated effort had commenced.
Charlotte found herself working alongside a miner’s wife, who had arrived with provisions for her husband, their hands—one refined by luxury, the other calloused by necessity—united in common purpose.
“You’re not what we expected from a London lady,” the woman remarked.
Charlotte smiled, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face with a dusty wrist. “I find expectations are rather like corsets—restrictive and frequently based on outdated patterns.”
The woman’s surprised laughter rang out across the worksite, drawing Sebastian’s attention.
He paused in his labor, sweat gleaming on his brow despite the cool air, and for a moment, Charlotte caught an expression on his face that she had never witnessed before—a complex amalgamation of admiration, confusion, and something deeper that sent an inexplicable warmth coursing through her veins like mulled wine on a winter’s evening.
“She speaks true, don’t she, m’lord!” The miner’s wife called to Sebastian, her social deference tempered by the camaraderie of shared labor. “Though I reckon few ladies would know the confines of a corset as well as the likes of mine.”
Sebastian’s response—a startled laugh that transformed his usually composed features into something altogether more approachable—surprised even himself.
The atmosphere shifted perceptibly after that, as if some invisible barrier between classes had temporarily dissolved in the dusty air.
The workers moved with renewed purpose, and within the hour, the cart had been righted and the passage cleared.
The foreman approached Sebastian with the cautious deference of a man navigating the delicate territory between social hierarchy and professional authority.
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but there is still the matter of compensation,” he began, his cap twisted between calloused fingers. “The men feel that extraordinary circumstances warrant extraordinary compensation.”
A tense silence fell over the assembled workers. Sebastian straightened, his expression resuming its customary inscrutable quality as he assessed the situation with the measured deliberation that characterized his approach to governance.
Charlotte observed him closely, noting the subtle indications of internal calculation—the slight narrowing of his grey eyes, the almost imperceptible tightening at the corner of his mouth.
“What would you suggest, Miss Fairfax?” Sebastian asked suddenly, turning toward Charlotte with an unexpected directness that momentarily robbed her of her speech.
The workers’ collective gaze shifted to her, their expressions ranging from skepticism to curiosity. Charlotte felt the weight of expectation settle upon her shoulders like a heavy cloak, yet strangely, she found herself unintimidated by the responsibility.
Her childhood explorations of Ravensmere’s estate had acquainted her with the practical realities of land management in ways her father’s formal education had not.
“I would propose,” she began, choosing her words with careful precision, “that the day’s wages be adjusted to reflect the additional difficulty of the task at hand, but that the adjustment be made equally among all workers present, rather than merely those who voiced their dissatisfaction loudest.”
She paused, gauging the reaction to her suggestion. The foreman’s expression had shifted from wariness to thoughtful consideration—a promising sign.
“Furthermore,” she continued with growing confidence, “I would suggest the implementation of a standing protocol for similar incidents in future, with transparent guidelines for appropriate compensation, thus preventing the necessity for… improvised negotiations.”
Sebastian’s eyebrow rose fractionally—the aristocratic equivalent of open astonishment. The foreman glanced between them, a slow smile spreading across his weathered features.
“That seems fair enough to my mind, miss.” He acknowledged, turning to Sebastian for confirmation. “Establishes a precedent without rewarding the troublemakers special-like.”
Sebastian nodded; the decision made with characteristic decisiveness. “Implement Miss Fairfax’s suggestion immediately. I want the adjusted wages calculated before the day’s end.”
He swept his gaze across the assembled workers. “And let it be understood that while I value each man’s labor, I expect grievances to be brought through proper channels in the future.”
With the matter resolved, the workers dispersed with murmurs of approval. Sebastian retrieved his coat, shaking off the worst of the dust before turning to Charlotte with an expression suspended between amusement and bewilderment.
“You continue to confound my expectations, Charlotte,” he said, his voice carefully pitched for her ears alone, “I had not anticipated discovering a natural diplomat beneath your… spirited exterior.”
Their gazes locked in a moment of wordless communication—his aristocratic reserve meeting her forthright assessment with neither yielding, nor seeking to dominate.
It was a suspension of social convention that felt, to Charlotte, oddly like the most natural exchange they had yet shared.
The ride back to Blackthorn Hall proceeded at a more measured pace than their urgent departure, allowing Charlotte to appreciate the rugged beauty of the estate’s western reaches—a landscape far less manicured than the formal gardens but possessing a wild grandeur she found infinitely more compelling.
Sebastian rode beside her, his posture relaxed in a manner she had rarely observed in London’s rigid social environments.
“You handled that situation with remarkable aplomb,” he commented as they crested a hill that provided a sweeping view of the valley below. “Few ladies of my acquaintance would have retained their composure in such circumstances, let alone offered practical solutions.”
Charlotte considered her response carefully, abruptly aware that they had reached a juncture where pretense seemed not merely unnecessary, but somehow dishonest.
“You know I was raised with unusual freedom, and that afforded me to explore my father’s estate,” she admitted. “My education, while perhaps—as your mother put it—unconventional for a young lady, provided me with an understanding of the world beyond ballrooms and drawing rooms.”
Sebastian’s expression betrayed genuine emotion. “Yes, it surely did. But it is more than that, Charlotte.”
“Oh? And what, pray tell, does the great Lord Blackthorn see in me, other than a wild and unconventional spirit?”
“Genuine empathy,” he said gently. “You managed to not only appeal to the worker’s logical side, but you also managed to diffuse the entire situation and avoid argument by being you. By being honest, empathetic and tender.”
A moment of silence fell between them, and Charlotte’s cheeks flared with a furious heat that had absolutely nothing to do from the day’s exertions.
“Forgive me,” Sebastian said quietly. “Perhaps I should not have spoken so honestly. I—”
“Thank you, Sebastian.” Charlotte managed to squeeze the words past the lump that had formed in her throat.
Sebastian nodded quietly and they lapsed into contemplative silence as they approached the hall, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the ancient stone facade.
Lady Blackthorn awaited them on the terrace, her rigid posture communicating disapproval more eloquently than words ever could. Diana stood slightly behind her mother, her expression trapped between concern and barely suppressed curiosity.
“Sebastian,” Lady Blackthorn greeted her sone with frigid formality that did not extend to Charlotte. “I trust the situation at the mine has been resolved satisfactorily.”
Sebastian dismounted with fluid grace, moving to assist Charlotte before any groom could approach.
His hands at her waist were steady and impersonal, yet Charlotte found herself acutely aware of the brief contact—a momentary connection that seemed to resonate beyond its brevity, like a piano string struck and left to vibrate.
“More than satisfactorily, Mother.” Sebastian replied, his tone revealing nothing of the charged atmosphere Charlotte sensed brewing beneath the polite exchange.
“Miss Fairfax’s intervention proved invaluable in resolving both the physical obstruction, and the labor dispute that followed.”
Lady Blackthorn’s expression tightened infinitesimally, her aristocratic features arranging themselves into a mask of neutral acknowledgement that nevertheless conveyed volumes of disapproval.
“How… resourceful. Though I imagine Miss Fairfax’s apparel has suffered considerably from such unusual exertions.”
Charlotte glanced down at her dust-covered blotches, suddenly conscious of the stark contrast between her and the two other ladies standing before her. Before she could respond, Sebastian shifted his posture and squared his shoulders.
“On the contrary, Mother. Miss Fairfax demonstrated exceptional judgment and practical understanding—qualities we might all benefit from observing more closely.”
The compliment sent a peculiar warmth spreading through Charlotte’s chest. Lady Blackthorn’s lips pressed into a thin line, the only visible manifestation of her evident displeasure.
“Since Charlotte is so helpful,” Diana ventured, clearly emboldened by her brother’s stance, “perhaps she might extend her visit to Blackthorn Hall? She has barely seen any of the estate beyond the formal gardens, and her insight might prove valuable regarding the water management project you mentioned at breakfast, brother?”
The suggestion hung in the air between them, as delicate and as volatile as fine gunpowder. Lady Blackthorn’s expression hardened into marble-like immobility, her disapproval radiating from her perfectly composed form.
“I hardly think that necessary,” she replied, each word precisely measured. “Miss Fairfax must surely be eager to return to Ravensmere after such an… unusual day.”
Charlotte remained silent, unwilling to insert herself into what was clearly a family negotiation.
“I find Diana’s suggestion has considerable merit.” He stated finally, his tone carrying the unmistakable weight of decision rather than deliberation.
Lady Blackthorn’s spine stiffened further, an impressive feat considering her already perfect posture. “Sebastian, I hardly think it appropriate—”
“As Baron Blackthorn,” Sebastian interrupted with gentle, but immovable authority, “I extend a formal request to Miss Fairfax to remain at Blackthorn Hall as our honored guest at my sister’s invitation, and at my pleasure.”
The invocation of his title—a rare occurrence in family settings—transformed the exchange from domestic disagreement to official declaration.
Lady Blackthorn’s lips parted slightly, then closed without utterance as she recognized the futility of further protest. Diana’s expression brightened like a landscape emerging from shadow into sudden light.
Charlotte found herself caught in the crosscurrents of Whitmore family politics—a foreign territory. Sebastian turned to her, his grey eyes meeting hers with unexpected directness.
“That is,” he amended, a hint of uncertainty tempering his voice for perhaps the first time that Charlotte could recall. “If you would find such an arrangement agreeable, Miss Fairfax.”
In that moment, suspended between refusal and acceptance, Charlotte recognized that her response would signify far more than a simple extension of visit.
It would represent a deliberate step into uncharted territory—not merely the physical domain of Blackthorn Hall, but the more complex landscape of whatever was developing between herself and its enigmatic master.