Page 18 of A Baron’s Most Inconvenient Marriage (Delightful Lords and Ladies)
Chapter 18
“Who in heaven’s name is arriving at this hour?” Frances Fairfax’s hushed inquiry drifted toward Sebastian’s ears as he stepped into the entrance hall, the hush of the drawing room carrying just enough for him to hear the general murmurs of a dinner party.
A flicker of amusement stirred beneath his weariness. He supposed he did make an unorthodox caller, though he had no patience for the usual pleasantries tonight.
Beyond the threshold, he caught sight of Stephen Fairfax excusing himself from a conversation near the fireplace.
The man’s movements were unhurried, his expression composed—an instinct, no doubt, honed through years of managing both estates and unexpected arrivals.
Sebastian forced himself to stand straighter, though his traveling coat still carried the chill of the evening air. He had not planned this visit.
That much, he imagined, was evident in the taut set of his shoulders, in the unspoken question that lingered behind his own carefully arranged features.
Mr. Fairfax reached the entrance, his gaze flicking over Sebastian with a cool, assessing weight before he spoke. “Lord Blackthorn,” his brows lifted just a fraction, enough to signal surprise without offering it freely. “We had not expected your company this evening.”
“Mr. Fairfax,” Sebastian replied, his voice pitched low enough to avoid carrying to the curious ears in the adjacent room.
“I must apologize for the intrusion. I would not presume upon your hospitality under normal circumstances, but I find myself compelled to speak with you on a matter of considerable urgency.”
Mr. Fairfax studied the younger man’s face for a moment, and then, with a slight nod, he gestured toward a door to the right of the entrance hall.
Stephen Fairfax closed the door behind them with a soft click. He did not immediately invite Sebastian to sit, nor did he take a seat himself—a subtle indication that he expected the conversation to be brief.
“I must confess, Lord Blackthorn, that your appearance at my home this evening, uninvited and unannounced, strikes me as rather extraordinary,” he began, his tone civil but carrying an undercurrent of steel. “I presume it concerns my daughter.”
Sebastian inclined his head slightly. “Indeed, sir. I have become aware of certain... misunderstandings that have arisen regarding my intentions toward Miss Fairfax. I felt it imperative to address them directly before they fester into something more damaging.”
Stephen’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes—the same striking blue that Charlotte had inherited—narrowed almost imperceptibly.
"Misunderstandings? A curious choice of words. My son William has informed me of your continued interest in Charlotte, despite your mother’s apparent preference for Lady Margaret.”
“My mother’s preferences are her own,” Sebastian replied, his voice level. “They do not dictate my actions… or my affections.”
Stephen gestured toward a leather armchair, finally inviting Sebastian to be seated before taking his own place behind the massive oak desk that had served three generations of Fairfax patriarchs.
The change in posture shifted the dynamic subtly—no longer two men standing on equal footing, but rather a petitioner facing an authority figure.
“I appreciate your directness, Lord Blackthorn,” William said. “However, I find myself concerned by certain aspects of your courtship with Charlotte. My daughter possesses a generous heart and a trusting nature—qualities that render her particularly vulnerable to disappointment.”
Sebastian leaned forward slightly. “I assure you that my regard for her is both sincere and deep. While my mother may harbor reservations, I have made my position perfectly clear to her.”
“Yet I understand from my son James that Lady Blackthorn continues to promote an alternative match quite actively. One might question the efficacy of your position if it fails to check such behavior.”
Sebastian’s fingers tightened fractionally on the arm of his chair. “I have addressed the matter with my mother repeatedly. She is… resolute in her opinions.”
“My wife, Frances, harbors her own concerns about this courtship, though for rather different reasons.”
Sebastian decided then to abandon the carefully constructed arguments he had rehearsed during his journey to Ravensmere.
“I came here tonight to assure you that whatever complications have arisen, my intention to court Charlotte honorably remains unchanged. Indeed,” he added, the words emerging with an intensity that surprised even him, “I have come to believe that she would make an exemplary Baroness Blackthorn.”
“That is a significant statement, Lord Blackthorn, particularly given the rather unorthodox beginning of your association with my daughter.”
Sebastian felt a chill settle in his stomach at these words.
“Come now,” Stephen Fairfax continued, his gaze sharpening. “Let us not dissemble. I am aware that your courtship of Charlotte began as something of a... charitable arrangement. A favor to her brothers, designed to salvage her reputation after an unfortunate incident at the first ball of the season.”
“I have only allowed this… charade to continue out of respect for my daughter’s feelings for you, and with the hope that it could possibly turn into what her heart has desired since she was but a child.”
The blood drained from Sebastian’s face. Of all the potential complications he had anticipated in this conversation, the revelation of the courtship’s initial pretense had not numbered among them.
The irony did not escape him—he who prided himself on foresight and preparation, blindsided by the very truth he had hoped would remain discreetly buried.
“Sir,” he began, his voice hoarsened by dismay, “while it is true that the courtship began under unusual circumstances, I assure you that my feelings for Charlotte have evolved into something genuine and profound.”
Stephen’s expression hardened, transforming from concerned father to formidable adversary in the space of a heartbeat.
“Evolved? An interesting characterization, my lord. One might equally suggest that your feelings have evolved toward my daughter’s considerable dowry, given the financial difficulties currently plaguing the Blackthorn estate.”
“I must object in the strongest possible terms. My regard for Charlotte has nothing whatsoever to do with financial considerations.”
“Yet you concede that your initial interest was feigned,” William countered, rising from his chair with the deliberate dignity that had intimidated business rivals across two continents.
“A deception in which you enlisted my own sons as accomplices. How am I to distinguish between pretense and sincerity when the foundation itself was built upon falsehood?”
Sebastian stood as well, unwilling to remain seated while his character was thus impugned. The two men faced each other across the expanse of the desk, the elder’s righteous indignation met by the younger’s desperate earnestness.
“I implore you to believe that while the courtship may have begun as a gesture of friendship toward William, my affection for Charlotte is entirely authentic.”
“I cannot,” he said finally, each word weighted with paternal conviction, “support a courtship where my daughter is not genuinely wanted by your family, and where your own motivations remain shrouded in ambiguity.”
“Charlotte deserves a marriage founded on mutual respect and sincere affection, not one cobbled together from obligation, pity, or financial necessity.”
Sebastian stepped forward, his composure unraveling like a tapestry caught on a thorn “Sir, please-”
“My decision is made, Lord Blackthorn,” Stephen interrupted, turning back to face him with the implacable authority of a father protecting his child. “I must ask you to leave my home. Charlotte will be informed that the courtship has concluded.”
The dismissal fell upon Sebastian like a physical blow, each word striking with the precision of a master swordsman.
For a moment, he stood motionless, the blood in his veins seeming to crystallize as the full implications of Stephen Fairfax’s declaration registered in his consciousness.
“Sir,” he managed finally, his voice steadier than he felt, “I beg you to reconsider. Whatever misgivings you harbor regarding the courtship’s origins, my present feelings for your daughter are genuine. To terminate our association without allowing Charlotte herself a voice in the matter seems—”
“Seems what, precisely?” Mr. Fairfax interjected, his tone carrying the quiet authority that had navigated countless business negotiations to favorable conclusions. “Paternal? Protective? I make no apology for either quality where my daughter’s welfare is concerned.”
Sebastian recognized the immovable resolve behind those words—the same unflinching certainty that had allowed a man without title or aristocratic lineage to amass a fortune that rivaled many dukedoms.
Appeals to sentiment would not sway Stephen Fairfax; only irrefutable evidence might accomplish that feat.
“Very well,” Sebastian conceded, drawing himself up with the dignity inherited from generations of Whitmore ancestors. “I shall take my leave as requested. But I ask a moment to bid Miss Fairfax farewell. Common courtesy would seem to demand that much.”
Charlotte’s father studied him, weighing the request against his desire to shield his daughter from further entanglements with the Whitmore family.
Something in Sebastian’s expression—a raw desperation beneath his aristocratic composure—gave him pause.
“Five minutes,” he said finally, the concession offered with reluctant grace.” In the ballroom, where propriety will be maintained by the presence of our guests. Not a moment more.”
Sebastian inclined his head in acknowledgment, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of maintaining decorum when his world was collapsing around him like a house of cards in a sudden breeze. “Thank you, sir.”
The journey from the study to the ballroom felt interminable, each step across the polished floors of Ravensmere carrying Sebastian further into uncertainty.
He paused at the threshold of the ballroom, his gaze sweeping across the elegant assembly in search of the one figure that mattered.
Charlotte stood near the pianoforte, engaged in animated conversation with Lord Pendleton’s daughter, her chestnut curls captured in an arrangement that managed to be both fashionable and slightly imperfect—a tendril escaping to brush against her flushed cheek.
The small orchestra positioned in the corner of the ballroom had just concluded a country dance. As they prepared for the next set, Sebastian seized the opportunity, crossing the room with purpose.
Conversations hushed momentarily as the unexpected guest navigated between knots of surprised observers, his focus unwavering despite the curious glances that followed his progress.
Charlotte turned at his approach, her blue eyes widening with startled recognition.
“Lord Blackthorn,” she exclaimed, her voice pitched somewhere between delight and bewilderment. “I had no idea you were among our guests this evening.”
“Miss Fairfax,” Sebastian replied, executing a precise bow that concealed the storm of emotions beneath his composed exterior.
“I find myself in the vicinity unexpectedly and could not resist the opportunity to request a dance.” He extended his hand with a formality that belied their established familiarity. “If you would do me the honor?”
Something in Sebastian’s expression—an intensity that transcended social pleasantries—prompted her to place her gloved hand in his without further hesitation.
“Of course, my lord. I believe they are preparing a waltz.”
As if summoned by her words, the first strains of the waltz filled the ballroom. Sebastian led Charlotte to the center of the floor, acutely aware of the seconds slipping away like sand through an hourglass.
When his hand settled at her waist and they began the familiar steps, he leaned closer than propriety strictly permitted.
“Charlotte, I must speak with you urgently,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the music. “Your father has forbidden our courtship.”
She faltered momentarily, her rhythm disrupted by shock before Sebastian’s steady guidance restored their movement. “What? Why would he-”
“He has learned of the courtship’s origins,” Sebastian interrupted, guiding her through a turn that briefly sheltered them from the most obvious observers.
Color drained from Charlotte’s face, leaving her complexion as pale as moonlight on snow. “Oh God,” she whispered, the words a prayer rather than a profanity. “And he believes your interest is merely-”
“Financial,” Sebastian confirmed grimly, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity despite the emotional tempest raging between them. “He suspects I court you for your dowry, given Blackthorn Hall’s current difficulties.”
Charlotte’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, the pressure perceptible even through the layers of his evening coat. “Absurd! Anyone who has observed us together would know…”
“He has ordered me to leave Ravensmere immediately,” Sebastian continued. “Charlotte, you must know that whatever circumstances initiated our courtship, my affections now are genuine and profound.”
They executed another turn, the movement bringing Charlotte’s face briefly into shadow.
When she emerged into the candlelight once more, Sebastian saw determination hardening her delicate features like frost crystallizing on a windowpane.
“What would you have me do?” she asked, her voice steadier than her racing heart. “Defy my father? That would only confirm his worst suspicions about both of us.”
“I ask only for time,” Sebastian replied, his voice lowered to ensure privacy amidst the swirling couples surrounding them. “Do not break our courtship. Allow me the opportunity to prove my sincerity—to your father and to you.”
The music approached its crescendo, each note bringing them closer to the inevitable moment of separation.
Charlotte’s gaze searched his face with the intensity of a navigator studying the stars, seeking direction in a vast and uncertain sea.
“My intentions toward you are honorable, Charlotte,” Sebastian continued, desperation lending eloquence to his typically reserved nature. “Indeed, I had hoped—that is, I intended-”
He faltered, the words he had carefully planned for a more auspicious moment scattering like autumn leaves in a gale.
Understanding dawned in Charlotte’s eyes, transforming her expression from confusion to wonderment.
“Sebastian,” she breathed, using his given name for the first time without the shield of family informality to justify the intimacy. “Are you suggesting—”
“I am suggesting nothing that propriety would forbid,” he interrupted hastily, all too aware of the curious glances directed toward them from various quarters of the ballroom. “Merely asking that you trust in the sincerity of my regard, despite whatever your father may tell you to the contrary.”
The music drew to its conclusion, forcing them to separate.
Sebastian executed a formal bow, his posture perfect despite the emotional maelstrom raging within him. As he straightened, he caught sight of Stephen Fairfax approaching with purposeful strides.
“Promise me,” he murmured urgently, his eyes holding Charlotte’s in a gaze that conveyed everything words could not. “Promise you won’t end things between us.”
Charlotte dropped into a curtsy, the movement affording her a moment to compose her features before rising to meet his desperate plea.
Before either of them could say anything more, Stephen Fairfax materialized at Charlotte’s side, his expression a masterpiece of paternal authority tempered by social awareness.
“Lord Blackthorn,” he said, his tone pitched to convey cordiality for the benefit of any listeners while his eyes communicated an unequivocal dismissal. “I trust you have concluded your business at Ravensmere?”
Sebastian recognized the implicit command beneath the courteous inquiry.
With a final glance at Charlotte—a look laden with unspoken promises—he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Indeed. I shall not impose upon your hospitality further this evening.”
Sebastian withdrew from the ballroom, each step away from Charlotte requiring more willpower than he would have thought himself capable of mustering.
The curious whispers that followed his departure registered dimly in his consciousness, secondary to the thundering pulse of a single thought: he would not—could not—relinquish Charlotte Fairfax without a fight worthy of their mutual regard.
In the entrance hall, Sebastian retrieved his hat and gloves from the expressionless Winters, who had undoubtedly witnessed enough family dramas during his tenure at Ravensmere to remain unimpressed by this latest development.
He had just reached for the door handle when a familiar voice halted his exit.
"Bash!”
Sebastian turned to find William striding toward him with purpose, his expression conveying a complex mixture of concern and determination.
“I cannot linger,” Sebastian replied, his voice pitched low to prevent it carrying to any interested ears. “Your father has made his position abundantly clear.”
William gestured toward a side corridor, away from the main thoroughfare between entrance hall and ballroom. “Two minutes,” he insisted.
Sebastian followed him into the relative privacy of the corridor, where portraits of Fairfax ancestors gazed down upon them with painted impassivity. William wasted no time on pleasantries.
“My father has forbidden the courtship?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
Sebastian nodded curtly, the muscles in his jaw tightening with suppressed emotion.
“He discovered the circumstances under which our courtship began. Unsurprisingly, he questions the authenticity of my present regard for Charlotte.”
William’s expression darkened like a summer sky before a tempest. “Damn it all,” he muttered, momentarily forgetting the dictates of gentlemanly language.
“I should have anticipated this possibility as nothing rarely happens within the Fairfax household without my father knowing of it—he has ears everywhere. The fault is mine as much as yours—more so, perhaps, since the arrangement was my suggestion.”
“The past cannot be undone,” Sebastian replied, his pragmatic nature reasserting itself despite the evening’s upheaval. “What matters now is how we proceed.”
William studied him with the same assessing gaze that had evaluated countless business propositions across negotiating tables. “Will you accept my father’s decree and withdraw your attentions from Charlotte?”
The question hung between them, weighted with implications that extended far beyond the immediate crisis.
Sebastian straightened, his posture reflecting the ancestral pride that centuries of Whitmore barons had carried before him.
“I intend to marry your sister,” he stated, the declaration emerging with a certainty that surprised even him in its vehemence. “Not from obligation or financial necessity, but because I have come to love her with a depth that renders all other considerations secondary.”
The words, spoken aloud for the first time, resonated in the corridor like a vow. William’s expression shifted from concern to cautious approval as he measured the sincerity in Sebastian’s declaration.
“Then you shall have my support,” he said after a moment’s consideration, extending his hand in a gesture that transcended the bounds of mere social courtesy.
“Though I warn you, opposing my father when his mind is set requires fortitude that borders on foolhardiness.”
Sebastian grasped the offered hand, the physical contact symbolizing an alliance that both men recognized as potentially costly. “I am hesitant to place you in a position contrary to your father’s wishes,” he admitted, the conflict between honor and desire evident in his expression.
William’s response carried the pragmatic determination that characterized the Fairfax approach to obstacles. "The plan was initially mine. I bear some responsibility for its consequences—both intended and unforeseen."
Their hands separated, the brief contact having sealed an understanding that required no further elaboration. “I must return to the party before my absence is remarked upon,” William added, already turning toward the ballroom. “We will correspond soon regarding our next steps.”
Sebastian nodded, the tight knot of despair in his chest loosening fractionally.
As he stepped out into the chill evening air, the stars overhead seemed to mirror the tumultuous mixture of dread and determination churning within him—distant, cold, yet offering just enough light to navigate the uncertain path ahead.