Page 22 of A Baron’s Most Inconvenient Marriage (Delightful Lords and Ladies)
Chapter 22
“You cannot possibly be serious,” Charlotte whispered, her voice scarcely disturbing the hushed atmosphere of Lady Blackthorn’s London drawing room.
The morning light filtered through ivory silk curtains, casting her face in a gentle radiance that accentuated the disbelief etched across her features. “You wish to—”
“Marry you? Yes, with absolute conviction,” Sebastian replied, his aristocratic composure momentarily yielding to a smile that transformed his severe features into something altogether more approachable.
He knelt before her on the Aubusson carpet, one knee bent in the time-honored posture of supplication that had survived centuries of changing social customs.
Charlotte’s fingers twisted nervously in her lap, the pale blue muslin of her morning dress rustling softly with each agitated movement.
“This is madness,” she protested, though her tone lacked conviction. “Your mother has only just begun to tolerate my presence. My father has withdrawn my dowry. The estate requires substantial investment that I cannot provide.”
Sebastian regarded her with patient understanding, his gray eyes reflecting the steady certainty that had characterized his governance of Blackthorn Hall through years of both prosperity and challenge.
Rather than rising from his position, he reached forward to capture her restless hands, enclosing them within his larger ones with gentle but immovable authority.
“Have you quite finished enumerating the obstacles?” he inquired, his voice carrying a hint of the dry humor that emerged only in moments of greatest intimacy. “Or shall I wait while you compile a more comprehensive catalog of our difficulties?”
Despite herself, Charlotte felt laughter bubbling beneath her carefully maintained composure, threatening to disrupt the gravity she had determined to bring to this conversation. “Sebastian, I am perfectly serious. These are not trivial concerns to be dismissed with clever remarks.”
“Indeed not,” he agreed, his expression sobering though his hands maintained their reassuring pressure upon hers. “Each deserves proper address. Shall we proceed systematically, as befits my orderly nature and your preference for clarity?”
Charlotte nodded, her chestnut curls catching the light as they bobbed with the movement. “Very well,” she conceded, a trace of her natural vivacity momentarily illuminating her features.
“Though I scarcely see how even your considerable powers of persuasion might overcome such formidable impediments.”
Sebastian’s lips curved in appreciative response to this glimpse of the spirited woman he had come to cherish.
Shifting from his kneeling position, he seated himself beside her on the silk-upholstered settee, maintaining their physical connection with deliberate intent.
“First, my mother,” he began, his tone suggesting a barrister presenting evidence to a particularly discerning judge. “Her behavior has been inexcusable.”
Charlotte’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, remembrance of that fateful conversation bringing a flush of discomfort to her cheeks. “She believed she acted in your best interest.”
“A belief she has been forced to reconsider,” Sebastian countered, his voice carrying an edge of steel beneath its measured cadence. “Last night, I presented her with unambiguous alternatives—either accept our union with sincere grace or remove herself permanently from our shared household. Her choice, while initially reluctant, appears increasingly genuine.”
Charlotte glanced toward the adjoining room where Lady Blackthorn had graciously retired upon Sebastian’s arrival, ostensibly to provide them privacy while remaining within the bounds of propriety.
The gesture, small but significant, suggested possibilities of reconciliation that had seemed impossible mere days prior.
“As for your father,” Sebastian continued, reclaiming her attention, “his concerns regarding my intentions merit serious consideration. A courtship initiated under unusual circumstances naturally invites skepticism, particularly from one whose primary concern is his daughter’s welfare.”
“He believes you seek my dowry to restore Blackthorn Hall,” Charlotte stated plainly, her directness a refreshing counterpoint to society’s tendency toward oblique communication.
“A reasonable conclusion given observable evidence,” Sebastian acknowledged with unruffled equanimity. “One I intend to address directly upon our return to Ravensmere. The absence of a dowry presents practical challenges but not insurmountable ones. Blackthorn Hall has weathered greater financial storms throughout its centuries.”
Charlotte studied him with the assessing gaze. “The northern pastures could be converted to more profitable use,” she observed. “And the water management system, while initially costly to implement, would reduce annual maintenance expenses considerably.”
Sebastian’s expression betrayed momentary astonishment before melting into appreciation. “You see? This precisely illustrates my final and most compelling argument for our union.”
Charlotte tilted her head slightly, curiosity momentarily eclipsing her reservations. “Which is?”
“That you, Charlotte Fairfax, with your unconventional education, your artistic perception, your refreshing directness, and your generous heart, are precisely the woman Blackthorn Hall requires as its mistress.”
His voice deepened with conviction, the aristocratic reserve that typically governed his demeanor yielding to genuine emotion. “More importantly, you are precisely the woman I require as my wife.”
The declaration hung between them, weighted with a sincerity that penetrated Charlotte’s carefully constructed defenses like sunlight through morning mist.
She searched his face for any trace of calculation or compromise, finding instead a clarity of purpose that both comforted and unsettled her.
“Even without my dowry?” she asked, the question emerging with vulnerable directness.
“Especially then,” Sebastian confirmed without hesitation. “Though I will not pretend financial considerations are irrelevant to Blackthorn Hall’s future, they pale in significance when measured against the prospect of a lifetime without your presence.”
Charlotte’s breath caught audibly, the sound delicate yet distinct in the hushed drawing room. “That is... remarkably uncharacteristic sentiment from a man renowned for practical deliberation.”
“Perhaps,” Sebastian acknowledged, his lips curving in self-deprecating recognition. “Though I might suggest that recognizing you as essential to my happiness represents the height of practical wisdom rather than its abandonment.”
The clever response, delivered with aristocratic precision yet undeniable warmth, drew a genuine laugh from Charlotte—the first Sebastian had heard since their reunion.
The sound transformed the elegant but impersonal drawing room, infusing its formal dimensions with vibrant life.
“There,” Sebastian murmured, raising one hand to gently trace the curve of her cheek. “There is the Charlotte who brought laughter back to Blackthorn Hall. The woman whose absence rendered its rooms mere architecture rather than home.”
The touch, conveying tenderness beyond verbal expression, shattered the final barriers of Charlotte’s resistance.
“I have been unutterably foolish,” she admitted, leaning almost imperceptibly into his touch. “Convinced that martyrdom somehow represented nobility, when in fact it merely perpetuated misunderstanding.”
“Not foolish,” Sebastian corrected gently. “Merely misled by those who exploited your generous nature. A mistake unlikely to recur, as I believe my mother now thoroughly understands the consequences of such manipulation.”
Charlotte smiled, the expression transforming her features with the dawning radiance of renewed hope. “I shall cancel my Continental travels immediately,” she declared, practical considerations reasserting themselves through emotional tumult.
“Though I must reimburse Lady Blackthorn for expenses already incurred. The passage alone represents significant—”
“That will not be necessary, Miss Fairfax.”
Lady Blackthorn’s voice, carrying the precise modulation that generations of aristocratic training had perfected, interrupted Charlotte’s planning.
She stood in the doorway, her burgundy morning dress lending imperial dignity to her still-impressive figure.
Unlike previous encounters, however, her expression conveyed neither calculation nor disapproval—merely the contemplative assessment of one recalibrating long-held assumptions.
“Mother,” Sebastian acknowledged, rising with automatic courtesy though his hand remained firmly entwined with Charlotte’s. “I had not expected your return quite so soon.”
Lady Blackthorn advanced into the room with measured grace, settling upon the chair opposite their settee with the practiced ease of one accustomed to commanding any space she occupied.
“Some conversations benefit from expedited resolution,” she observed, her gaze moving between the two young people with uncharacteristic openness. “Miss Fairfax, I insist upon bearing the cost of the canceled arrangements. Consider it,” she hesitated, selecting her words with evident care, “a token of reconciliation.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened fractionally, the gesture betraying her surprise more eloquently than any verbal response. “That is exceedingly generous, Lady Blackthorn.”
“It is barely adequate,” Sebastian’s mother corrected with unexpected candor, “given recent circumstances. Though I maintain that my intentions proceeded from concern for Sebastian’s welfare, I now recognize that my methods were... regrettably misguided.”
Sebastian studied his mother with unconcealed astonishment, recognizing in this measured acknowledgment the first genuine step toward meaningful reconciliation.
This was the woman who had guided his moral education through childhood—principled, occasionally formidable, but fundamentally decent beneath her aristocratic reserve.
“Diana will be disappointed to lose her Continental tour,” Charlotte observed, compassion tempering her evident relief at escaping the uncomfortable prospect of extended travel with Lady Blackthorn.
“The tour merely postponed, I assure you,” Lady Blackthorn replied with the hint of a smile softening her typically austere features.
“Though perhaps,” she added with a sidelong glance toward her son, “it might be reimagined as a wedding journey for the three of us at some future date.”
The suggestion, representing concession and olive branch in equal measure, drew an appreciative nod from Sebastian.
“A possibility worth consideration,” he agreed, his tone conveying recognition of this significant overture. “Though more immediate matters demand our attention first.”
Charlotte nodded, understanding without elaboration the reference to her father’s opposition. “We must return to Ravensmere without delay. Father should hear of our decision directly, not through correspondence or intermediaries.”
“Colin has already arranged for the carriage,” Sebastian informed her, practical efficiency reasserting itself now that the emotional territory had been successfully navigated. “We depart within the hour, if that suits your preparations.”
His mother rose with elegant deliberation, her posture conveying acceptance rather than capitulation.
“Then I shall leave you to those arrangements. Miss Fairfax… Charlotte,” she amended, the informal address representing significant concession from one who valued proper distance, “I wish you a safe journey and favorable resolution with your father.”
The unexpected kindness, delivered without calculation or hidden motive, brought moisture to Charlotte’s eyes that she hastily blinked away. “Thank you, Lady Blackthorn. Your understanding means a great deal to Sebastian—and to me.”
When the couple was left alone once more, Charlotte turned to Sebastian with renewed determination illuminating her features.
“Now then,” she declared, practical energy infusing her voice with its familiar vivacity, “shall we prepare to confront my father’s formidable defenses?”
Sebastian raised her hand to his lips in a gesture that balanced aristocratic courtesy with genuine tenderness. “Together,” he affirmed, “as I believe we shall approach all future obstacles.”
***
James awaited them in the entrance hall, his expression suggesting cautious optimism beneath his customary self-possession.
“He’s in the study,” he informed them without preamble, addressing Sebastian directly. “Remarkably calm, considering the circumstances. Mother has wisely retired to the conservatory with her correspondence.”
Sebastian nodded, appreciating the strategic intelligence without requiring elaboration. “Does he know I intend to request Charlotte’s hand formally?”
“He anticipates it,” James confirmed, his gaze shifting momentarily to include his sister. "Though I believe he remains committed to his position regarding the dowry. Some battles must be fought directly, it seems.”
Charlotte squeezed Sebastian’s hand, drawing strength from the solid warmth of his fingers wrapped around hers. “Then we shall face him together.”
“No,” Sebastian countered gently, releasing her hand with evident reluctance. “This particular conversation requires direct address between men of honor. Trust me to represent our interests with appropriate conviction.”
Though her independent spirit instinctively resisted this exclusion, Charlotte recognized the social realities that governed such negotiations.
She nodded, releasing him to the formal ritual that would determine their future with more certainty than any emotional declaration between themselves could establish.
Sebastian followed James toward the study, each stride measured with aristocratic composure that concealed the significance of the impending conversation.
Stephen Fairfax rose from behind his massive desk as Sebastian entered, his expression revealing nothing beyond proper courtesy as he dismissed his eldest son with a slight nod.
The two men—titled aristocrat and wealthy merchant—assessed one another with mutual respect that transcended their different social origins.
“Has Charlotte informed you of my position regarding her dowry? That should she marry you, she would do so without the financial advantages typically accompanying a Fairfax daughter?”
“She has,” Sebastian confirmed without hesitation. “I am fully aware of the financial implications of your decision, and they alter neither my intentions nor my commitment to Charlotte’s welfare.”
Lord Fairfax leaned forward, his shrewd gaze missing nothing of Sebastian’s composed expression. “A noble sentiment, my lord.
Yet practically speaking, Blackthorn Hall’s financial challenges are well-known among certain circles. One might reasonably conclude that Charlotte’s dowry represents a convenient solution to those difficulties.”
Rather than displaying offense at this direct challenge, Sebastian nodded in acknowledgment of its legitimacy.
“The estate indeed faces financial constraints following my father’s death. However,” he continued with measured precision, “I have already begun implementing improvements that promise substantial restoration of its prosperity within five years.”
Stephen Fairfax’s eyebrows rose fractionally, genuine interest displacing calculated assessment. “Five years represents an ambitious timeline for such recovery.”
“Achievable, nevertheless," Sebastian replied with quiet confidence. “Moreover, I have instructed my solicitors to establish legal provisions ensuring that a significant portion of the estate’s income and assets would transfer directly to Charlotte and any children we might have, should I predecease her. Her security would be absolute, regardless of Blackthorn Hall’s financial position at that time.”
This declaration—representing commitment beyond conventional marriage settlements—visibly impressed the older man, though his expression remained carefully neutral. “Such arrangements suggest serious consideration rather than impulsive attachment.”
“My feelings for Charlotte are profound,” Sebastian stated with simple dignity that carried greater weight than elaborate protestations might have achieved.
“But they are accompanied by practical respect for her welfare and security. I would not offer marriage without ensuring my ability to provide appropriately for her future, dowry or no dowry.”
Stephen Fairfax rose from his chair, moving toward the window. “You have passed the test, Lord Blackthorn,” he declared finally, turning to face Sebastian with newfound approval warming his typically reserved features. “Charlotte’s dowry shall be reinstated in full, and my blessing accompanies it without reservation.”
Sebastian maintained his composure through years of aristocratic training, though genuine relief momentarily softened the austere lines of his countenance. “I appreciate both, sir, though I would have married Charlotte without either.”
“Precisely why you deserve both,” the elder Fairfax countered with unexpected warmth. “I needed certainty and that, you have provided through both word and action.”
The two men clasped hands in a gesture that symbolized more than mere social courtesy—a genuine alliance founded upon mutual respect and shared devotion to Charlotte’s welfare.
As they proceeded from the study to share the favorable resolution with those anxiously awaiting outside, Sebastian felt a profound sense of rightness settle over him like the comfortable weight of responsibility willingly assumed.