Page 4 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)

CHAPTER 4

Charity

“W ell, isn’t this grand?” Millie Albertson, Charity's cousin, remarked as they approached the grand Stafford House just off of Saint James.

The carriage had just dispatched Charity outside the grand house and was presently rolling down the cobblestone street as her cousin took charge of her. Millie and their chaperone for the evening, Lady Miles, had already arrived ahead of time as they lived nearby. It was only her young cousin who welcomed her now. Millie, a year older than Charity, was already an experienced belle of the ball as she was on her second season.

A young woman like her, beautiful and accomplished in three languages, four instruments, and assorted arts, should have already been wed. But Millie was an independent spirit and it had hindered her prospects somewhat. Gentleman enjoyed her company but often did not wish to make an offer. It was something that did not yet worry Millie.

And if Charity was honest, it was this independence her cousin exuded that made her feel so very drawn to her.

She craned her neck to admire the impressive structure. It stood three stories in height and on its own, unlike other homes in the area which were townhouse style.

The front facade had a long porch running across and a bay window. While it appeared magnificent, it wasn’t much grander than some of the other homes on the street. The interior, however, was another matter. As they entered the opulent home, Charity glanced around in awe. The front door opened into a grand hall with a heavy red carpet ordained with golden trim. The great hall was separated by large columns behind which she saw a grand staircase leading up to a second floor where once again columns served as a divider.

They greeted their hosts and then made their way down into the ballroom. As she looked around, she noted the dominant color: gold. Gold and green paint and Chinese hanging paper adorned one room. Golden trim ran around the marble fireplace in the drawing room they passed, and each of the huge doors was white with golden accents.

Once they got into the ballroom, she glanced up and saw that the ceiling too was adorned with gold.

“Lady Stafford certainly likes gold,” she whispered.

“She does; the rest of the house is just as spectacular,” her cousin murmured as they made their way around the ballroom. Ladies in opulent gowns sauntered around the room while gentlemen conversed deeply, occasionally clinking their glasses together.

“Goodness, I feel out of place,” she whispered, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Balls like this? No, I suppose not. You do not have anything like this up north. Lady Stafford prides herself on being the premier host for such affairs. There are other venues, sure, but none quite like this. You’re fortunate to have received an invitation.”

“Something I must thank you for, no doubt,” Charity replied.

“Your mother was quite keen for you to attend. She’s very eager for you to find a husband,” her cousin confessed. “Although my mother indicated that might already have happened.”

Charity groaned quietly. “If Lord Markham had his way, yes,” she admitted. “He came calling this afternoon.”

“Pray, what exactly happened when Lord Markham came to call?” Millie inquired, her curiosity piqued.

Charity grimaced. “Oh, it was dreadful. He proposed, and mother intended to pushed me into his arms.”

Millie gasped, turning around so quickly that the ringlets framing her face continued to dance even after she stopped.

“No, the cheek of him! Did you accept?”

“I told him no, but mother insisted that I would reconsider. He is here tonight, I hear. I did not want to come as I wish to avoid him but I am afraid that will not happen. Oh, Millie. Lord Markham of all people! He’s a vulture! He spent time around Pembroke even before my father fell ill.”

“Do you think he was after you then?” Millie asked as they stepped into the room adjoining the grand, crowded ballroom. From there, they could stand out of the way while still looking into the ballroom.

Couples twirled and laughed while music filled the air, a blend of lively string notes and soft conversation.

“I suspect perhaps he was. My father was wealthy and influential,” she admitted, her chest aching as she realized she was speaking of her father in the past tense. “Oh, Millie. I do not know what to do. I do not know how to get out of it,” Charity said.

Her cousin sighed. “Oh, you are fortunate to have me. Because I can tell you exactly how you’re going to get out of it, dearest cousin. Your mother wants you to marry, and she’s insisting on Lord Markham because he is readily available. Well, what you need to do is ensure that there are other gentlemen just as readily available. And just as eager.”

Charity paused for a moment. “But how would I do that? I have never been to a London ball and know nobody outside of you and our family.”

“Do not fret. You need only know me for I know everyone else. Now, the first thing we have to do,” Millie said, “is introduce you to many gentlemen. You are in luck! I am well known in London society, so it will be no trouble for me to introduce you to a great number of people. Then we will find you some gentlemen to dance with, and then all you have to do is be your charming self.”

“And then,” Charity interjected with a smile as she was beginning to understand her cousin’s plan, “one of them will almost certainly ask me to go promenading. I will agree, whoever it is, and then this evening when I come home, I will tell my mother that I have found somebody else.”

“And just like that, you are free of Markham and who knows? You might find someone you like.”

Her cousin was making it sound as though it was going to be so easy to find someone other than Markham, but would it really be? So far, she has hardly been the center of attention. In fact, her dance card dangled empty from her wrist.

“There is but one problem. Nobody has asked me to dance yet,” she said, and raised her wrist in the air.

“People will ask you; do not fret! You are titled, you are young, you are beautiful, and your mother has one of the nicest townhouses in all of St. James. Come now!”

Her cousin linked their arms together, and they walked out into the crowd. However, as they approached the first gentleman, Charity felt a very bad sensation in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t right.

“Millie, you cannot approach gentlemen and ask them to dance with me, it is not proper, people will talk. Where is Lady Miles? She was to chaperone us,” she said, not wanting a scandal on her hands. Millie had always been more forward thinking than other ladies in their society but this was a step too far even for her. Surely their chaperone—who ought to have greeted them at the door—would have something to say about this.

“My dear aunt is over yonder, visiting the land of nod,” she said and nodded at a woman sitting in a chair with her head on her chest and her eyes closed. Lady Miles, Millie’s paternal aunt, was meant to be their escort for the evening and introduce Charity to society, but that did not appear to be the case now.

“I know most everyone there, so I can introduce you. If we wait for my aunt, it will be a long night. Now come.”

She pulled Charity along the room toward a tall gentleman standing by himself with a glass of wine.

“Lord Hancock,” Millie said. The man eyed them both and smiled, but in a weary manner.

“Lady Millie,” he replied, “a pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Millie replied. “May I present my cousin, Lady Charity Pembroke? She has just moved to London and is in desperate need of excellent company. So when I saw you standing there, I knew you were just the man to introduce her to. Charity, Lord Hancock is one of London’s most eligible bachelors. We are lucky to have caught him before the ladies swarm him.”

“You are too kind, Lady Millie,” the man said, then turned to Charity and bowed. “It is a pleasure.”

“Lord Hancock is also one of the most talented dancers of the high society, but I am sure you will experience this yourself,” Millie said. Charity was worried her cousin was being a little too forward, and when Hancock’s smile faded, she feared her suspicion was right.

“I do beg your pardon, Lady Millie,” he said, “but I am already engaged for the evening.”

“For the entire evening?” Millie asked, taken aback.

He looked at Millie, then Charity, and back at Millie before nodding. “Regretfully, yes. Perhaps another time,” he said before disappearing into the crowd.

“Oh, that was peculiar,” Millie said, but then, apparently undisturbed, she continued to walk around the ballroom. “Come, let us try again. You see that fellow over there with the gas-pipes?” She nodded at a young man with ginger hair and a pair of very, very tight trousers.

Millie sauntered off toward the man and the same scenario repeated. He was delighted to see Millie, less so to be introduced to Charity—and full of excuses once it was made clear Millie wanted him to dance with Charity.

This situation repeated multiple times. The excuses were numerous, ranging from already being occupied to having promised the next several dances to someone else. One gentleman even claimed to have stubbed his toe, only for Millie and Charity to see him dancing on the dance floor ten minutes later.

After the fourth gentleman declined to dance with her under dubious excuses, Millie exclaimed, “This is a little poked up—and inexplicable.”

“Poked up indeed. They clearly do not wish to dance with me. They must see me as some provincial girl. Perhaps because I’m in mourning... You know how seriously people take mourning. I told my mother it was too early.”

“I think not! It is not too early,” Millie insisted. “It is true we take mourning more seriously than they might have twenty years ago, but half-mourning is a perfectly acceptable time to be out dancing. I do not understand it. When I told people you were coming, there was such excitement. London gentlemen like nothing more than fresh blood!”

Charity grimaced. “I do not like being referred to as fresh blood, like a heifer at the market.”

“Oh, do not be silly! I meant someone new to dance with. Someone they do not yet know. Someone they can talk to and not know their entire story! You know exactly what I mean,” Millie said, exasperated. Then, she snapped her gloved fingers. “I know what we will do. There is my friend Peter Millbanks. He is not a lord; his father is a knight, but he is a good friend of mine. I will ask him to dance with you, and then the other gentlemen will see what a graceful dancer you are, and they will follow suit.”

The two walked toward a gentleman who was standing with his back turned to them. Charity tried to keep her irritation under control, which was more difficult than she'd anticipated because she was increasingly aware of people staring at her as they walked. It wasn’t the curious look one might get from someone seeing a person for the first time; no, there was nothing admiring in their glares—only disdain. She bit her lip and followed her cousin as she tapped her friend on the shoulder.

The young man turned with a bright smile, exposing a row of white teeth—not something often seen in their parts.

“Millie!” he said. “How lovely to see you!”

However, when his eyes met Charity's, the smile faded. “You must be Lady Charity,” he said politely, and she curtsied.

“I am. It is good to meet you, Mr. Millbanks.”

“Peter, I am so glad to have found you. The gentlemen this evening are dreadfully dull, and thus far, none have agreed to dance with my cousin, even though she’s clearly the second most beautiful woman in the house!” She chuckled, but Peter's smile seemed forced. “I thought perhaps you could do me a favor and take her onto the dance floor to show these fools what they are missing,” Millie implored.

To Charity’s horror, the man pulled his shoulders together as though preparing to shield himself from something.

“I think not, Millie. You know I would do anything for you, but I am afraid...”

What is wrong? Do I have pox? Have I committed a grievous breach of propriety without knowing it?

Why on earth did nobody want to dance with her?

“Peter, really! This is ridiculous.” Millie pressed. “For the sake of our friendship, will you please tell me why nobody wants to dance with my cousin?”

He looked around and then nodded, his chin tilted toward an alcove by the orchestra. Charity was about to follow them, but he turned and raised a hand. She stopped, put in her place like a small child.

Charity grabbed the material of her gown and crunched it between her fingers as she walked to the window, aware that everyone appeared to be looking at her. Heat rose to her face as she wished for the days of old when ladies would cover their faces in crushed pearl powder so no one could see the color of their skin beneath.

Failing that, she turned her back on the crowd and looked out the window at the quiet streets. Carriages moved up and down St. James, and yet more revelers were arriving at the front door.

An eternity seemed to have passed before her cousin returned, pale-faced. Millie stood beside her, their elbows touching, and dropped her voice.

“Charity,” she said, “Peter told me why nobody will dance with you. It is dreadful.”

“What has happened?” Charity demanded. “Do not leave me in suspense. Why am I being treated as though I carry some dreadful disease?”

“It seems there are rumors flying about,” Millie said quietly, “that are damaging your reputation.”

“Damaging my reputation? I have not been in London long enough to have a reputation, good or bad!”

“That is what I thought, too, but it seems talk of the town is that one of the reasons you moved to London permanently was because of some less than proper behavior up north. It is said that you are somewhat of a dashing cyprian.”

Charity gasped. “Who says such things about me? It is not true! You know it is not!”

“Of course!” Millie said, placing a hand on Charity’s arm. “I know it isn’t true, but someone is spreading these rumors. There is word of a rather unsavory dalliance with an Irish revolutionary.”

Millie saw that Charity's feet were going to give out from under her. “I do not know any Irishman!”

“Someone else told Peter they heard a story about you attempting to run off to Gretna Green with a stable hand.” Millie’s expression was one of pity—while Charity’s breathing increased in pace with her anger.

“What?” Charity exclaimed louder than she intended, and immediately, people started looking at her again. She felt the color rising in her cheeks.

“None of this is true! I haven’t even been kissed yet!” she said. “Why would people say such things? Who started this rumor?”

Millie ran her tongue over her lips and glanced over her shoulder, scanning the ballroom. Then she paused, her eyes focusing on someone.

“I cannot prove it,” she said, “but Peter said two different people were spreading the stories all over the ballroom before we arrived, and they are both friends with Lord Markham.”

Markham, of course. Of course he would do this to her. He was upset that she had slighted him. Did he think that if he tarnished her reputation enough, she would marry him out of desperation? That she would fling herself into his arms, begging for mercy?

“What can I do, Millie? What can I do? Can we leave?”

“Perhaps we should,” Millie conceded. “The trouble is, if we leave now, the rumors will only intensify. I do not know what we can do. My plan to get you out of this courtship with Markham hinged on you having another suitor, but if nobody else will even dance with you, I do not know what to do.”

“I will leave,” Charity declared. “I will get into a carriage and throw myself at the mercy of my cousin Oliver. He is rarely ever at Pembroke. He will let me stay there, as it is empty. I will tell him how dreadfully I have been treated, and he will take mercy on me.”

“Will he? Does he not have a daughter who is only a few years younger than us? She will be looking for a husband soon, and if there’s a scandal attached to the family name, that might be bad for her, too. I do not know what to say. Perhaps you should consider?—”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence because Charity already knew what Millie meant. She might have to consider marrying Markham. But no, she wouldn’t. She didn’t want him even if he properly proposed to her, and she certainly wouldn’t if he attempted to trick her. Besides, perhaps it wasn’t him. Perhaps it was somebody else. Perhaps she had been mistaken.

“Lady Charity,” Markham's voice came from behind them, causing her to take a breath. Here he was.

“What a pleasure to see you again! And you, too, Lady Millie,” he greeted her cousin, who looked at him through narrowed eyes.

“Lord Markham,” Millie said, “so we meet again.”

“I do not wish to be too forward,” he said with a smile, “but I wondered if over the last few hours you had a chance to discuss my proposal?”

“Your proposal?” Charity echoed, eyes wide.

“Well, yes,” he smiled. “Your mother told me to give you time and that you might have changed your mind by now.”

Charity hesitated. “I have had time to consider and I have not changed my mind.”

“You have not?” His smile faltered. “You have spoken to your mother and cousin?”

“She has,” Millie said. “I support whatever decision she makes. I do not think it is right that my cousin be pushed into a marriage she does not want, by any means.”

Eternally grateful for her cousin, Charity took Millie’s hand.

“We were just leaving,” she said, and without waiting for a reply, she started walking, her heels clicking over the polished floor. People parted before them to let them through, and it was only then that she realized a small circle of spectators had formed around them.

“Charity!” Markham called. “Will you not reconsider? I dare say leaving now would be a mistake, for I had grand plans,” he declared.

She stopped and turned back just in time to see him approaching her.

“It has come to my attention that there are some dreadful things being said about you,” he said, his voice much louder than was necessary. “Another man might be put off by such gossip, but I know you. I adore you, and no gossip in the world would ever keep me from wanting to make you my wife! Now, what do you say? Shall we put all these rumors to rest by sharing a dance? To show all the world you are not a loose woman but engaged to a respectable man?”

Charity's ears rang. He had done it. He had proposed once more, and in public no less.

He had done it so publicly that she had no chance of refusing him now. Not with all the stories he had planted all around the ballroom. If she didn’t agree, her chances of ever marrying anybody were as good as gone.

She would have to become Markham’s wife, or any chance of a life she had imagined would be over.

Her heart thundered as she thought of her mother; she would be so disappointed. Charity imagined her mother gossiping in every drawing room in London. And Eleanor? Her poor sister. She would start her first season next year with her sister’s tattered reputation hanging over her.

She couldn’t do this to her, could she? No. She had no choice. She would have to say yes.

She opened her mouth, though the inside felt as dry as though she had eaten sand. She cleared her throat to try to form words, but nothing came. Instead, only a croaking sound escaped. Then, out of nowhere, a hush and gasps swept through the crowd as a heavy footstep approached.

“I am sorry to say, Lord Markham, that Lady Charity will not be able to marry you because she is already married. To me.”

Charity turned to where the voice had come from and saw a tall, black-haired man with bright green eyes. He wasn’t dressed for a ball but rather for a casual evening spent in one’s drawing room. Though she had never seen him before in her life, there was a familiarity about him. Who was he? And why in the world had he proclaimed himself to be her husband?

She had no time to think about it because the man turned to her.

“Isn't that right, my beloved bride?” he said, extending his hand to her.

She stared at it, feeling her mouth drop open and her eyes widen, aware that she must look like a fish, gasping for water. But then she felt the sharp sensation of Millie’s fist, nudging her in the small of her back, jolting her out of her trance. Without realizing what was going on, she found herself speaking.

“Yes, that is right.”

The man stepped beside her.

“Now, if you will excuse me, my wife and I have other engagements to attend to,” the man said and proffered his arm. She stared at it, speechless for a moment, but then took it and allowed this stranger who’d declared himself her husband to escort her from the ballroom and into the night.