Page 21 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

E ugenie pulled the needle from the fabric with more force than necessary, her stitches uneven and haphazard as her mind drifted elsewhere.

Around her, the soft hum of conversation filled the drawing room, but she paid little attention to it.

Elsbeth was speaking to Phoebe, their voices lilting in pleasant discussion, but Eugenie wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter.

Her thoughts remained fixated on the article in The Morning Post —the blatant falsehoods printed about her. She still couldn’t fathom how someone had the audacity to suggest she had been alone with Charles in the gardens, much less giggling.

Who had written such an outrageous piece? She would find out. And once she did, she would demand a retraction. Would that even help, though? Once a rumor had taken hold, it was nearly impossible to dislodge.

Sometimes, it was truly wretched to be a lady.

The sharp sound of Elsbeth’s voice broke through her musings. “Careful with the fabric, Eugenie,” she advised .

Eugenie blinked, snapping back to the present. “Pardon?”

“You are attacking that poor cloth rather viciously,” Elsbeth teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “If you’re not careful, you’ll either tear the fabric or prick yourself. Neither would be ideal.”

Glancing down at the embroidery in her lap, Eugenie set it aside. “My apologies. I was woolgathering.”

“No harm done,” Elsbeth said with a small smile, returning to her own work.

Phoebe, who had been quietly stitching beside them, glanced up. “Dare I ask what has you so preoccupied?”

Eugenie let out an exasperated sigh. “I cannot stop thinking about that dreadful article in the newssheets . It was utterly unfair.”

“Yes, it was,” Phoebe agreed, frowning. “Unfair and insufferably nosy. But that is the nature of the Society pages.”

Elsbeth placed her embroidery down and reached for the teapot. “What you need is a cup of tea,” she said. “It will help calm your nerves.”

“I need something stronger . Brandy, perhaps,” Eugenie said, half-joking.

Elsbeth gave her a disapproving shake of her head. “A lady does not drink brandy.”

Before Eugenie could argue the merits of her preferred solution, Tanner stepped into the room and met Elsbeth’s gaze. “Lady Jane has arrived, my lady.”

Elsbeth brightened. “Send her in.”

A moment later, Lady Jane entered, her expression tight with concern. Her sharp gaze swept the room before landing on Eugenie. “How are you faring?” she asked, moving towards the settee where she sat.

“Terribly,” Eugenie admitted.

Lady Jane hesitated before lowering herself onto the seat beside her. “My father and brother would kill me if they discovered I was here, but I couldn’t stay away.”

Eugenie straightened slightly, a new thought forming. “Could you ask your uncle who wrote that article in The Morning Post ?”

Lady Jane made a thoughtful noise. “I can try,” she said, though her expression was doubtful. “But he is rather tight-lipped about his contributors.”

“Please, Jane,” Eugenie pressed. “I need to know who wrote it.”

Lady Jane’s frown deepened. “May I ask why?”

Eugenie sighed, her hands twisting in her lap. “Because the writer claimed I was alone with Lord Bedford, but I was not . ” She paused, unwilling to betray Charles’s confidence, but knowing she needed to offer some sort of explanation. “I… I caught him in a compromising position with someone else.”

Lady Jane’s brows shot up, intrigue sparking in her eyes. “Compromising?”

Eugenie nodded her head quickly. “Yes, but it was all a misunderstanding. The point is, when Lord Bedford realized I had seen him, he followed me and explained to me what truly happened. That is all. But now the ton believes something far worse.”

Lady Jane sighed. “Regardless of what truly happened, the ton believes you were alone with him. What are you going to do?”

Eugenie spread her hands helplessly. “What can I do?”

As if conjured by their very discussion, Charles entered the room, his blue eyes locking on Eugenie the moment he stepped inside.

Elsbeth looked up. “Cousin! What brings you by?”

Charles barely acknowledged her, his attention solely fixed on Eugenie. “I was hoping to speak with Lady Eugenie. Privately, if you don’t mind. ”

Eugenie stiffened. “I do not believe there is anything we need to say to one another.”

“I disagree.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—an unspoken plea. “Perhaps we might take a walk in your gardens?”

“No, I do not think that is wise,” she replied.

Charles took another step closer. “Please, Eugenie. Just a moment of your time.”

There it was again—the quiet urgency in his voice, the sincerity in his expression. It was that which made her heart lurch in an altogether inconvenient way.

“Very well,” Eugenie responded. “I suppose I have a moment or two.”

Something in Charles’s posture relaxed ever so slightly. “Thank you,” he said, stepping forward and offering his arm.

With a steadying breath, Eugenie placed her hand upon his offered arm, acutely aware of the warmth seeping through the fine fabric of his coat. She did not want to feel anything for this man— should not feel anything. And yet, heaven help her, she did.

They moved in silence towards the rear of the townhouse, their steps synchronized, though neither spoke. The footman stationed at the door gave a small bow before pulling it open, allowing them passage into the gardens.

Once they stepped onto the gravel path, Eugenie slipped her hand from his arm, clasping her hands together at her waist. She wasn’t quite sure what to say—whether she should address the glaring reason for his visit or pretend, for just a moment longer, that she wasn’t caught in the center of a scandal.

But Charles, it seemed, had no intention of pretending. “How are you faring, Eugenie?”

“I am well,” she answered .

Charles didn’t look convinced. His blue eyes studied her with unnerving scrutiny before he gestured towards a wrought-iron bench just off the path. “Would you care to sit for a moment?”

Eugenie went and lowered herself onto the bench, smoothing down the fabric of her pale green gown.

Charles took his seat beside her and turned slightly, his gaze unwavering. “We should get married.”

Eugenie stared back at him, certain she had misheard. “I beg your pardon?”

Charles leaned forward, his voice steady. “It only makes sense. It is because of me that your name has been dragged into this mess. The only way to repair the damage is for me to offer for you.”

Eugenie shot to her feet. “Have you lost your senses?”

Charles stood as well. “I know that, in time, you will see that this is the only logical solution.”

She let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Logical? Charles, do you even want to marry me?”

He hesitated. It was just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. “Of course, I do,” he rushed out. “We get along well enough…”

“That is not an answer,” she snapped, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“My answer is yes,” he amended quickly. “I do want to marry you.”

Eugenie studied him, searching for sincerity beyond his frustrating sense of duty. “Because it is the honorable thing to do?”

He inclined his head. “It is the honorable thing to do. But I would also be a good husband to you.” He took a measured breath, his voice turning softer. “If you are in agreement, I will have my solicitor draw up the marriage contract. ”

“I am not in agreement.”

Charles exhaled sharply. “Eugenie?—”

She took a step back, shaking her head. “I will not be forced into a marriage of convenience.”

He frowned. “This is not forced?—”

“Oh, it most certainly is,” she interrupted. “You are asking me to wed you not out of affection or desire, but because you believe it is your duty . Well, I do not require a husband bound to me by duty alone.”

Charles took a step closer, his gaze intense. “This is the only way. You will see that soon enough.”

Eugenie lifted her chin. “I would rather be a spinster than enter a marriage where I am nothing more than an obligation.”

“Be reasonable , Eugenie.”

She huffed. “Me, reasonable? You come here, announce that we must marry, and expect me to accept it without question. And I suspect that you do not want this marriage any more than I do.”

Charles ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair. “I am not entirely opposed to it.”

“That is not the declaration of a man eager to wed.”

“We are friends , are we not?” he pressed.

With a bob of her head, she replied, “And for the sake of our friendship, I propose we pretend this conversation never happened.”

His jaw tightened. “But it did happen.”

Eugenie rolled her eyes. “Try a little harder not to be a muttonhead.”

“I am a muttonhead now?” he asked, his voice rising.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you think I will quietly accept this ridiculous proposal, then yes, you are a muttonhead . ”

“I know you think you want to be a spinster,” he started, “ but it is a lonely life. I am offering you companionship. A chance to have a family.”

Eugenie held her ground. “At what cost?” she asked. “What if we marry and discover we do not suit? What then? Would we grow to resent one another?”

His gaze softened slightly. “I could never resent you.”

The vulnerability in his words caused her breath to hitch, but she forced herself to push past the momentary weakness. “You say that now, but do you not wish to marry for love?”

“Love?” Charles repeated. “I am far too pragmatic for such notions. I have always known I would need to marry a young woman with a hefty dowry . ”

“So I fit the bill?”

He leaned in slightly, his expression almost pleading. “I know I have bungled this proposal. But we would be good together, Eugenie. You know that.”

Eugenie swallowed against the lump in her throat and placed her palm against his chest. “I am not afraid of being alone, Charles,” she whispered.

And then she stepped back, severing the connection.

The space between them suddenly felt vast.