Page 33 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

“I shall take you to the stables after supper,” Eugenie promised eagerly. “You will adore Sir Spotticus, I have no doubt. Charles was the one who gifted him to me.”

“Interesting,” was all she said, though her eyes twinkled with unspoken speculation.

Charles merely offered a nonchalant shrug. “He suits her.”

Eugenie glanced up at him, her heart giving an involuntary flutter at the quiet sentiment behind those simple words. The miniature horse had been a gift, yes, but Charles had known precisely what it would mean to her—how it would remind her of a time before fear had taken hold.

And that, more than anything, made Sir Spotticus all the more special.

The morning sun streamed in through the tall, arched windows of the dining room as Charles took his usual seat at the head of the table, nodding in acknowledgment as a footman promptly stepped forward and placed a plate of freshly prepared food before him.

Before he could take his first bite, his mother entered the room, the newssheets clutched in her hand like a weapon of truth. She sat beside him and asked, “Have you read the newssheets yet?”

“No,” Charles replied simply, slicing into his food with deliberate movements.

His mother exhaled dramatically. “I’m afraid you and Eugenie have been mentioned once more in an article by Mr. Fairchild.”

Charles knew he would regret asking, but curiosity got the better of him. “What does it say?”

She lifted the newssheets and read aloud: “ Despite Lord Bedford visiting Lady Eugenie on numerous occasions, I have it on good authority that no engagement is forthcoming. One must wonder what they are discussing during these clandestine meetings …” She glanced up from the page. “Shall I continue?”

“Please stop,” Charles said, reaching for his glass. “I have no need to listen to such drivel.”

His mother set the newssheets down with a pointed look. “It isn’t nonsense, Dear. You and Eugenie are in a precarious situation, and the only way to silence these rumors is to convince her to marry you.”

Charles clenched his jaw. “I am trying.”

“I know, but you must try harder,” she asserted.

With a shake of his head, he replied, “Eugenie wants love.”

“And you can’t give her that?”

Charles hesitated. “Yes… perhaps in time. But it is far too soon to speak of love and whatnot.”

His mother folded the newssheets and placed them onto the table, her expression softening. “I loved your father from the moment I met him. ”

Charles scoffed. “That was infatuation, Mother. No one can fall in love that quickly."

“No, it wasn’t,” she insisted. “He took my heart by surprise, and I never wanted it back. It was wholly his, and I never regretted that choice.”

Leaning back in his chair, Charles said, “Love is not that simple.”

“It can be,” she countered. “But people tend to overthink these matters. I believe your feelings for Eugenie run deeper than you allow yourself to admit.”

“And why do you think that?”

His mother smiled knowingly. “Because I see the way your eyes linger on her whenever she is in the room.”

Charles let out a huff. “That does not mean I love Eugenie. It only confirms that I find her beautiful. I don’t deny that I have feelings for her, but love…” He shook his head. “Love comes much later in a relationship—if it comes at all.”

She lifted her hands in mock surrender. “All right. You win. You clearly do not love Eugenie, and I was wrong to suggest you did.”

“Thank you,” he said, relieved to have finally gotten through to her.

A footman placed a cup of chocolate before his mother. She took a delicate sip before asking, “Since you do not love Lady Eugenie, I assume you wouldn’t take issue with her marrying another?”

Charles nearly choked on his food. He straightened in his seat, his entire body tensing. “Absolutely not!”

His mother calmly set her cup back on the saucer. “If Eugenie desires love and you are unable to give it to her, shouldn’t you let her find it elsewhere?”

“I never said I couldn’t love her.”

A knowing gleam entered her eyes. “Perhaps your feelings are muddled by the fact that you have kissed her. ”

“Pardon?” How in the blazes did his mother know about that?

His mother gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Elsbeth and I do talk, Dear. She mentioned that she has caught you twice now in rather scandalous situations.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It is true, but only because I have been trying to convince Eugenie to marry me.”

“Do you even want to marry her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice calm but probing. “Why is it so important that you marry Eugenie?”

Charles frowned. “It is my fault that her name has been tainted by scandal. It is the only honorable thing to do.”

His mother nodded thoughtfully. “So you only wish to marry Eugenie for honor’s sake?”

“Yes… no,” he admitted, frustration creeping into his voice. “I also care for her.”

“You keep saying as much. But I believe you are lying to yourself.”

Charles’s frown deepened. “This conversation is going nowhere. Can we please eat our breakfast in silence?”

“Yes, under one condition.”

His gaze flickered warily to hers. “Which is?”

She leaned forward slightly. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“I don’t know. In England.”

She laughed. “Yes, but who do you see by your side? Do you wish for a family?”

“Of course, I want a family. I need an heir.”

“If that is the case, any young woman would do,” his mother pointed out. “Why go through the trouble of convincing Eugenie to marry you? There are plenty of young women who would leap at the chance to become your wife. ”

Charles set his fork down, his thoughts tangling in frustration.

He knew precisely what his mother was doing.

But he didn’t want just any woman. He wanted Eugenie.

But it wasn’t because he loved her. No. He cared for her deeply.

There was a difference. With Eugenie, he never had to pretend.

She saw him, flaws and all, and never looked away.

He showed her his imperfections, his fears, his burdens—and she, in turn, gave him her raw truth.

Together, their broken pieces fit perfectly.

Fortunately, before Charles had the chance to formulate a response, Hagen entered the room, offering a timely and welcome distraction. He met Charles’s gaze and announced, “Baron Warwicke has requested a moment of your time, my lord.”

At this, his mother’s eyes widened with curiosity. “I have heard that man survived being shot and stabbed—multiple times.”

Charles let out a weary sigh. “Do not believe everything you read, Mother.” Pushing back his chair, he rose to his feet and turned his attention to the butler. “Please show him into the study.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Hagen replied with a slight bow before departing to fulfill the order.

His mother tilted her head, still watching him with keen interest. “I was not aware that you were acquainted with Lord Warwicke.”

“I only recently made his acquaintance,” Charles answered, keeping his tone vague. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to pry into this particular matter. “If you will excuse me…” His voice trailed off as he made his way towards the door.

Just as he reached the doorway, his mother called after him, “Do you intend to call upon Eugenie today?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “I do,” he admitted. “I am taking her on a carriage ride this morning. ”

A bright, triumphant smile spread across his mother’s face. “What wonderful news.”

Rather than indulge her any further, Charles simply inclined his head and stepped out of the dining room, making his way towards the rear of the townhouse. His mother meant well, but her interference in his personal affairs was becoming tiresome. He had far more pressing concerns at the moment.

Upon arriving at the study, he found Baron Warwicke already present, standing beside the mantel. The man’s expression was as stoic as ever, his presence commanding without effort.

“Good morning,” Charles greeted, stepping farther into the room.

Warwicke wasted no time on pleasantries. “I followed your cousin to Mr. Kingston’s home, where he remained for over an hour.” His tone was direct, devoid of embellishment.

“That makes little sense,” Charles responded. “Kingston despises Philip, and they are set to duel soon—unless I can put an end to this madness.”

Warwicke’s gaze remained sharp. “Mr. Ellsworth has accumulated a fair amount of gambling debt.”

“I am aware, though it is still somewhat manageable. I had intended to settle the matter, but Philip’s reckless behavior has tested my patience.”

Picking up a small porcelain vase from the mantel, Warwicke studied it with casual disinterest. “The two men who attempted to abduct Lady Eugenie remain in Newgate. Thus far, they have remained tight-lipped about who hired them, but I have my suspicions.”

“You still believe Philip is responsible?”

“That is a possibility,” Warwicke admitted. “Mr. Ellsworth is reckless and seems to think only of himself.”

Charles struggled to reconcile the image of his cousin with such treachery. “What would he possibly gain from it? ”

Warwicke returned the vase to its place and turned to face him. “That is what I intend to find out. Until I do, I have instructed Westcott to keep his sister at their townhouse, where she will be safest.”

Charles studied the man before him, his mind turning over the implications of everything Warwicke had just said. There was something about the baron—his calculated movements, his unwavering confidence—that made it difficult to gauge his true motivations.

After a pause, Charles decided to ask, “May I ask a question?”

“That depends on what it is.”

Charles crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you doing this? You are a baron, yet you seem oddly invested in these affairs.”

Warwicke regarded him for a moment before saying, “As I told you, I am doing this as a favor to Westcott. Nothing more.”

But something in his tone made Charles wonder if that was the entire truth. “Regardless, I thank you for what you are doing to keep Lady Eugenie safe.”

Warwicke inclined his head slightly. “I will be in touch. Until then, be wary of Mr. Ellsworth. He is not someone to be trusted.”

“My cousin is many things, but I do not believe he had anything to do with Lady Eugenie’s abduction,” Charles said firmly. “Philip wouldn’t do such a thing.”

The baron’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “Did you not recently cut off his allowance?”

“I did, but?—”

Warwicke cut him off. “That alone could serve as motive. Do not be deceived by his youth. I have seen men much younger than he commit unspeakable acts in desperation.”

With reluctance in his tone, Charles replied, “I won’t. ”

“Good,” Warwicke said, his expression unreadable. “Good day.”

With that, the baron strode from the study, leaving Charles standing motionless, his mind turning over every word exchanged.

Philip. At Mr. Kingston’s home. For over an hour.

What had he been doing there? Was he attempting to negotiate terms, to put an end to the duel? Or was there something more sinister at play?

None of it made sense. And the more Charles thought about it, the more uneasy he became.