Page 34 of A Spinster’s Folly (Courting the Unconventional #2)

E ugenie sat at the writing desk in the drawing room, a sheet of paper before her and a quill resting idly between her fingers.

Sir Spotticus lay curled at her feet, his spotted coat rising and falling with each steady breath.

Every so often, he flicked an ear or shifted his hooves, but for the most part, he dozed peacefully, unaware of her inner turmoil.

Eugenie sighed, her gaze drifting away from her half-written article and towards the long clock in the corner. Any moment now, Charles would arrive.

Not that she should be waiting for him. Not that she should care.

But she did.

Terribly.

Since coming to the realization that she was in love with Charles, everything had changed.

The way she looked at him. The way she anticipated his visits.

The way her heart insisted on quickening at the mere thought of his name.

It would be so easy to accept his marriage proposal, to give in to the warmth and security he offered.

And yet, the very idea sent a shiver of uncertainty through her.

Marriage, after all, meant giving up the independence she had fought so hard to maintain.

Then again, Charles had never sought to stifle her. If anything, he had always encouraged her, always seen her for who she truly was rather than who Society expected her to be.

The soft creak of the door interrupted her thoughts, and she turned just as Tanner stepped into the drawing room. His expression was carefully composed, though she could have sworn there was the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

“My lady,” he announced, bowing slightly. “Lord Bedford has come to call.”

Eugenie immediately straightened in her chair as she tried to settle the flurry of emotions stirring within her.

“Please show him in,” she said, pleased that her voice did not betray her excitement.

Tanner nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

A moment later, Charles stepped into the room, dressed impeccably in a deep blue jacket, buff trousers, and a cream-colored waistcoat.

The sight of him—so composed, so effortlessly charming—made something tighten in her chest. He smiled, and in that instant, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of them.

He bowed. “Lady Eugenie.”

She inclined her head. “Lord Bedford.”

“I hope I have not called upon you too early,” he said, his blue eyes studying her.

“Not at all,” she replied, though in truth, she had been waiting for him all morning.

His gaze flickered downward, and his expression turned amused. “I see Sir Spotticus is living his best life.”

Eugenie followed his gaze to the miniature horse, who had now cracked one eye open, as if sensing that he had become the topic of conversation .

“He is,” she said with a small laugh, reaching for a slice of apple from the dish beside her. She held it out, and Sir Spotticus eagerly accepted the treat, munching contentedly. “Though I suspect he only loves me because I feed him.”

Charles stepped closer and crouched down beside the horse. “Whatever it takes.” He ran a hand along the creature’s coat. “I must say, I’m pleased he has such a pleasant disposition.”

“Oh, he does,” Eugenie agreed, “though he did nip at Niles once. I think he knows my brother disapproves of him.”

“Horses are rather intelligent creatures.”

She grinned. “Sir Spotticus is the most intelligent of them all. I read to him constantly.”

“And does he ever answer back?” he teased.

“No,” Eugenie mused, “but I am quite convinced that he listens. Even when he pretends to be asleep.”

Charles laughed and then extended his hand towards her. “Shall we call upon Miss Winslow now?”

Eugenie hesitated only a moment before allowing him to assist her to her feet. His touch, though fleeting, sent warmth up her arm. “I think that is a grand idea,” she said, “especially since my brother is occupied with a meeting with his solicitor.”

“And where is Elsbeth?”

“She is at the dressmaker’s.”

Charles smiled. “Then we have perfect timing.” He led her towards the entry hall, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back.

As they reached the main door, Eugenie turned to the butler. “I am going on a carriage ride with Lord Bedford.”

Tanner’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Are you certain that is wise, my lady?” he asked. “Lord Westcott has instructed you to remain home.”

Eugenie lifted her chin. “I won’t be long. ”

He still looked unconvinced. “Very well. But if you insist, I shall send additional footmen along for the ride.”

Eugenie cast a glance at Charles. “I do not think that will be a problem,” she said. “Do you, my lord?”

“Not at all,” Charles replied.

Satisfied, Eugenie accepted the straw hat offered by the butler, securing it over her neatly pinned curls. “Will you ensure that Sir Spotticus returns to the stables?”

“I will, my lady,” Tanner said.

With that, she stepped outside into the bright morning, making her way towards the open carriage waiting by the drive.

Charles extended his hand once more, steadying her as she climbed inside. As he took his seat beside her, she clasped her hands in her lap and willed herself to appear unaffected by his close proximity.

The carriage lurched forward, setting them on their way.

Eugenie inhaled deeply, attempting to quell her nerves. “It is a fine day we are having, is it not?” she blurted, then immediately regretted it. Drat. Of all the things she could have said, she had to settle on the weather.

Charles, however, seemed unbothered. “It is,” he agreed, the corners of his lips twitching.

She bit her lower lip, racking her brain for something more interesting to say. Before she could, however, Charles spoke again. “How is your article coming along?”

“It is going well,” she lied, shifting uncomfortably. In truth, she had barely written a word—her thoughts had been far too preoccupied with him. It was maddening.

“I am pleased to hear that,” he said.

Finding herself curious, she turned towards him and asked, “Why are you so supportive of me?”

He stared back at her with a baffled expression, seemingly caught off guard. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It is… surprising, to be honest,” she admitted. “Most ge ntlemen of the ton would not approve of a lady writing for the Society page.”

“I think it is brilliant,” Charles said without hesitation. “Women have a unique perspective on life, and it is refreshing to see it put into words.”

Eugenie narrowed her eyes playfully and gave his arm a small poke.

He frowned. “What was that for?”

“I am merely ensuring you are real,” she teased.

Charles chuckled. “I assure you, my lady, I am quite real.”

The coach lurched unexpectedly as one of the wheels dipped into a rut, causing Eugenie to grasp the edge of her seat to steady herself. “I suppose we should discuss what we plan to say when we speak with Miss Winslow,” she suggested, tilting her head towards him.

Charles leaned back slightly, one arm draped casually over the side of the carriage. “I figured we would start with the most obvious question—why she wrote the article.”

Eugenie nodded. “And if she denies being Mr. Fairchild?”

A slow, mischievous smile crept across Charles’s face as he waggled his eyebrows. “I can be quite persuasive when I need to be.”

She laughed at that. “Oh? I suppose I have yet to witness such legendary persuasion.”

With exaggerated offense, Charles placed a hand over his heart, his expression one of mock devastation. “You wound me, my lady. Truly.”

Eugenie nudged his shoulder with her own in a playful manner. “I highly doubt that.”

“You are the only person who refuses to take me seriously. Which is rather strange, considering how wise I am.”

She shot him a knowing look. “And unbearably cocky.”

He shrugged, entirely unbothered. “You have to be a little cocky to be an earl. It’s practically a requirement. ”

“Oh? I hadn’t realized,” she teased, enjoying the easy rhythm of their banter.

“It’s true.”

Eugenie smiled to herself, settling back against the seat as the carriage continued its steady course down the road.

He glanced over at her. “You are smiling.”

“I am,” she admitted.

His gaze lingered on her, the usual lightheartedness in his eyes giving way to something more uncertain, more vulnerable. “Dare I hope that you are happy… with me?” His voice was quieter now, as though the answer truly mattered to him.

She turned fully towards him, meeting his gaze. There was no teasing in her tone when she admitted, “I am happy with you, Charles.”

“Good,” he replied. “Because I want to know everything about you. The good, the bad, and even the parts you stubbornly try to keep hidden.”

“That could take quite some time,” she teased, though her heart was hammering in her chest. No one had ever taken such an interest in her before.

He reached for her gloved hand. “I will make the time,” he promised, his voice rich with sincerity. “Because you, my dear, are beautiful, valued, worthwhile.”

Eugenie felt a warmth unfurling deep within her.

For a moment, she feared she wouldn’t be able to hide how much his declaration had affected her.

But years of practice kept her expression schooled.

She forced a lightness into her tone as she said, “I am beginning to understand your powers of persuasion.”

Charles’s lips twitched in amusement. “Then my work here is done,” he quipped, leaning back against the plush seat of the carriage. And yet, despite his relaxed posture, he didn’t let go of her hand.

Eugenie’s gaze flickered towards their entwined hands.

It was such a simple gesture, yet it carried a weight that she wasn’t sure she was ready to acknowledge.

Would it always be like this with Charles?

Would he always hold on to her so effortlessly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world?

The thought was both comforting and terrifying.