Page 12 of Not his Marchioness (Daughters of the Ton #2)

The wedding breakfast passed in a blur of forced pleasantries and fake laughter.

Charlotte spent most of her time seated beside her sisters and aunt, whilst Rhys kept company with his friend, whose first name she’d finally managed to catch—Gideon.

She knew a great many of the guests, and nearly every one of them came up to offer their congratulations on her new “position,” as though she had just been promoted to some prestigious post rather than shackled to a man she barely knew.

But she understood perfectly well what came next. As soon as they walked away, they would begin whispering. About the marriage, about her, about him.

Of course, they would. That was what Society did. It fed on itself, fattened on secrets and speculation.

She couldn’t even fault them. She had once done the same. But it was rather unpleasant to know that her own wedding breakfast would likely fuel half the gossip for the upcoming week.

“Goodness,” Marianne said, biting into a tart. “Did you know the house was so grand? I had no idea.”

“Neither did I,” Charlotte admitted. “I had only been here once before, and I assumed only the narrow part belonged to him. But this? I cannot believe it. And I cannot believe how few servants he had.”

“From what I understand,” Aunt Eugenia piped up, “he had most of the rooms closed, since he didn’t use them. But now that you live here—and there will be life within these walls again—he’s had to hire an entire staff. Along with the staff he maintains in the country.”

“Well, fortunately, he can afford it,” Charlotte murmured, lifting her wine glass to her lips for a sip.

“You can afford it,” Evelyn reminded her firmly. “Don’t forget your title now. You are the Marchioness of Ravenscar. This is your home as much as his.”

“Legally, none of this is mine,” Charlotte pointed out.

“Legally.” Evelyn waved a dismissive hand.

“But practically speaking, you’re the mistress of this house.

You can do whatever you please. So, what do you want to do?

There are so many charitable endeavors, so many possibilities.

You’ve always been passionate about reading and writing.

Why not start teaching the less fortunate to do the same? ”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

Ever since Evelyn had become a duchess, she’d launched herself into moral improvement with the force of a cannonball. It was admirable, of course, but wearying. Charlotte often found herself yawning just from watching her sister bustle around London, making the world a better place.

Still, Evelyn was right. Charlotte needed to do something. She couldn’t spend her life seated on cushions, collecting dust.

“Perhaps you can take up watercolor,” Marianne suggested brightly. “Be a proper lady of leisure.”

“Yes,” Aunt Eugenia agreed, dabbing her mouth. “That would be pleasant, wouldn’t it?”

Was that how her family saw her? An ornament who wanted nothing more than to sip tea, nibble on sweetmeats, and leaf through poetry?

It sounded peaceful, yes. But not for a lifetime.

Charlotte had always imagined herself as a mother. A wife. Someone who shared her days and thoughts with another person. But now…

Now, she realized that would never be her life. And she hadn’t really considered what she wanted it to look like instead.

“Perhaps one day,” Marianne said softly, “you and your husband will… change your minds. There might be children.”

“I should think not,” Charlotte muttered.

“You say that now,” Marianne insisted.

“No, I don’t just say it. We agreed. There will be no children.”

Charlotte noticed the way her sisters and aunt exchanged glances.

Aunt Eugenia cleared her throat delicately.

“I know that’s the agreement now, dear,” she said, “but you must consider the future. You’re both still young.

In a few years, Rhys may feel more comfortable in his position and wish to carry on the line.

There are other considerations, too. Who will inherit the marquisate if he has no son?

What if it’s someone dreadful? He may want an heir simply to prevent some simpleton from getting it. ”

“Yes,” Marianne added, “you can’t be absolutely certain he won’t change his mind.”

“No. But I will be no one’s broodmare,” Charlotte said crisply. “We’ll live in separate quarters. We’ll hardly even breathe the same air once the dust settles. Besides, he has his… interests.” She dropped her voice. “Gaming halls. Wagers. Spirits. And, from what I’ve heard… opiates.”

Aunt Eugenia clutched her fan. Marianne looked appalled. Evelyn simply shrugged, unbothered.

“That may be his life now, but that doesn’t mean it will always be,” Evelyn argued. “Nathaniel was quite the rake when he lived in Scotland, and now he hardly visits his clubs. And if he does, it’s for luncheon. Men can change.”

“Yes, but Nathaniel adores you,” Charlotte pointed out. “He loves you. He’d spend every minute of his life with you if he could. I—” She sighed. “We can barely tolerate each other for five minutes.”

“That’s not what it looked like at the wedding.” Marianne grinned. “The way you whispered to each other…”

“Good Lord,” Charlotte muttered, grabbing her wine glass and taking two large gulps. “I knew that’s what it would look like. In reality, we were exchanging barbs. There was nothing romantic about it.”

“That’s a shame.” Aunt Eugenia tutted. “I had hoped…” she trailed off, waving a hand. “Well, never mind.”

“In any case,” Marianne said, “I think it’s something you ought to discuss with him.”

“I have discussed it with him.” Charlotte finished her wine just as a lady in deep plum silk approached.

“Well, well, Lady Ravenscar,” Lady Swanson greeted.

Charlotte blinked. It took her a moment to realize that she was Lady Ravenscar now. No matter how often she heard it, she could not think of herself as such.

“Thank you for inviting me,” the woman continued. “I wasn’t sure I’d be on the guest list.”

“Why not?” Charlotte asked. “You’re the godmother of my husband’s dearest friend, no?”

“Yes, I am. But I thought, given that my home played a certain… role in your current predicament, perhaps it might be uncomfortable.”

Charlotte paused, then offered a smile. “But your home is what brought us together,” she said, which wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Well, I’m pleased, regardless. And even more pleased to hear that you and your husband will be attending my birthday celebration in May.”

“Your… birthday?” Charlotte echoed.

That was months away. She and Rhys had agreed to appear at a few balls and promenades immediately after the wedding, but surely by May, they’d convince Society of their blissful union and could retreat into blessed invisibility.

And he was already making plans for them? Without consulting her?

Every alarm in her head rang at once. Perhaps her sisters and aunt were right. Perhaps he was already looking to change their agreement.

She could not allow that. She would not.

After the last guest had departed and the clinking of glasses faded into silence, Charlotte stepped into the parlor.

Rhys sat with his feet propped on a small table, a ledger open in his lap.

“I thought you didn’t read,” she said.

He looked up. “I don’t. This isn’t for entertainment. It’s a household ledger. I wanted to see how much it costs to have the house fully staffed.”

“I see.” She lingered.

He set the ledger aside and tilted his head. “Is there something I can help you with, Lady Ravenscar?”

“I wondered why you haven’t shown me around the house.”

“A tour?” he asked, his eyes widening. “You’re requesting a tour?” His voice held the faintest edge of mockery.

“Well, I thought that was what a gentleman does when a lady moves into his house.”

“You have eyes. And feet. Nothing’s stopping you from exploring on your own. But if you require my assistance…” He rose and gestured for her to walk ahead.

How gallant.

She had hoped to subtly remind him of their agreement during a proper tour. But, clearly, he was determined to be impossible.

They walked down the corridor together, peeking into various rooms. For a townhouse, the place was immense, far larger than she had assumed.

“What else have I been wrong about?” she muttered under her breath. “I cannot believe a house this size doesn’t have a library.”

“It used to,” he revealed. “But since I don’t read, I had all the books moved to the country estate. Of course, many of them are back here now. Would you like to see?”

He indicated the stairs. She ascended them, taking in columns, oil paintings, and bronze figurines.

“Are you a collector?” she asked.

“Not I. My mother.”

“I see,” she murmured.

“She was a collector… among other things,” he said.

She couldn’t quite place the bitterness in his voice, but she let it go. They were not here to become friends. They were allies, co-conspirators, in this charade.

The library was modest; it probably contained two hundred volumes. Nothing like her father’s. Rhys didn’t say a word about the other rooms, merely followed her.

If she was going to redraw their boundaries, she’d have to be blunt.

“I believe we must revisit our agreement,” she declared.

“Already?” He raised an eyebrow. “Have you found the terms lacking?”

“No. But I fear we were not clear with one another.” She looked up at him when she caught the scent of sandalwood.

She paused. The scent had always made her swoon for reasons she could not quite explain. Combined with that sparkle in his eyes, it affected her in ways she did not care to explore.

“Is that so?” he asked, leaning against the window frame with one arm over his head.

“Yes.” She turned to face him fully. “You may do as you please, but I require space, and I demand to be involved in any decisions regarding our joint appearances. I won’t be your puppet, and I will not be paraded about like a conquest.”

Rhys crossed to the sideboard, poured himself a drink, and offered her one. “I take it this is about my accepting Lady Swanson’s invitation to her birthday party next year.”

“An invitation issued to us both, but accepted by you on my behalf without my knowledge. That will not stand.”

“Are you always this charming?”

“Only when I’m trapped.”

He chuckled, sipped, then murmured, “It is a birthday party, not Newgate Prison, my dear. But very well, I shall inform her that I had not consulted you, and we shall let it be.”

She sighed. “I do not wish to make our union look unstable. Since you already agreed, we shall attend. But from now on, I expect to be consulted. I am not your plaything to be taken out of its box whenever you need.”

He raised his hands in defeat. “No parading about. But I must demand something in return.”

“Go on, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I reserve the right to tease you when you look too pleased with yourself.”

“So… always then,” she said flatly.

She knew she sounded high in the instep, but she could not let him think she was a wallflower to be pushed about.

A beat of silence followed. Then, she asked more quietly, “There is another matter. One we spoke of before. The heir.”

Rhys went still. Then, almost too casually, he shook his head.

“We spoke about this and agreed. We won’t produce an heir.

My second cousin, Lawrence, will inherit the marquisate.

He is a bufflehead but has a decent steward.

He will not steer the ship into the rocks, I am certain.

” A pause. “No need to worry. I have no interest in pretending we’re something we’re not. ”

She was relieved, but hid it quickly.

“Good,” she said. “Well, I shall retire to bed. It has been a long day. And…” she trailed off, aware she’d almost asked him what his plans were.

He smirked. “I, too, am rather fatigued. I shall see you in the morning. If you need, I will shadow you as you take in the rest of the estate.”

“There is no need.”

Though she was oddly relieved he, too, was going to sleep.

Why should it bother her if he went out once more? Why should she care if he called on a lightskirt? It should not.

And yet, somewhere inside her, there was a spark of curiosity when it came to him.

Though from where it had come, she did not know. And as she walked to her chamber, she had to admit that it caused her far more concern than this situation warranted.