Page 25 of Not his Marchioness (Daughters of the Ton #2)

It was happening again. Something within him was shifting. This time, Charlotte literally saw it on his face. The light in his eyes dimmed as he looked at his business partners and then back at her.

They had gotten along so wonderfully. They had laughed. They had jested for a brief period. She had even believed that something more might be growing between them, but now she saw the tension creep back into his shoulders as they danced.

What was wrong with him? Why did he always change so much? He was the most mercurial of men.

“It seems your business partners are enthralled with our performance.”

“Yes, we are rather good at it, aren’t we?” he said, a certain melancholy in his words.

“I thought perhaps later we could take a turn about the room, talk to a few more people like we did with the Duke of Windsor. I think it is quite helpful when it comes to making our story believable.”

“Our story. It is the most important thing after all, isn’t it?” he muttered bitterly.

“Well, it is why we—” She broke off, fighting the urge to snap.

“I think we have done quite enough,” he said.

“I wanted them to see us dancing, and I wanted us to be seen together, and now they have. Windsor was thoroughly charmed by you, as well. You do not need to stay by my side for the rest of the evening if you do not wish to. Of course, we may take a turn about the room if you wish. But perhaps it’s not necessary. ”

She waited, then their dance ended, and they walked off the dance floor.

“Is something the matter?” she asked. “You seem to have changed.”

“Changed?” He pulled his shoulders back and straightened to his full height. “I do not know what you mean. I have not changed in the least.”

“Right,” she uttered. “Well then, I shall go and get some refreshments.”

“Good.” He turned around. “I will see you at the door in about an hour.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a command. There were a few things that bothered Charlotte as much as being ordered about.

She glared at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was half past nine. She was going to show him.

She made her way to the refreshments table and poured herself a glass of lemonade, then ate a slice of dry cake with butter, followed by another glass of lemonade.

After that, she took a turn about the room, stopping for several minutes to speak to her acquaintances, as well as Lady Rosslyn, who expressed her enthusiasm for the school.

Then, she made her way back to the refreshments table for a glass of wine and a slice of plum cake.

An hour and fifteen minutes had passed when she finally got up and walked across the ballroom, slowly this time, again taking her time to talk and chat and be merry.

By the time she arrived at the front door, it was forty-five minutes past the agreed-on hour. Or rather, the stipulated hour.

Rhys stood with one leg crossed over the other as he leaned against the wall.

“I thought I was going to have to call in the Bow Street Runners to mount a search for you,” he said.

“Well,” she replied, “you know how it is. A young lady, looking to establish herself in Society, must take the time to converse and chat with whoever wishes to chat with her. You ought to know this, given how rebuilding your reputation is one of the main reasons why we wed.”

He pressed his lips together. “Let’s go. The carriage is already waiting. I dare say several gentlemen will be rather vexed at having to walk a greater distance because our carriage is in the way.”

“Walking a few extra steps to one’s carriage,” she scoffed. “Yes, I hope they will survive. I know a few extra steps toward a waiting carriage is a great hardship for gentlemen like you.”

He paused, tilting his head to the side as he watched her, but she walked on without him.

At the carriage, the coachman opened the door and handed her in. She sat in the far corner, crossing her legs at the ankle as she fanned herself, even though she wasn’t warm at all. In fact, it was cold.

“It is a shame,” she said, more to herself than him, “that it has been raining so much and we have had no snow. It has been only thunder, rain, and brimstone of late.”

“Brimstone?” Rhys echoed. “We must be experiencing quite different weather.”

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. It’s almost Christmastide and there is no snow.”

He shrugged. “Whether it snows or not does not matter. If anything, snow only impedes our progress.”

“But it looks pretty,” she mumbled, looking out at the streets blurring past.

He sighed. “Well, it may look pretty, but it is all pretend. Underneath is the same refuse-soaked streets, full of horse manure, as every other day—just covered under a pretty layer.”

“Like our marriage, you mean?”

He shook his head. “I would not compare our marriage to a street full of horse manure, but if you wish to think of it as such, then be my guest.”

How in the world had they come to this point? Why did this continue to happen?

They had a perfectly pleasant evening—more than pleasant, in fact—and then he had suddenly changed again. And she couldn’t help herself; whenever he grew so petulant, so petty, she had to follow in his footsteps.

She knew perfectly well what Marianne would say. “Be the bigger person. Be the better person. Rise above.”

Her aunt would tell her the same. She would recount an anecdote of how, whenever her uncle behaved like a beast, she would act sweetly, making him guilty and ashamed of his actions.

Charlotte wished she could be like that, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t. Not with Rhys. Not with anyone, really.

“Gadzooks,” he blurted, and she turned to him.

“What is it?” she asked.

He was looking out the window. “Our nemesis is walking down Bond Street,” he said.

She scooted over to the other side of the carriage and, sure enough, saw him walking there, his walking stick swinging back and forth.

A shiver ran through her. “I have not seen him in weeks, and yet now that I look at him, it is as though our paths just crossed.”

“Well, thanks to that manure-covered street you chose, you do not have to worry about that again,” Rhys drawled.

“I do not know what the trouble is,” she huffed, “but I wish you would remember that we have both benefited from this marriage. And perhaps you could act a little more civil.”

“I have been civil all evening,” he countered, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Yes, until we danced together, and all of a sudden, you became a different person. Indeed, you are rather like—why, you’re not Byron, are you?”

“Byron? How in the world am I like Byron, aside from the fact that we are both wealthy, titled, and rakes?”

She clicked her tongue. “You are both mercurial. I have heard that he can be the most charming man one has ever met, only to turn and become a ninnyhammer the next.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I am a ninnyhammer?”

“Sometimes,” she replied.

He grinned and shook his head, looking away.

Silence settled between them, and for a while, the only sounds one could hear were the grinding of the wheels on the sandy road and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

Charlotte was grateful for the pause, not wishing for it to continue arguing endlessly.

They had arrived in front of the townhouse when Rhys spoke up. “I beg your pardon. I should not have been so unkind. The truth is, my mood did shift, but it was not your fault. Please accept my apology.”

Taken aback by his apology, she stared at him, not saying anything.

“I trust you still want me to accompany you to Islington tomorrow?” he asked.

She wanted to make a cutting remark, comment on his precious time and his more pressing duties, but bit back the venom.

“I would like it, yes,” she replied.

“Good. We shall collect Lady Margot on our way.”

He opened the carriage door and stepped down. Turning, he held out his hand. She glanced at it, then took it. The second her hand curled around his as he handed her out, that familiar jolt ripped through her.

Dash it all to hell, why did he make her feel this way even when they had just quarreled?

She did her best to maintain her composure and stepped onto the pavement, withdrawing her hand quickly.

They walked up the steps to the front door, and the butler let them in. Then, she quickly bade him good night and made her way up to her bedroom to put as much distance between them as she could.