Midnight in Mayfair (1777 Society #2)

Chapter 24

Chapter

Twenty-Four

C harlotte woke with a start at the sound of her mama screaming, her father's raised, angry voice bellowing down the passage just outside her room.

She quickly raced from the bed and opened her door to see Alexander, party-clothed, sneaking back toward the stairs leading up to his room. He stood with his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, showing off the sprinkling of chest hair and his cravat hanging about his shoulders. His feet were bare, his boots held at his side, and his shirt was untucked, hanging loosely over his breeches.

The sight of him, disheveled after leaving her bed, his hair askew, made the pit of her stomach flutter, but the moment her parents' glares shifted from Alexander to her, Charlotte quickly schooled her features.

"Your Grace, I can explain," he stated, sounding far more sure than Charlotte felt.

"The hell you can!" her father exploded, making Charlotte jump. "We caught you! Watched you brazenly leave our daughter's bedroom and make your way up to your own. What the hell is going on here?"

Her mother started wailing, dropping to a step on the stairs, clutching the railing as if it would somehow give her support and comfort. As if it would somehow change what they'd seen.

Charlotte met Alexander's eyes. The concern in his blue gaze did little to help her think clearly. What would she do now? She had hoped in time she could talk to her parents to work on them seeing Alexander in a new light.

He wasn't entirely unacceptable to their measures. He did have money, if nothing else—but she knew they wanted more. They wanted a title, a family with lineage as long as their own. An honorable match with connections to elevate them even more in society. They wanted everything for her she did not.

"She's ruined, we're all ruined! Oh, my, my!" her mother wailed again, her face paling. Her outburst brought notice to other staff members before the butler ushered them away. "What if she’s with child? A bastard! Oh no, this is not happening to us, Your Grace."

Charlotte swallowed her fear and stepped into the corridor. "I'm in love with Alexander, Mama, and I wish for him to be my husband."

Her father's outraged face snapped toward her, and Charlotte bit her lip as Alexander cringed and shook his head in warning.

"So you did lay with him! Had relations with this fiend in the hopes you'd force our hand. Make us give way to a marriage between you both," her father thundered. "I ought to call him out and put a bullet through his skull. Instead of committing that illegal act, I shall terminate his employment and ensure he never works for another reputable gentleman in London ever again."

"Father, please, do not do this. I love Alexander, and he loves me. I want to marry him, do you not understand?"

"Husband?" her mother squeaked, her voice a sharp, horrified whisper. "Lady Charlotte D'Estel, married to a steward of her father's?" The duchess rose, seemingly finding strength in her fury. "You will never marry a man so beneath you. I will not have this family ruined by such a selfish, childish act!"

"I'm not a child, Mama," Charlotte argued. "I'm a grown woman, more than capable of making my own choices, and I choose Alexander."

"The hell you do, Daughter." Her father was suddenly upon her, pushing her back into her room. Before she could speak, he grabbed the key and locked her inside.

Charlotte stared at the heavy wood of the door and began banging against it with her fists. "Father, open this door! You cannot do this to me. I'm of age and capable of making decisions— including whom I marry!"

Her father ignored her, his curses toward Alexander growing more distant as he stormed down the corridor. A door slammed shut farther up the hall, and she could not determine what was occurring outside.

Charlotte paced her opulent room, now her prison, her thoughts racing too fast to think clearly. She sat on the edge of her bed, trying to calm her nerves. Had her father sent Alexander away? Had he already been banished from the house?

There was little doubt all would occur today. Her father was in a rage, and she could hardly blame him after catching them in such a compromising position. But couldn't he also see reason? Alexander was a good man—he had money and status, and she loved him.

So very much.

For hours, she sat in her room and took turns lying on the bed or sitting in the window, looking out onto the gardens. The morning soon gave way to afternoon, her stomach rumbled, and she began to believe her father intended to keep her locked away forever and starve her to death.

The sound of the key rattling in the lock jolted her upright. She waited, heart racing, as the door opened to reveal her maid carrying a tray of food and a missive beside the teapot.

"Lady Charlotte, would you like to remain in bed, or would you prefer to sit at your desk?" her maid asked, hovering inside the doorway.

"Place it by the fireplace, and please light it, Jane. The room has grown chilled."

She climbed out of bed and sat on the settee, ignoring her hunger for a moment as she reached for the letter. Breaking the seal, she scanned the note, which was from her mama.

Her maid left quietly, the fire crackling to life in the hearth as she devoured the letter.

Charlotte, you’ve disappointed us. You will remain in your room until it’s proven that you are not carrying a bastard child. Which, if I speak with your maid, should not be long, as your courses are due in a week. After that, we will choose a suitable husband for you, and you will be married.

Charlotte crumpled the missive and threw it to the floor. The hell she would marry anyone of their choice. She would sit here for the next week, wait to see if she carried Alexander’s child, and that was all she would do for her parents.

But if it came to pass that she was with child, she would marry Alexander—and there would be nothing they could do to stop her.

Instinctively, her hand settled on her stomach. Hope flared within her, if only for a moment. Perhaps, by some miracle, she would have fallen pregnant, and they could start their family immediately.

She sighed, pouring herself a cup of tea. The turtle soup, freshly baked bread, roasted chicken, and an array of vegetables the cook had prepared—looked delicious, and her stomach rumbled again. A small slice of lemon cake was just what she needed to keep her spirits up.

She would eat every bite. She would not wallow away in her room for the week. She would keep herself healthy and alert. Right now, she needed to be strong in case she was pregnant or had to flee with Alexander in the middle of the night.

Maybe she, too, would get a Gretna Green wedding like Genevieve.

She would marry Alexander anywhere, so long as they were together. That mattered most—not her parents' snobbery or desire to prevent their children from marrying for love.