Page 11 of Always the Chaperone

Charlotte’s heart sank. For a minute, perhaps two, she had been the heroine of her story. But she had tricked herself into thinking there was a possibility of a romance between her and Mercia. Now she was back where she belonged, as the secondary character in someone else’s romance.

With a smile plastered on her face, she opened her mouth to agree.

“We would love to,” Mercia said smoothly.

Miss Darby beamed and leaned to speak with John more closely.

Charlotte stared at Mercia. “What exactly is your game, Your Grace? I warn you, I am no chit of the Season to be easily teased.”

But were those words true? His growing smile was doing something strange to her, something she did not quite understand.

“This carriage ride is an excellent idea,” he said in a low voice, “because it will give me the chance to know you better. You intrigue me, Lady Charlotte, and no other woman in Bath has managed that.”

Pleasure rushed through her, but she would not let it overwhelm her. She would be the mistress of her mind and body.

“I shall be Miss Darby’s chaperone,” she said quietly, “not your companion.”

She rose, but Mercia mirrored her, towering over her. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Four

“Itell you,you are wrong!”

The glass of port slammed onto the table, and the remnants sloshed over the side. Several gentlemen who had been sitting in the club quietly, attending to newspapers or dozing in armchairs, looked up with disdain.

John laughed. “By Jove, Mercia! If you had not inherited that title after our great uncle died, you would not be permitted to shout in a club like the York!”

William grinned at his brother opposite him, a bottle of port drained to its dregs between them. They had been there almost four hours, and as the bottle emptied, their volume increased.

“Well then, it is a good thing I was the one to inherit it,” William said, his smile unwavering, “for I have no intention of being quiet!”

A gentleman with a graying beard frowned and opened his mouth to speak. Before he did, his neighbor leaned over and whispered something in his ear. William heardDuke of Merciamuttered, and the first gentleman’s eyes widened. He looked at his companion, received a nod, and looked back at William with a smirk.

William sighed. God’s teeth, he had not been raised to nobility; he had not been raised to anything. A gentleman’s upbringing was all he had been afforded, and it had been more than enough.

Until the letter. Now it was bowing and hierarchy and impressing people without even trying. It was bizarre, this world of pomp and circumstance, and each time he relaxed, something reminded him he was not only an outsider but one with a title that demanded respect from people he did not even know.

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably and was in half a mind to tell the gentleman with the beard that if he had a problem, he should say it rather than swallow it because of society’s rules.

But no, he was a duke, and he had to act like it. Whether he wanted to or not.

“Well, I shall argue with you no more on the point,” John hiccupped, putting his glass down. “I suppose it is unseemly for me to bicker with the head of my family. I just…I wish Honora was around to see us.”

Something painful flamed in William’s heart as though he had been punched.

Three years. Had it been that long? Yes, years had passed since he had last seen her. She could be out there in the world, hurt, worried, lost, believing he did not care about her. That she did not matter. That he had forgotten about her.

William’s hands balled into fists, and a savage anger overtook him. He would burn the world down if it would bring Honora back.

“We will find her,” John’s words were quiet, but they interrupted William’s thoughts as if they had been shouted.

“And what are we doing about it, Gloucester? Sitting here, the two of us, in our fancy gentleman’s club, drinking port.”

“That is not true,” said John fiercely. “You know what we have done, what we have had others do on our behalf. Think of all the advertisements we have put out, the reports we have made and sent up and down the country. Think of the money and bribes we have spent gaining information, asking anyone and everyone who could have an inkling about where she is. I do believe we are doing all we can.”

William shrugged, pain behind his eyes that threatened to become tears. “If it was enough, we would have found her.”

What more could they do? There were few avenues they had not explored, and although money made people talk, it could not solve everything.