Page 76 of A November to Remember

“My sister requires the beetroot juice. Bring it immediately.”

The maid curtsied and vanished.

Louisa whimpered, pressing the cloth back over her mouth. “I loathe the taste of it. It smells of dirt and damp cellars. I hate it and I love it at the same time.”

“You must drink it, Louisa. It will settle the stomach.”

The maid returned carrying a tray. She deposited on the side table a glass containing a substance displaying the exact hue and viscosity of freshly extracted gargoyle blood. The unmistakable scent of earth permeated the room.

Louisa took the glass with trembling hands. She brought it to her lips, closed her eyes tightly, and swallowed a large mouthful. Tears leaked from her eyelashes, rolling down her cheeks. She lowered the glass, coughing and sputtering, her face a picture of misery.

“It is vile.” Louisa wept, dabbing her cheeks. She took a shuddering breath, fighting another wave of nausea, but her expression hardened into diamond-cut logic. “We cannot cancel the ball, Caroline. Everything is ready as we are but mere days away. And it has been announced to the neighbourhood. Sir William Lucas knows. The local milliner knows. If we cancel it now, people will talk.”

Caroline frowned, contemplating the calendar. “A ball encourages romance, Louisa. If Charles dances with her all evening, he will propose before the final country dance.”

Louisa took another sip of the dreadful juice, shivering violently. “We host the ball. We fulfil the obligation, but we make certain Charles spends the evening saying goodbye to his guests rather than proposing to one of them.”

Caroline stared at her sister in awe; it was a brilliantly simple scheme.

Charles arrived, his golden hair disordered and his shoulders slumped. He collapsed into a chair and sighed.

Caroline exchanged a swift, meaningful glance with Louisa. It was time.

She approached him, arranging her features into gentle concern, and placing a comforting hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“Charles, dearest.” Her voice was a soft, melodic hum. “You look exhausted. Has Lord Keathley been shouting at you again?”

Charles leaned his head back, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “He is impossible. He believes he can dictate my life simply because he holds a title. He called me an absolute simpleton.”

Caroline stroked his coat sleeve, her heart singing a joyful tune. “The aristocracy often struggles to respect those of us who earned our wealth, Charles. They view us as their inferiors. It is unfair, but it is the way of the world. You must not let his arrogance wound you.”

Charles dropped his hands. “He told me I must court her. He told me I must marry her.”

“And did he ask what you desire?” Caroline crouched to meet his gaze. “Did he consider your feelings, Charles? Or your doubts? You expressed such uncertainty to me. You wondered if she merely complies with your attentions out of a sense of duty.”

Charles swallowed hard. “I do not know what she feels. She is always so polite.”

Caroline offered a sad, sympathetic smile. “She is a sweet girl. But a man of your standing, Charles, a man carrying our father’s legacy, deserves certainty.”

She straightened, moving gracefully to the fireplace, ensuring the light caught the rich silk of her gown. “Our father worked tirelessly to elevate this family. He built our fortune from nothing, and he dreamed of seeing you surrounded by the finest society England has to offer. London is our rightful place, Charles. It is where you belong.”

Charles looked up, his brow furrowing. “London?”

Louisa set her empty glass on the side table, suppressing a gag. “Caroline is right, Charles. We have lingered in the country too long. The damp is worsening my condition. I long for the comforts of Grosvenor Square.”

“But we cannot leave.” Charles gestured at the window. “I promised them a ball. I promised Miss Lydia a ball.”

“And you shall give her one!” Caroline turned to face him, her hands clasped together in a display of joyful encouragement. “You must host the ball. You must fulfil your obligation as a gentleman. The entire county is invited and it will be a magnificent evening.”

Charles relaxed, a hopeful glimmer returning to his eyes. “You truly think so?”

“Certainly.” Caroline moved back in front of him and leaned down, bringing her face close to his. “Host the ball. Show them the generosity of the Bingley name. And then, the next morning, we depart for London.”

Charles recoiled, his eyes widening in alarm. “Depart? Immediately?”

“It is the only sensible course of action.” Caroline kept her tone smooth, reasonable, and poisonous. “You require distance, Charles. You are clouded by proximity. Go to town. Immerse yourself in society.”

She paused, letting the silence stretch, and then delivered the final cut with a gentle smile.