herself. Control her impulses. Curb her tongue.
Although she wondered at her ability to make such changes now, when she’d been unable to at any of her other posts…
Charlotte bit her lip.
If she hadn’t been raised by a vicar, she could have contemplated other means for making a living. Many women who chose to be some gentleman’s mistress were well provided for. If she thought she had any talent, she could have found it interesting to try being a dancing girl, or a seamstress in a theatre. She could have served ale in a tavern.
Perhaps.
She might have enjoyed almost anything more than the tedium of her current situation. She could not imagine disliking any of those other positions with quite so much passion.
Or performing them any worse.
Anthony chastised himself all the way back to Viscount Denton’s estate as the phaeton rumbled along.
He could not––he absolutely would not––allow an inconsequential woman, with eyes the color of the sea, to upend his plans.
He’d already contracted the foreman to commence with more rebuilding and land improvements. He had little time for courting. He’d considered participating in the great marriage mart in London this spring, but the fire had expedited his need. The season in London would not commence for several months.
Jilting his neighbor’s daughter was not an option.
He’d suggested this outing in order to get to know Miss Drake better.
He blinked.
Miss Fairchild––not Miss Drake!
All he’d discovered thuslywas that Miss Fairchild hated dogs. Surely, she would feel differently upon meeting Rufus and Walter. Anthony had had both dogs for nearly nine years now. Before that, he’d had Fritz for nearly fourteen. He could not remember a time in his life when he’d not enjoyed the companionship of his own, or one of his father’s hounds.
He swallowed hard and turned his thoughts back to his present surroundings.
“Are you warm enough?” he lowered his mouth so that she would be sure to hear him. “Susan?” He’d not addressed her yet by her given name. But he had to make progress in his suit today. Up until yesterday, he’d considered himself reasonably attracted to Miss Drake.
Miss Fairchild. He’d considered himself reasonably attracted to Miss Fairchild.
Although the sun just barely peeked through a thin layer of clouds, the breeze carried a chill. The lady beside him apparently noticed his intimate gesture but rather than show any pleasure, tightened her lips. “I am well enough, my lord.”
It seemed she’d not yet forgiven him for withholding her gift until Christmas day, when it would be more appropriate. She’d begged and cajoled incessantly, like a spoiled child, but he’d stood his ground. To present her with a gift too early would cause scandal.
He’d wait until she was his fiancé.
The thought cooled him more than the wind.
Only two days until Christmas.
Silence hovered the remainder of the drive, but for the creaking sounds of the turning wheels. As Glenstone Hollow drew near, Anthony contemplated speaking with her father this afternoon. He could make his official request for her hand and discuss contracts. He would then return the next morning to formally offer for the girl herself.
Damn, but his valet had knotted his cravat tightly today.
Again.
Two manservants approached the landau as the horses slowed to a halt in front of the elegant manor. The taller of them opened the door while the other lowered the step and assisted Miss Fairchild and then Miss Drake onto solid ground.
Anthony fought the urge to secretly grasp the maid’s hand, as though she needed his reassurances –– as though he had any right whatsoever. What on earth was the matter with him?
Instead, he rose and then followed reluctantly. Miss Fairchild awaited him at the bottom of the steps leading inside.
He bowed.
“I will see you later tonight then?” Miss Fairchild reminded him.
He’d nearly forgotten about the invitation to dine with Lord Denton and his family and guests that evening.
“I’ll be counting the minutes.” Even he nearly winced at himself this time.
He would not speak with the viscount about marriage contracts today.
She lifted her chin in a jerking motion. “Indeed.” And then addressing Miss Drake. “Fetch my parasol from Lord Mapleton’s vehicle.”
“Of course.” Miss Drake backed away from both of them, looking as uncomfortable as he felt.
But beautiful, by God.
He shook his head in a futile attempt to dismiss such thoughts and bowed once again in the general direction of his prospective fiancé. “Good day, Miss Fairchild.”
“Until this evening, Lord Mapleton.” And with a pout, she disappeared inside without affording him another glance.
He rather deserved it.
Because all thoughts of Susan Fairchild