That is what Will liked about Lady Charlotte Feilding the most. She had the same spirit as Rose. So the arrangement was made.
Over the years, her drawing room became as familiar to him as his own. He would walk in, throw his jacket across a sofa and lean against the high back as she prepared him a drink.
It was the first place he visited on his return from the engagement soiree.
“It was awful,” he told her.
She handed him a crystal tumbler of whiskey.
“Was there any way it was not going to be?” Charlotte asked kindly.
“I should not have let John insist on it.”
“He loves you.” The elegant, tall, slim woman sat down on the sofa opposite him, cradling her own whiskey-filled glass.
“It sometimes feels like you two are conspiring against me.”
The countess smiled at him over the rim of the crystal.
“Well, that’s reassuring. I would hate to think we were not transparent.”
Will glowered at her. “Sometimes I think it is easier for you.”
“In what possible way?”
“The earl is gone. It is final. There is no choice but to accept it.”
Charlotte did not take offense at his words but rather leaned forward on the crushed velvet. “Do you feel you still have a choice with Rose?”
“There is always a choice,” Will snapped, then stared across the room, away from her.
“Do you think she knows how you feel about her?” Charlotte asked then.
“Of course she knows; she has always known.”
“No. I mean now. Do you think she knows now, after everything…”
Will swung his eyes back to her kind expression.
“Did you ever tell her you were about to ask her to marry you?” Charlotte asked.
“No,” he said finally, softly.
“And now?”
Will had to force down the lump of anger which always rose unbidden into his throat whenever he thought about the situation.
“Don’t you think that if she wasn’t obvious about what was important to her before when she married the Duke, then she darn well is now? She is marrying a Duke again, and this one is even more reprehensible than the last. For money!”
He watched as Charlotte leaned back on the plush sofa, taking her drink with her, kicking off her shoes, and bringing her legs up beneath her.
“You have money,” she said. “More than enough money to keep her and a beautiful home.”
“But no title,” he said ruefully.
Looking across at Charlotte as she looked back at him, he wondered why this woman had not been enough for him. There was no doubt he loved her dearly, but what made the difference between what he felt for this beautiful, vibrant woman and what he felt for Rose?
He smiled at her over his glass.