Dear God.
It took every ounce of control Charlotte possessed for her to stay calm, to not panic, to simply stand there and pretend all would be well. “I see.”
“Mr. Hallibrand came to ask a few questions of me,” Blayne said. He crossed to the man and handed him the glass of brandy he’d been pouring when Charlotte arrived. Glancing at her, he asked, “Would ye like one too?”
“Yes. Yes, please.” She needed all the fortification she could get. How was Blayne able to look so calm? Well, perhaps not calm. Heavens, he looked more resigned than anything else. Good lord. What had she done?
“I couldn’t help overhearing your father a few days ago when he conversed with friends during luncheon at Mivart’s. According to him, your engagement to the American businessman, Mr. Cooper, was imminent. Then this morning, the Earl of Dervaine’s butler stopped by my office to place an announcement in the paper. Apparently Mr. Cooper will be marrying Dervaine’s youngest daughter, Lady Fiona. To be frank, I actually thought you were forming an attachment with Mr. MacNeil after spotting the two of you together around Town.” Amusement flickered in Mr. Hallibrand’s eyes. “I’m guessing your parents didn’t approve and attempted to foist you off on Mr. Cooper instead. Figured I’d start looking into it in case there might be a story. That’s why I’m here.”
A shiver raked Charlotte’s spine. She couldn’t believe he’d seen her in Blayne’s company or that the manner in which they’d interacted had prompted the journalist to suspect a budding romance between them. How careless of her.
“Apparently, Mr. Cooper changed his mind with regard to marrying me,” Charlotte told Mr. Hallibrand stiffly. “He was my father’s choice. Our marriage was to be a practical arrangement intended to see me comfortably settled. But then Mr. Cooper found a better option and as a businessman, he chose to take it. There’s not really much more to say, I’m afraid.”
“Judging from the manner in which you just greeted Mr. MacNeil, I have to disagree.” Mr. Hallibrand sipped his drink, his assessing gaze never straying from Charlotte’s face. Her stomach churned and her heart felt as though it was being squeezed by a vice. “Now, I’m not a gossip columnist, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to pass up the chance to write a compelling piece. In fact, I think your situation could serve as an excellent example for change. These marriages of convenience prohibiting people from different classes from following their hearts are unsustainable. With more and more people coming from low income backgrounds and prospering through trade, I predict the lines will blur with higher frequency in the future.”
“Perhaps,” Charlotte agreed, “as long as each party’s financial situation is similar. But I doubt an aristocrat’s daughter will ever marry a chimney sweep, Mr. Hallibrand.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. MacNeil is hardly a chimney sweep. Is he?” A smirk pulled at Mr. Hallibrand’s lips. “I wonder. Do you know Mr. Cooper was raised in the slums of New York? His father was an Irish factory worker, his mother a Polish cleaning woman at a Manhattan hospital. The pair barely had enough funds to afford a small room to let, never mind enough to give their son an education. Which does make his accomplishments admirable, as long as one turns a blind eye to the questionable men who helped him get where he is today.”
“How do you know all of this?” Charlotte asked. She couldn’t believe this stranger was able to provide such information when her own father had failed to uncover it. Perhaps he’d just been too blinded by Mr. Cooper’s wealth to consider his background. Or maybe he hadn’t cared, which would make his firm dismissal of Blayne incredibly hypocritical.
“I’m a journalist, Miss Russell. I follow the news with the same dedication a gambler follows the races.”
Speaking of journalism…
“I hope you don’t mean to reveal my presence here this evening, Mr. Hallibrand.”
“Forgive me, Miss Russell, but that is like asking a hungry dog to ignore a fresh morsel of roast beef.”
A chill rushed through Charlotte’s veins. “Please. You can’t do this to us. You—”
“It’s all right,” Blayne said as his arm came around her midsection. He pulled her firmly against him and kissed the top of her head. “It’s nae the announcement we’d hoped for, but if Mr. Hallibrand is determined…well then, we cannae stand in his way.”
“What are you—” Charlotte began, only to be interrupted as Hallibrand asked, “What announcement would that be, Mr. MacNeil?”
“Being the clever journalist ye are, I’m surprised ye’ve nae figured it out,” Blayne said. “Ye see, the real reason Mr. Cooper cannae marry Miss Russell, is because she promised herself to me before his arrival.”
15
The tension in Charlotte’s shoulders could not be ignored. Even though it was her fault he now had no choice but to do the honorable thing, she clearly wasn’t pleased with how the situation had come about. Neither was he, but he was man enough to accept what was done and to face the repercussions.
Christ have mercy.
“So you never had an agreement with Mr. Cooper?” Mr. Hallibrand asked Charlotte with wide-eyed dismay. “In spite of your father’s insistence to the contrary?”
Blayne squeezed her gently until she shook her head. “No.”
“Incredible.” Mr. Hallibrand downed the rest of his brandy and set the glass aside. “This is precisely the sort of thing that needs to end, these attempts at forced unions that—”
“Very good,” Blayne cut in. “Now if ye dinnae mind, I’d like some time alone with my fiancée. If there’s anything else, ye’re welcome to drop by again tomorrow.”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll see myself out.”
“Oh, and Mr. Hallibrand?” Blayne added, halting the man in mid-stride. “I’d like to read yer story before it goes to print.”
“That’s not how this works, I’m afraid,” Mr. Hallibrand said.
“It is how it will work on this one occasion,” Blayne told him with a deliberate edge to his words. “I’ll nae have Miss Russell slandered. Is that understood?”
Mr. Hallibrand swallowed as Blayne’s meaning sank in. “Of course. I’ll be fair and discreet. And I’ll let you see it before I show it to anyone else.”
“Very good,” Blayne said.
Mr. Hallibrand responded with a curt nod, and then he was gone.
Blayne blew out a breath, released his hold on Charlotte, and scrubbed his hand across his jaw. “Bloody hell.”
Charlotte stared at the door through which Mr. Hallibrand had departed. As if recalling the glass of brandy he’d given her earlier, she raised it to her lips and downed the contents. She wheezed slightly, then seemed to recover. “Blayne…I…God, I’m so sorry.”
“Aye, lass. Me too. Ye dinnae deserve to be saddled with me, but I didnae ken what else to say in the moment.” It was the truth. Either she was to be his wife or Mr. Hallibrand would presume she was his mistress, which would be just as bad as calling her his whore.