Feeling like the most miserable person alive, Charlotte tried to think of the bright side of her situation. She would be a married lady and a countess, which would give her social standing in London. Perhaps she could become a leader of fashion, and host a number of elegant parties. Charlotte imagined herself as a dashing young matron of society in a futile effort to cheer herself up.

“Charlotte,” Mama’s voice broke in on Charlotte’s musings, a note of reproof lingering in the air, “the earl has asked you no less than two times what you think of the weather.”

“Oh!” Charlotte said, forcing herself to take note of her surroundings. She glanced at the earl and found him disturbingly close, his dark eyes almost hawklike. “I-it has been unusually warm,” Charlotte stammered miserably. “I’ve heard that it is even warmer in London.” Rupert had told her that, Charlotte remembered with a pang.

“You need not worry about London. I daresay we’ll never go there.”

Charlotte paused. “Never?”

“Oh, once every five or six years, perhaps. But only when the season is over. I find it too crowded otherwise.”

Lady Melton gave an uncertain laugh. “Lord Greyley, surely you’ll go more often than that. After all, you have an impressive town residence and—”

“I’m selling it.”

Charlotte blinked. She loved the Greyley London house. Located in Mayfair, it was the most stylish establishment on the street. “You…you cannot sell it!”

“Cannot?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair, looking astonishingly self-satisfied. “I can do anything I want.”

Anger rallied Charlotte’s spirits somewhat. Oh, how she wished she were more like Anna. Anna would have made sure her feelings were known. Charlotte glanced at the earl from beneath her lashes, noticing the way he watched her, his lids lowered, a faint smile on his face. He was insufferable, Charlotte decided. And she was to marry him. The thought made her furious.

For one instant, Anthony thought he’d managed to raise Miss Melton’s ire enough to get her to engage in a good, healthy argument. But as he watched, the flash of irritation melted away, to be replaced by her usual anxious look.

Charlotte had never been very comfortable in his presence, Anthony reflected with irritation, wondering how he’d ever come to the conclusion that he would be happy with such a lackluster bride.

Suddenly anxious to see this charade at an end, Anthony said loudly, “I’m also thinking of moving from Greyley House.”

Lady Melton’s mouth dropped open while Charlotte gasped. “You cannot mean that!” she said. “I would miss Mama and—”

“You’ll be my wife, Charlotte. You won’t need your mother any longer.” There, he thought with satisfaction. That should settle things. Lady Putney was frowning and even Lady Melton, that implacable statue of calm, was beginning to look disturbed.

“Lord Greyley,” she said now, “you cannot mean to whisk Charlotte away.”

“Once she’s married, she’ll have far too much to do seeing to my needs.”