Part 36 (1/2)

”Perhaps you are rethinking your plans, Mr. Trant.”

”I am. But things are not too far gone to correct. Jealousy is an easy excuse with which to dismiss the rumors. And marriage will quash the rest,” he said.

”I see.”

”Do you? I will tell you something that no one else yet knows. The King is drawing up Letters right now. He knows which way the wind blows. He sees the future. And by this time next year, I will be an earl.” One finger ran along her shoulder as he turned. ”And you, my dear, you will be a countess. And not just any countess, but the wife of the future minister as well.”

She wasn't surprised by his ambition. Or by the information that he was to be t.i.tled. And least surprising was the crisp coolness that coiled within her, waiting. Winning cards lay before her. Chance blossoming and offering her a perfect hand.

”That sounds like a very fortuitous state of affairs.” She tried to keep her voice calm. And she found that it wasn't difficult to do so. A few months ago, she likely would have felt some heady relief. Something that said she didn't have to continue along her rocky path, her father's path.

But that path had disappeared over the cliff, and the one now before her was shrouded in a different kind of darkness.

”I see you are happy to have your sister back,” he said, eyes narrowing when she didn't gush over his offer, expression also satisfied that she could still act so coolly.

”Yes.”

”Such a carefree, happy spirit.”

Charlotte said nothing, not remotely surprised that Trant knew her weakness. Only that it had taken him so long to use it.

”Your sister will want for nothing. I have many connections.”

Coldness spread. For here it really was before her. Actual bargains to be made, deals to be sealed, opportunities to be seized.

Her father thought his p.a.w.n was in here placating Trant. Securing his compliance to wait until the end of the season.

She thought back to what Roman had said. That the power rested in her lap. The problem was that internalizing that revelation also meant decisions could no longer be pushed aside.

”I simply wish for Emily to choose her own path.” Everything in her voice said that there was nothing simple in the statement. That this is where negotiating began.

”Then that is what she will have,” he whispered in her ear, excitement in his tone that they had reached the crux. ”When I am minister, she might choose to become a patron of the arts. A courtier to a queen. Married to a simple man with children in the country. Anything she wants.”

The whispered promise of out of your father's hands lingered. Not having to worry about threats of Lord Kinley or his ilk.

She lifted her chin in interest, not willing to give away her position yet.

He paced around her chair again. ”I'm a greedy man. But I could also offer . . . some freedom for you. Eventually.” There was a hint of warning behind the words. He knew. Her heart beat in her, vibrating up her throat coldly. She should have felt no surprise at the certainty of the revelation. ”Even with your current . . . rebelliousness, there is still barely a hint of talk. And with a ring on your finger, that all gets wiped clean.” His fingers trailed across her chin as he came back into sight. ”Perfection,” he whispered.

She remained motionless. An expressionless bust.

Not only did he know, but he was willing to let her have some sort of relations.h.i.+p with Roman afterward.

Why would he agree to that? She didn't have that much power. And while Trant was the type of man who could coldly work arrangements out at a later date, that he would use that incentive now . . . Something tugged at her thoughts, demanding attention.

”Still.” His fingers left her skin. ”You play your part, and I will play mine.”

Give him heirs. Be the perfect wife in the social and political spheres. Have a secret life on the side.

The questions continued digging at her- why? And why now?

She could have everything. Why then did her stomach clench so painfully? She could have everything she'd thought she'd wanted if she simply, patiently waited for it.

”You offer much,” she said.

”I want much in return.” His eyes examined her. ”But nothing that you are unable to give.”

She lifted her chin. He didn't require warmth or personal feeling. Obviously didn't expect anything remotely smacking of it.

And though Trant's motives were clear, pieces of him were hidden and twining beneath his calculating eyes. Less able to manage than another husband but also ambitious enough to claw them to the top.

She suddenly wondered when she reached the peak, how difficult it would be to stand upon the high, cold precipice, s.h.i.+vering, balancing, finding it hard to draw breath.

No, that was a coward's way of thinking.

She worked with the cards she was dealt. She always had. A curl of cool air blew from somewhere. This was what she had been bred for.

These cards were better, no, more perfect, than any she'd been dealt before.

She smiled tightly at the man in front of her, and something inside of her, something that had been hanging by a fingernail for so long, finally broke.

The fair was lively. Emily was as enthusiastic as always, even if she kept sending Charlotte concerned glances when she thought she wasn't looking. Viola was silent, and Charlotte would have normally pinpointed her expression as brooding, but on second glance it was almost contemplative.

Charlotte had a feeling that the three of them planned to exchange quick, pensive glances all day when they thought the others weren't looking. She wondered what Emily and Viola were thinking-or brooding-about. She wanted to ask, but then she'd have to explain her own thoughts. Her future and her plans. Set the words and patterns to reality.

They swirled around her, tendrils of air that needed something firm to attach to. For she'd forced their carriage to stop at the Downings' on the way to the fair. Had run inside to speak to Miranda. A tumult of words and feelings, and admissions, all bursting free.

Knowing that everything might blast back. Turn on end, leave her dying.

And still she had done it. Pus.h.i.+ng past the fear, pus.h.i.+ng past the responsibility.

Roman . . . what would he- She froze, seeing Bill walking toward them. It wasn't an unusual sight to see him these days, but to see him looking so solemn, his hands behind his back, approaching as if he meant to speak with them was. Her heart clenched. Had something happened?

She anxiously looked past Bill, hoping to see golden hair, but the crowd churned, the fairgoers laughing and talking, their voices too loud and piercing.

Bill finally came to a stop, standing before Viola, who looked at him as if he was a bug in her porridge.

”Milady, I couldn't help but notice that your beauty s.h.i.+nes brighter than the bloodiest of veins.”

Charlotte wasn't sure whether to give into hysterical relief that nothing was wrong with Roman or to stupefaction at Bill's words. Emily appeared firmly set on the latter.

”Pardon me?” Viola said coldly. But Viola didn't push up her nose. Nor did she move away.

”The crimson blush of a violent sunset. Slaughtering my poor heart.”

Bill's hair was neatly combed, and he was dressed in a dark but dapper outfit, eye patch rakishly angled.

Charlotte's eyes automatically raked the crowd for blond hair again. Slaughtering her poor heart.

” Pardon me?” Viola had never worn such an expression in Charlotte's sight before.