Page 57 of Unmasking the Diamond
“I do not want them,” Charlotte lied, crossing her arms.
Jane’s laugh was bright and merciless. “Yes, you do. And do not even attempt to deny it.”
Charlotte pressed her lips into a thin line, but her betrayal was the faintest tug at the corner of her mouth. “Fine,” she conceded. “I shall keep them and instruct our cook to make pineapple tarts. But you, Jane, shall not get one.”
“I would not dream of stealing your pineapples.”
Charlotte glanced around at the sea of flowers, unwilling to admit that they softened her. “I daresay Lord Luca overestimated how many arrangements our hall can hold.”
“I think it was sweet,” Jane replied. “Now, we must speak of your engagement ball.”
“My what?”
“Your engagement ball,” Jane repeated with infuriating cheer. “Naturally, the match of the Season must be celebrated.”
Charlotte lowered her voice so as not to be overheard. “But this is not a true engagement.”
“Thetonneed not know that,” Jane countered. “They will expect a ball.”
“I want no ball, nor do I wish to acknowledge this engagement.”
Jane clicked her tongue. “A pity, then, considering the invitations have already been sent out.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Youwhat?”
“It needed to be done,” Jane responded. “We should call upon the dressmaker to commission a new ballgown.”
Charlotte smoothed her pale green gown with defiance. “This gown will be sufficient enough.”
“That is an afternoon gown,” Jane remarked. “Not attire for a ball. Do try to muster some excitement—you are engaged, after all.”
Charlotte refused to dignify that with a response. She swept past Jane, her chin lifted high, though her insides burned with irritation. The scent of flowers followed her like a mocking chorus until she entered the dining room.
Her relief at escaping Jane was short-lived. There, seated at the head of the table, was Alistair, and beside him—of all the injustices—sat Lord Luca himself, grinning like a boy who had pulled off the most daring prank.
Could this morning possibly become any worse?
Luca was on his feet before she could retreat, rushing to pull out a chair. “Good morning,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever rise for the day.”
Alistair gave her a look that told her he enjoyed this far too much. “Charlotte may sleep the day away, if she wishes.”
“There is no shame in enjoying one’s rest,” Charlotte replied as she sat.
“True,” Alistair said, “but you could make a sport of it.”
Luca leaned close, his voice dropping low for her alone. “Dare I hope you dreamed of me?”
Charlotte flicked her hand at him as if brushing away a gnat. “Why would I dream of a thorn in my side?”
“You wound me, yet again,” Luca said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart.
“You will live,” she muttered, unwilling to meet his eyes for fear he would see the way her pulse had quickened.
As Luca returned to his seat, Alistair slid the newssheets across the table. “Your engagement has made the Society page. Mr. Fairchild has written of it.”
Charlotte accepted the newssheets with feigned disinterest. “Wonderful.”
Alistair’s gaze lingered. “Is something troubling you?”
