Page 69 of Unmasking the Diamond
At the base of the stairs, her brother and Jane waited for her, both with bright smiles on their faces.
“You look lovely,” Jane said, genuine warmth in her voice.
“Let’s get this over with,” Charlotte replied, stepping onto the cool marble floor.
Alistair chuckled. “You look as though you’re being led to your execution.”
“Perhaps I am,” she said dryly. “We all know this engagement is a sham. There’s no need to pretend otherwise among ourselves.”
“True,” Alistair agreed, “but thetondoes not know that, and more importantly, the Duke of Brackenford does not. So, for everyone’s sake, let us keep up appearances.”
Charlotte adjusted the sleeves of her gown and lifted her chin. “You need not worry. I am more than capable of playing the part.”
“Just smile and everything will be all right,” Alistair advised, offering his arm to Jane. “Shall we?”
As they crossed the entry hall towards the waiting coach, Jane asked, “How was your nap?”
“It wasn’t awful,” Charlotte muttered, which earned her a knowing grin from Jane.
“Do try to enjoy yourself this evening,” Jane encouraged.
Charlotte doubted enjoyment would be possible. Still, she climbed into the coach, seating herself opposite her brother and sister-in-law, and turned her gaze towards the window, hoping to discourage further conversation.
No such luck.
Alistair cleared his throat. “Your carriage ride with Lord Luca must have gone well. You were gone quite some time.”
Charlotte shrugged. “Well enough. I didn’t have the overwhelming urge to throw myself in front of his horses.”
“Such high praise,” Alistair teased. “You are in an exceptionally pleasant mood tonight.”
Jane swatted her husband’s arm. “Leave Charlotte alone. She’s merely preparing herself for what’s ahead.”
“Thank you, Jane,” Charlotte murmured, meaning it. She wished that would end the matter but Alistair was relentless.
“Just remember,” he said with mock solemnity, “you are expected to dance with your fiancé at least twice this evening.”
“Wonderful,” Charlotte responded, forcing a smile. In truth, she would rather not dance with Luca at all. The thought of standing in his arms, of feeling the warmth of his hand against her back and the steady rhythm of his breath near her ear, unsettled her more than she cared to admit. What was wrong with her? She was behaving like a love-crazed debutante, fawning over her intended. Heaven forbid.
Mercifully, the coach slowed and came to a stop in front of Lady Benson’s townhouse—a grand, three-story structure of whitewashed stone, its entrance framed by tall, imposing columns.
Charlotte descended, the night air cool against her flushed cheeks. The townhouse glowed with candlelight, and strains of violins drifted into the street. Drawing in a steadying breath, she followed her brother and Jane up the steps.
The moment she entered, she felt the shift in the room. Heads turned, fans fluttered, and whispers sparked like flint in the corners. Once, such attention had felt like triumph. Tonight, it felt like scrutiny. They weren’t admiring her anymore; they were studying her. Weighing her engagement, her demeanor, perhaps even her worthiness.
She pretended the scrutiny wasn’t bothering her and stepped forward with practiced poise, the perfect picture of composure—while deep inside, her heart pounded against its cage.
They waited in line to greet the hostess, and Charlotte could feel her pulse quicken with every step closer to the front. Lady Benson’s gatherings were always the talk of the Season and tonight would be no exception. The matronly hostess stoodbeside her tall, humorless-looking son, greeting each guest as if she presided over court.
Charlotte smoothed her gloved hands over her skirt, careful not to wrinkle the delicate muslin. When her turn came, she curtsied gracefully. “What a lovely home you have, my lady,” she said, her voice polite and practiced.
Lady Benson inclined her head in approval, her expression one of smug satisfaction. “You are looking well this evening, Miss Winslow. Dare I ask where your fiancé is?”
“I… um…” Charlotte’s mind went blank. Drat. She had not anticipated that question. Before she could conjure an excuse, a familiar voice cut in smoothly.
“Sorry I am late, darling,” Luca said, appearing at her side as if summoned by sheer will. His tone was rich with easy confidence, and before Charlotte could react, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
For one awful moment, she forgot how to breathe. Every muscle in her body screamed to step away, but she forced herself to remain still—serene, composed, the perfect fiancée. “I am so glad you are here,” she managed, proud that her voice did not tremble.
