83. Lord Tarquin’s Account

Countess Emily, Lady Susan, and Lord Hawksley gathered chairs and fetched a side table, forming a fresh semicircle around the ever-elegant Duchess Charlotte. Lord Tarquin Ashford, visibly squirming, sat beside her, posture too straight, hands clenched in his lap.

“There are some accounts to be offered and some explaining required,” said Charlotte coolly, folding her hands.

Her tone was silk drawn over steel.

“Lord Tarquin,” she continued, gaze unblinking, “let us first address the events of the evening past—in your own words.”

Tarquin swallowed. “The kettle… I must—”

Charlotte gave him a withing look, Tarquin wilted.

He faltered. “That is to say... I believed the Duchess... perhaps... was receptive—though I see now... that I may have... misread certain signs.”

Susan and Emily shared a glance, brows arching.

Hawksley bit back a grin, eager as ever to witness another man’s undoing.

Charlotte did not move.

“Continue,” she said, and the room held its breath.