Gamble With Hearts by Hilary Gilman Page A

diminutive figure of Amelia that rose to greet her, but the more substantial form of the Marquis. Ruthin looked grave as he held out his hand, saying, ‘Sit down, Charlotte, my dear. There is something I must say to you. But first, tell me, is it true that there is an attachment between you and Charles Carlington?’
    ‘I would rather be told, sir, by what right you question me!’ returned Charlotte rather haughtily.
    ‘The right of a friend to you both, my dear. I see that it is true. I am sorry for it, although it is as I feared. Charlotte , I have bad news for you. I hope you will be very brave, for your own sake and for your dear mother's.’
    Charlotte turned pale. ‘What is it! Tell me, quickly!’
    The Marquis pressed her cold hands between his own and began in a quiet voice to relate the events of   previous night. When he told her of Farnley's murder, she uttered a little cry, half stifled, and turned her face into his shoulder. The Marquis placed a fatherly arm around her, much as he would have embraced his daughter had she turned to him in distress. Into the curls that tickled his chin he murmured some worldly advice that Charlotte was far too upset and bewildered to take heed of. ‘Whatever happens,’ he was saying, ‘tell no one of your connection with Charles. It would ruin you as things are at the moment. Oh, I know you would like to stand up for him against the world and swear you know him to be innocent, but believe me, it would do him no good and would seriously harm your mother and yourself. Charles has friends enough who will not abandon him now. We will find him, never fear, and whoever did this foul thing will pay in full. Do you understand what I am saying, my dear? Under no circumstances must anyone guess that you care a snap of your fingers for Carlington.’
    ‘But I do!’ sobbed Miss Wrexham, and in the abandonment of grief she threw her arms around the Marquis's neck and cried as though her heart would break. Ruthin held her gently, and was just raising his hand to smooth her tangled curls when the door opened and Mrs Wrexham appeared in the doorway, closely followed by her sister and Mrs Carstairs. ‘Ruthin! Oh what does this mean?’ cried Mrs Wrexham in a shaken voice.
    ‘The meaning would seem tolerably clear, Fanny,’ interposed Lady Northwood, caustically. ‘I would have thought yon could have spoken to her mother first, Ruthin, but I suppose one must make allowances for a man in love. I wish you both very happy.’
    The Marquis was, for once, totally at a loss. Impossible to explain the true state of affairs before a palpably interested Mrs Carstairs. This lady was offering Charlotte her felicitations, and although she thought it strange that Miss Wrexham should receive them with her face blotched with tears, she hid it admirably. There seemed nothing to be done but to accept the situation and defer explanations until later.
    Helen Carstairs was a most superior woman, but even she could not be expected to refrain from passing on such a juicy titbit of news. Within a very few hours, most of London was eagerly discussing the engagement. It seemed to the Marquis that the number of fools eager to congratulate him was legion. He answered as well as he could, but with a heavy heart. His ears still rang with Fanny Wrexham's heartbroken cry, and to be unable to explain the truth was agony to him. He could only hope that Carlington would soon return from whatever misadventure delayed him and that once the real murderer had been found, explanations would be possible. In the meanwhile, he accepted his role with a good grace and hoped that Charlotte would do the same.
    Miss Wrexham, however, was far too ill to be seen, and so was not called upon to accept the felicitations of the curious. She had scarcely understood the scene that Ruthin had played, and was only dimly aware that she was believed to be betrothed. The only thought in her head was for Carlington's safety. Had her own