Charlotte knew exactly where to go to find the Duchess of Trent. Lion’s grandmother was an unapologetic bluestocking. Charlotte found her curled up in front of the fire in the library with a copy of the Life of Nelson by Robert Southey. Charlotte knew exactly where to go to find the Duchess of Trent. Lion’s grandmother was an unapologetic bluestocking. Charlotte found her curled up in front of the fire in the library with a copy of the Life of Nelson by Robert Southey.
Charlotte had the fleeting thought that when the duchess was finished with the book she would loan it to Percy, so he could vicariously enjoy the exploits of a true British hero.
“Good evening, madam,” Charlotte said.
The duchess pulled off her reading spectacles and focused her eyes on Charlotte’s face. “You have been crying. What has that scapegrace grandson of mine done now?”
Charlotte dropped onto the footstool at the duchess’s feet and said, “Braddock has stolen Livy.”
“Dear God,” the duchess said. “And Lion?”
“He has gone after them. He wanted you to know what had happened, and for you to tell the duke what you thought his heart would be able to bear.”
The duchess said nothing for a few moments, merely watched her shift uncomfortably on the stool, then asked, “What has you so upset, Charlie? Is it Livy? Or is it something else?”
“Lion and I have parted ways.”
“What, exactly, does that mean?” the duchess asked.
“I have cried off our engagement. An announcement will need to be sent to the Times.”
“Not right away, I hope,” the duchess said. “At least not before Livy is safely home.”
Charlotte frowned.
“It will draw too much attention in our direction,” the duchess explained, “and require uncomfortable answers when callers arrive, and we have no explanation for Livy’s absence.”
“I see,” Charlotte said. “I thought you might be hoping to talk me out of giving him up.”
The duchess was quiet again. “You know your own mind, dear. If you no longer love Lion—”
“I never said that!” Charlotte protested. “It is only that he does not love me.”
The duchess sighed and set her spectacles down on her book. She brushed aside a few wispy curls that had fallen onto Charlotte’s forehead. “I have never told you why I did not marry your father, have I?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Perhaps it is time,” the duchess said. “Or maybe past time,” she murmured. “Your father, Montgomery, and I were once much like you and Lion. I was younger than him, and Monty thought he knew what was best for me. I was a strong-headed chit determined to do things my own way. Monty always insisted on taking the lead and making the decisions.”
“Then you know how frustrating it is!” Charlotte said.
“Oh, my, yes,” the duchess said. “We brangled and wrangled and fought. What we never did was compromise.”
“Compromise?”
“We did not yield a jot to one another. I insisted on my own way. He insisted on his. Then Arthur came along.”
“And he let you have your own way?”
“In everything,” the duchess said.
“And you liked that better?”
“At the time I did. I broke off with your father and got engaged to Arthur.”
“And have lived happily ever after,” Charlotte said, a frown furrowing her brow. “Are you saying I will find someone besides Lion who will make me happy?”
“No, no. You are missing the whole point of the story,” the duchess said. “I have learned in the many, many years since I married Arthur, that while it is pleasant to have one’s own way without argument, life is not nearly so interesting that way. And while I love Arthur, I was never in love with him.
“I have never experienced with Arthur the passion I shared with your father. It remained a passion of the heart, since we never had the opportunity to share our bodies. The one great regret of my life is that I did not know enough to recognize the other half of myself before he took himself halfway around the world and married another woman.”
“My mother,” Charlotte breathed.
The duchess nodded. “Once Monty was married, I married Arthur. I have been content, my dear. I have been happy. But there is an empty place inside me that was never filled. And now, never will be.
“If you love Lion as I loved your father, if he is the other half of you, then you must find a way to yield to him what you can yield.”
“But he wants to change me into someone else entirely. I cannot, madam. I cannot be what he wants me to be!”
“Then I’m sorry, child,” the duchess said. “For both of you.”
Charlotte stared at the duchess with stark eyes. She felt a sob building in her throat, and fled the room, rather than shed hopeless tears over Lion in the presence of his grandmother.
She ran up the stairs two at a time, not caring who saw her, and several of the servants did. She raced down the hall to her room and shut the door behind her and threw herself on the bed, pressing her face against the coverlet to drown the sounds of despair she was making.
Lion was the other half of her. But she could not give up the essence of herself, even to be with him. If he made her into someone else, the two halves that should have fit together, his and hers, no longer would.
“Charlie?”
When Charlotte first heard the female voice, she thought for one brief second it was Olivia. She shoved herself up off the bed and saw—Sally.
“Hello, Sally,” she said, turning her face away to hide her tears.
“Stiles had the housekeeper come find me,” Sally said. “He’s worried about you, Charlie.”
“Tell him I’m fine, Sally.”
“But you aren’t,” Sally pointed out.
“There’s no help for it,” Charlotte said, putting her hand to her mouth to stifle another sob.
Sally sat her six-months’ bulk beside Charlotte and put her arm around Charlotte’s shoulder. “There, there,” she said. “Tell Sally all about it.”
Sally’s face was so sympathetic, and Charlotte felt so awful, that everything came tumbling out. How she had fallen in love with Lion, but he could not love her because of what had happened with Lady Alice. How she had tried to find out the truth about Alice and failed. How the duchess had said if Denbigh was the other half of her she would never be happy without him. And how their love was doomed because he could not change, and she would not.
“Oh, dear. Oh, my,” Sally said.
When Charlotte looked up, having said most of her speech with her face against Sally’s ample bosom, she saw that her maid’s brown eyes were drenched with tears. “I’m sorry, Sally. I’ve made you cry, too.”
“I don’t care if it is a sin,” Sally said. “And I cannot believe that God will not understand why I have to tell.”
“What are you talking about?” Charlotte said.
“Lady Alice’s secret,” Sally said. “I have to tell you.”
“But, Sally—”
“She was raped,” Sally said. “There I’ve said it. It’s too late to take it back.”
Charlotte gasped. “How horrible!”
“The earl never knew,” Sally continued. “Lady Alice kept it a secret from him. Lord James came into her room one night at a house party they both attended. He was drunk and thought he was in a room with some other lady who had invited him to come to her. When he had used Lady Alice and lay snoring on top of her, she called to me in the next room to come and help remove him.
“She did not say anything to anyone at the time, because she knew it would cause a scandal. She felt guilty about deceiving the earl, but she loved him and wanted to marry him. Then she found out she was carrying Lord James’s child.”
“That poor girl,” Charlotte said.
“She went to Lord James and told him what had happened, but he had no memory of the incident, and he would not marry her. Lady Alice was desperate, but she didn’t know what to do. She tried to go through with the marriage, hoping that the earl would understand on their wedding night when she explained everything to him.
“In the end she could not do it. What if the child was a boy? The earl would have to raise Lord James’s son as his heir. So she wrote the earl a note, drank a whole bottle of laudanum and waited to die.
“Then she had second thoughts about the note. She read it aloud to me once, when the drugs began to take effect, so I heard the whole of it. She was afraid the earl would challenge Lord James to a duel, and that Denbigh might be shot because of her. She did not want that to happen. So she asked me to burn the note.
“I threw it onto the fire, but it was not entirely burnt, and the earl found the remnants of it. The bottom of the note, where she wrote to him about the rape, was missing.”
“Oh, Sally. Lion surely must believe in Alice’s love once he hears this story. I can never repay you for risking your immortal soul to tell me such a secret.”
“Surely God will understand,” Sally said.
Charlotte smiled at her through her tears. “Now all I have to do is figure out a way to get the servants in Braddock’s household, who have turned out to be surprisingly loyal and closemouthed, to tell me where the duke has taken Lady Olivia.”
“That’s easy,” Sally said. “I’ll ask Rufus, one of the duke’s footmen. He’ll tell me.”
“Why would he do that?”
“We’re walking out together. Rufus is willing to marry me even as I am. He says the baby’s mine and he loves me, so he’ll love the baby, too.”
Charlotte gave Sally a hug. “I’m so happy for you, Sally. Are you sure it won’t endanger Rufus’s position if he tells me where the duke has gone?”
“Oh, I’m not worried. If Rufus is let go, I’m sure you’ll find him another place.”
Charlotte laughed. “And so I will! Can you make arrangements to see him first thing tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll do even better,” Sally said with a twinkle in her eye. “Rufus and I are sneaking out to meet each other later tonight.”
Charlotte didn’t waste the time while Sally was meeting with Rufus. She sought out Stiles and asked, “Do you know someone who can lend me a pair of breeches that will fit me?”
Stiles kept his face impassive. “Breeches, Charlie? Did I hear you correctly?”
She grinned. “You heard me fine. I thought the underfootman was about my size,” she said. “Would you ask him to give them to Clementine, the maid-of-all-work? Have her bring them up to me in fifteen minutes, if you can manage it.”
“I will do my best, Charlie,” Stiles said.
The breeches were there in ten, and Charlotte was dressed in thirteen, having importuned the earl’s valet, Theobald, to loan her a shirt from Denbigh’s cupboard.
“A starched shirt?” Theobald inquired.
“Without starch would be more comfortable,” she said.
“Very well.” Theobald had gone to a different drawer and found a soft, mended shirt that was many sizes too big for her.
“He refuses to throw it away,” he said. “But his lordship will not mind if you borrow it.”
“Why won’t he throw it away?” she asked.
“He was wearing it when he proposed to Lady Alice.” Theobald paused and added, “And on the day he dueled with Lord James.”
Charlotte fingered the darned spot on one shoulder. “What happened here?” she asked.
“That is where the bullet passed through.”
Charlotte started and stared. “But Lord James missed!”
Theobald shook his head. “The earl did not want anyone to know. He went to the country and stayed until the wound was healed. Do you still want to wear it?”
She had taken it and folded up the arms and tucked in the tails and felt closer to Lion because of it. This shirt was going to know one more very special moment in his life. Only this one was going to be happy, if she had anything to say about it.
She paced her bedroom in her riding half-boots, waiting for word from Sally. At last she heard a knock on her door and opened it to let her maid inside.
“What did you find out?” she asked.
“He’s taking her to his manor in Somersville,” Sally said.
“That’s where Denbigh is traveling!” Charlotte said. “He guessed that was where the duke would go. I’ve got to get there before Denbigh confronts the duke and tell him what I’ve learned about the reason Alice refused to marry him.”
“There’s something else you should know.”
“What?” Charlotte said, fearing the worst.
Sally grinned. “The duke procured a special license the day before he left.”
A special license was necessary for anyone who wished to marry without the banns being read. With a special license, the duke could wed Livy any time he wanted.
“He wants to marry her?” Charlotte marveled. “I can hardly believe it! Then why did he steal her away?”
“Because he didn’t think her brother would allow the marriage,” Sally said.
“Is there anything you did not find out?” Charlotte asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I suppose there must be. But since I did not find it out, I don’t know what it was. I guess you will have to discover those things for yourself.”
Charlotte laughed at Sally’s ridiculous chatter. She felt almost carefree. She knew where Olivia was, and that there was a good chance Braddock had honorable intentions. She had the information she needed to give Denbigh a reason to believe in love again. She had the benefit of the Duchess of Trent’s experience with her one true love. And last, but not least, Charlotte had the skill and determination to ride horseback through the night to catch up to Denbigh, and the fortitude and pluck to make him listen to her when she got there.
“Oh, I did think to ask one more thing of Rufus,” Sally said.
“What was that?”
“Directions how to get to Somersville,” Sally said.
Charlotte smiled. “Thanks, Sally.”
To Charlotte’s relief, Somersville was no more than three hours southeast of London. She didn’t have a terribly long ride ahead of her. And she would be able to make good speed riding astride. On the other hand, the proximity of the duke’s manor to London meant that Denbigh would probably confront Braddock long before she got there.
Unless something happened to delay the duke, or her information was wrong, and Braddock never arrived at his manor in Kent. But that was wishful thinking.
She had better prepare herself for the more grim reality of what was going to happen when Denbigh caught up to the Duke of Braddock and be ready to comfort Olivia.
Or be comforted by her.
Lion was sitting in a private dining room at the Slaughtered Sheep, the expected letter from Percy in hand. He had already been to Somersville Manor and been told the duke was not in residence. Lion had not been satisfied until he checked the stable for the duke’s London coach. When he saw it was not there, he believed the servants who had politely, but firmly, turned him away.
Percy had been right. For all Lion knew, the duke could be on his way to the continent with Olivia, while he was on a wild goose chase across England.
He had been perplexed by the last few lines of Percy’s letter.
Lady Charlotte was waiting at the box when I returned. She had been crying. I took her home as you requested. I like her, Lion. Why don’t you marry her?
A commotion in the main taproom distracted him from his contemplation of Percy’s query. The noise seemed to get louder with time, rather than settling down. He had been thinking about taking a room at the inn for the rest of the night—little though there was of it—but if there was a brawl going on, maybe he would do better to stay somewhere else.
He opened the door, took one look and roared, “Charlotte! What are you doing here? And in breeches?”
Charlotte stared at him, a broom extended overhead. His roar so startled the man who had apparently been bothering her that he also froze—long enough for Charlotte to recover from her surprise and complete the arc of the broom.
The man lost his balance and bent over to try and get it back, at which point Charlotte gave him a sideways smack with the broom that sent him hurtling out through an open window. He could be heard screaming as he fell.
Then all was silent.
“Hello, Lion,” Charlotte said, setting the broom back beside the fireplace.
Denbigh didn’t answer. He was busy staring at her.
She was wearing breeches again, giving him an excellent view of her legs and hips, and he realized suddenly that through all the weeks she had worn a dress, he had always been aware of what she looked like underneath it.
No wonder he had always been so irritable when she was around. He had spent half the time in a state of semi-arousal. And the rest of the time fully aroused.
It took him a moment to recognize the shirt as one of his, and to realize that she had never looked more enticing to him than now.
The proprietor came into the taproom and said, “Begging your pardon, my lord, but will you require a room for the night?”
“Two rooms,” Denbigh said. “One for myself and one for the lady.”
The innkeeper took a second incredulous look when he realized Charlotte was not a boy. “We don’t allow queer goings on,” he said eyeing the two of them.
Denbigh handed the man a gold coin. “We require two rooms,” he repeated.
“Top of the stairs,” the innkeeper said, “and the room next to it. Door connects the two. Locks from both sides, if that’s your pleasure. Or leave it open.”
“Thank you,” Denbigh said in a chilly voice.
“I’ll be goin’ off to bed now.”
“Good night,” Denbigh said. He waited until the innkeeper had left, took Charlotte by the arm and hauled her up the stairs. He shoved her inside the first room the innkeeper had offered him and closed the door behind him.
He walked through the open connecting door and checked to make sure the other room was empty. He then walked out to the hall, locked the door from the outside, and stalked back into the other room. He found Charlotte standing exactly where he had left her beside the brass-railed bed.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “And why are you dressed like that?”
“I came to keep you from killing Braddock. And breeches were the only way I could ride astride.”
Denbigh groaned. “You rode all the way from London dressed like that?”
“It was dark. Nobody saw me.”
“Did you bring any baggage? A change of clothes?”
She shook her head. “It never occurred to me. Did you?”
He had to admit he was also without the barest necessities. He had known if he went home to pack Theobald would insist on coming with him, and he didn’t want to be slowed down by his valet.
Charlotte sat on the bed and bounced up and down on it, testing the softness. It sagged woefully in the middle.
“Charlotte,” he said in a soft voice.
“What, Lion?”
“Please sit in a chair while I am in the room.” He was having enough trouble keeping his hands off of her. It was too much temptation seeing her on that bed.
She stared at the ladderback chair in the corner, then stretched out on the bed with her hands behind her head on the pillow and her half-boots crossed. “I don’t know about you, Lion, but I have been riding neck-or-nothing for more than three hours. Lying down is infinitely more comfortable for certain body parts than sitting up would be. If you know what I mean.”
He did.
She turned on her side and rested her head on her hand. “I took a chance you might be here, but I didn’t really expect to find you. I thought you would already have gone to Somersville Manor.”
“I have.”
She crawled down to the foot of the bed and sat back on her heels in front of him. “Was the duke there? Was Livy?”
He shook his head. “The servants said no, and I checked the stable and found no carriage.”
A deep V of worry appeared on her brow. “That’s strange. I have it on good authority that the duke is bringing Olivia to his home in Somersville.”
“What authority?” Denbigh asked.
She gave him a gamine smile. “The duke’s footman, Rufus.”
“By what magic incantation did you persuade him to speak, when Percy said the servants had refused to say a word?”
“Oh, I didn’t do it, Sally did.”
“Sally?”
“Alice’s maid. My new maid. You know, the one in the family way.”
“Alice’s maid has been working in my house?” Denbigh said in a strangled voice.
“And doing a very good job, I might add,” Charlotte said, ignoring his look of horrified shock. “In fact, it’s because of Sally that I’m here tonight. Or rather, this morning, since it is past midnight.”
“Nearly dawn,” he corrected.
“Hardly worth getting two rooms, if you think about it,” Charlotte said. “We won’t get a wink of sleep before it is time to get up again.”
Denbigh knew she could not know how provocative her speech was, and he could not correct her without telling her so. He shoved the picture of her in bed with him out of his mind and said, “Why is Sally the reason you’re here?”
“Because she knew the rest of the information contained in the note you found in Alice’s room … the part that was burned away.”
Denbigh stiffened. “Sally could not know what was on that note. She cannot read.”
“Alice read it to her.” Charlotte paused and said, “The part where she wrote that Lord James came into her room one night at a house party and mistook her for another woman and raped her.”
Denbigh felt the blood leave his face. He had never suspected. Never imagined anything so horrible. Poor Alice!
Charlotte inched up onto her knees and put her hands on his shoulders. “Lady Alice didn’t betray you, Lion. She loved you, just as you believed she did. She went to Lord James when she found out she was with child, but he would not marry her.
“She thought of marrying you anyway, but she didn’t want you to be forced to raise another man’s child as your own.”
“I would not have cared!”
“Even if it were a boy? Even if some other man’s child were your heir?” she asked with brutal frankness.
“Alice should have told me. She should have given me the choice.” He shoved a hand through his hair and paced away toward the window.
“Would you have married her?”
He turned to face her. “I don’t know what I would have done. But at least she could have gone away and had the child. She did not have to kill herself.”
“Can you forgive her?”
“I don’t know. From what you have told me, James Somers was guilty of more than merely seducing my bride. For the past year since I killed him, I have spent a great many hours regretting his death at such a young age. I will do so no more.”
Denbigh did not know when his hands had come to rest on Charlotte’s waist, but he saw they were. She had scooted closer to him on the bed, so their bodies were a mere inch apart. It would not take much to pull her close. Or to lay her down on the bed beneath him.
“Will you let Livy marry Braddock now?” Charlotte asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I can forgive Alice for killing herself and forgive myself for James Somers’s death. The question is whether Braddock can ever overlook the fact his future brother-in-law killed his brother.”
“I see,” Charlotte mused. “But if he could not, why would he have taken a special license with him when he left town with Livy?”
“Did he?” Denbigh asked, surprised.
“Oh, yes,” Charlotte said. “Rufus said when the duke left, he was carrying a special license in his pocket.”
“I don’t know,” Denbigh said. “Maybe he had not yet made up his mind what he wanted to do.”
“When will we know?” Charlotte asked.
“When he shows up tomorrow morning,” Denbigh said in a hollow voice. “Or when he does not.”
She tightened her arms around his neck—how had they gotten there?—and laid her body against his.
“No, Charlotte,” he said.
“I … I want to.”
“To what?” he said in a harsh voice.
“Make love with you.”
“Without benefit of marriage? Without any vows of love between us?”
“That can wait.”
“Whenever we get around to it.”
Denbigh had never done anything in his life as difficult as pulling Charlotte’s arms from around his neck and taking a step back from her. One look at her face, and he knew he had done the wrong thing. Again. There was no way she could understand why he did not want to make love with her here. Like this. Right now.
And though he opened his mouth to try and explain, she never gave him the chance. She clambered off the bed, ran through the connecting door and slammed it shut behind her.
The last thing he heard was the key turning in the lock behind her.
Damn and blast. Why wasn’t anything ever easy with Charlotte?