“Half the sum of attraction, on either side, might have been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she had hardly anybody to love.”
—Persuasion
THE funeral was all things bleak and mournful, occurring in a steady rain. Charlotte looked at the gathering of mourners through her black veil and thought they looked like a flock of crows. She pushed up the too-long sleeves of her borrowed black finery, grateful for Rosamunde’s generosity. A robin stood on the ground nearby, singing in the pouring rain, competing with the jumble of sonorous words pouring from the lips of the good vicar, Mr. Llewellyn.
The church had been cold and somber. But she had refused to leave the coffin after. She had insisted on following the pallbearers to the graveyard. And she supposed the others had come because they pitied her.
She felt the weight of the presence of the thirty-odd people. At least she was outside now, so the crowd did not suffocate her and the promise of open fields beckoned behind her.
Was her father’s spirit there? She kept wanting to turn around, sure he would be behind her shoulder. She longed to touch his shiny pate again, to feel the scratchy wool fibers of his coat on her cheek, to smell the faint herbal scent always surrounding his person.
Charlotte closed her eyes and failed miserably at concentrating on the vicar’s words, the promises of heaven, and the goodness of God. She felt like screaming at them all.… There was no fair God, no heaven, no promises. What God would allow the death of both her parents? She looked across the open hole in the earth to the cool, arrogant mask of the Duchess of Cavendish.
A hand gripped her arm, steadying her just as she realized she was swaying. His strong hand. James gripped her other arm. They must think she was about to flee. They were right.
The duchess had visited Charlotte and James two days after their father’s death to inform them that they were most welcome to the use of the cottage for another fortnight or two given their father’s service to the duke. James had sputtered their thanks, unsure if Her Grace had been generous or paltry in her offer. Charlotte had not enlightened her brother as to her opinion.
Had the duchess known that the heir had offered for her, Her Grace might have considered it more reasonable to offer a roof over their heads for at least two months. Or perhaps she would have chased Charlotte away with a horsewhip. Yes, that was much more likely.
The thud of the first clumps of muddy soil and rock hitting the simple pine coffin jarred her out of her reverie. Charlotte shook at the sound of the second shovel-full. She could not endure this agony further.
She shook free of her captors and forced herself past the onlookers, feeling all at once frantic at her inability to burst free from the small crowd. It was Paris all over again, without the gleeful bloodthirsty shouts of encouragement to the murderers controlling the guillotine’s heavy blade.
She heard a strangled cry and realized it emanated from her own throat. Her brother appeared at her side and parted the sea of black in an instant with his words and his huge umbrella. He forced her to slow to a fast walk when he gripped her elbow.
They walked a good twenty minutes through the fields in silence before she forced herself to stop and speak. “James, I posted several letters to London yesterday. I am certain to find a good position as a lady’s nurse. We both know I have had many offers in the past. And I know you prefer London. And I will find another position whenever and wherever you find a living.”
“Yes,” he said.
They continued walking again, side by side. But she could feel his reluctance to speak to her. “What is it, James?”
“Would you be very sad if I didn’t take orders, Charlotte?”
“What else could you do? We have not the funds for a new field of study,” she said, peering anxiously into his eyes.
“Well, I am considering a very generous and kind offer.… Lord Huntington has suggested that using his connections, he might be able to secure a commission for me in his regiment, despite the current peace. Many are selling out.”
“And who would pay for this commission? No—wait, allow me to guess,” she said, with a touch of anger. “Lord Huntington? James, you cannot accept such a gross amount of money.”
“He insisted. He said after all our father had done for the duke, it was the very least he could do. And the duke seconded the idea.” The bright glow of excitement overspread her brother’s face as he spoke.
“And I see you did not choose to argue the point. That it is impossible to accept a debt of gratitude of this magnitude.”
“Charlotte, I will not go if you do not want me to,” he said, with a glum expression. “I promised Father long ago that I would always watch over you.”
She could not take it away from him. But letting him go meant facing her greatest fear: The fear of being left all alone had grown inside her seven-year-old form that horrible night. Thoughts of that evening’s events made her inhale sharply.
She could still remember the flames of the torches surrounding the great house, her mother pushing her out the side door along with the governess, the obscenities, the hounds’ barking coming from every direction, the smell of Mademoiselle Barr’s hands when she covered Charlotte’s mouth as they tread water among the reeds of a secluded pond. And worst of all, being left alone with a stranger when her governess had not wanted to risk going all the way to Paris with her. The terrorized woman had paid a man to take her, on the back of his dogcart, to an unknown address in the city. He had tipped back a bottle every mile or so. Halfway there, he had told her to get out “and find your own way, you little bugger.” Charlotte shivered. She could not ever remember the many miles she had walked or how she had managed to find the town house.
James took her hands in his own and squeezed them. “Charlotte? I shan’t desert you,” he assured her.
She shook her head. “I will not withhold your fondest dream, James.”
“I told him you were the most kindhearted sister in the world,” James said, with a cautious degree of hope. “Perhaps I could follow the drum. Come with you… There must be a great need for nurses.”
James blanched.
“No, I can see that would not work,” she said, doing an excellent job of controlling herself. “Charlotte, I will make sure you are settled in an excellent position before I go.”
“Do you mind if I continue on alone a bit. We can talk a little later, to sort out all the details. It has been such a horrid last four days.…” She would not cry in his presence, ‘ere he take pity on her and not follow his heart.
He hugged Charlotte, squeezing the breath out of her as he kissed the top of her head before turning away.
There, she had done it. She had had no choice. She was certain that within a few weeks the grim reality of her future would force her to wonder if she had taken complete leave of her senses to acquiesce to her brother’s plan. But, she had made a promise to herself to stop worrying about the future.
She had fine skills that would provide a room and nourishment, and with any luck, it would be in a comfortable, fine house in London.
She was more worried about Alexandre, the more she thought about it. Oh, he had borne her father’s death with real grief. But he had accepted the revelation of the meager accumulation of her father’s income with even greater sorrow.
It was obvious Alexandre had gambled on a notion that her father had hoarded a nice bit of income, some of which would come to her in the form of a dowry. What he had not figured was her father’s staunch refusal to turn away any patient, and to often provide medicines without reimbursement. Her father was un vrai sans culottes of the first order. The murderous French peasants who caused the revolution should be proud to call him one of their own.
She hopped over a low stile to continue her way through the edge of an open field. One benefit of their poverty was that Alexandre had abruptly changed. In the last four days, he had become her confidante and friend—and she was pleased. He seemed to love her as a favored sister, once he had shed his false front, something he did but when they were alone.
During the plans for the hasty funeral, she had come to rely on Alexandre more so than her own brother. He was very good at giving orders. He pretended that his newfound role of dependable cousin was really a desire to show off his manly character to the ladies at Wyndhurst Abbey. Charlotte knew better.
He had agreed to move to the abbey when it was decided by the duchess that it was unseemly for the viscount to remain in a cottage with only a brother to watch over a spinster female. One positive effect of his removal had been the return of Doro, who had practically thrown Alexandre’s valises out of the cottage door to the waiting arms of the beleaguered footmen of the abbey.
And given the fact that everyone seemed to have changed their spots within the last four days, it was not surprising that Lord Huntington had followed suit by halting all visits to the cottage. This was slow torture—constant looking through the window, eager to see his figure. She had come to depend on Lord Huntington’s visits. She had not realized how much she looked forward to just the sight of him, the scent of him, the comfort of his presence. He had given her the illusion that perhaps he cared for her, maybe just the slightest bit. But no. He was like all the others that had gone before him. Just when she began to believe in the impossible, they disappeared into thin air.
He obviously regretted his impetuous proposal and now was embarrassed to have to face her without the safety of others about him. Lord, he probably worried that she expected him to offer for her again now that the burial was over.
Until this morning at the church, she had not seen him since the day he had brought her father’s lifeless body back to the cottage. And today he had barely said three words and only touched her when she swayed as the earth hit the coffin. She dreaded their next meeting.
A drop of rain fell on her nose, and Charlotte looked up to find that the umbrella had sprung a leak. She sighed and turned toward the direction of the cottage. There was no escaping the future.
For four days he had planned a proper proposal, then deconstructed it, and re-planned it again, and again. The first time he had been too hasty and ill-prepared in the heat of the moment and the shock of death. This time it would be different.
As he walked to her cottage the morning after the funeral, he thought about his tactics one last time. He would not relent no matter what flimsy line of reasoning she offered. Nicholas had prepared rational counterarguments to her every possible hesitation. He must get past her pride, past her defenses, and he would do it in a much more facile manner than if it had been any other lady. He would use logic, as that is what it would take to win over a cerebral female such as Charlotte.
There was not a single doubt in his mind that he must take care of her. Her brother thought she would be able to find a good position in London as an elderly lady’s companion or nurse. Nicholas snorted in disgust. He had promised James that he would ensure Charlotte’s employment was everything good and secure. But unlike her brother, he was not willing to desert her, whether she valiantly argued against him or not. Oh, he would win her all right, as he had won almost every battle during the war. And he would do it because she had cut through his hardened shell as swiftly and easily as a surgeon with a sharpened knife She had taught him how to hope again, to never give up. Perhaps he would be able to read and write with a degree of proficiency that would live up to an abbreviated set of expectations. He highly doubted he would ever master enough to allow him to oversee the Cavendish wealth and properties. And it mattered little in his role as an officer as long as Charley stood by him. Reading was of little value in the corridors of war.
Very early in life he had, by necessity, replaced his great desire to stretch his intellectual abilities with an ironclad will to succeed in the profession his father and he had chosen for him—the military. And he had done it. He had become the top marksman of all the other officers in the 95th Rifleman’s. He had synchronized and carried out more ambushes, lost fewer men, garnered more respect and commendations than others with his high rank. Yet, he had felt little pride in these accomplishments. They were marred by the horror and omnipresent stench of death on the battlefield.
He wanted to sustain life and help fellow beings, not kill them. With a small smile, he realized all this soft living was making him as weak as a child and as philosophical as a gentleman with too much idle time on his hands.
Charlotte had given him hope, and now he must give something back to her—security. The protection of his name. And if she would not choose to follow him to whatever far-flung post he was assigned, then he would settle her wherever she would like to reside. Anywhere except here, Wyndhurst Abbey. He would keep his promise to his family by allowing his half brother to rule the roost. By staying away he would not dilute any question of Edwin’s authority.
But what of the question of possible heirs? It had been his father’s primary concern. While Charlotte might be able to teach any child of theirs who might inherit his failing to read at a rudimentary level at least, Nicholas could not bear the idea of watching a son struggle through life as he had. The taunts, the pity, the destruction of the ego. He couldn’t, wouldn’t watch it all unfold again to his own flesh and blood. And there was a good chance the flaw would be even further pronounced in an offspring. It was often the case with deficiencies.
Would she agree to forgo the physical intimacy marriage embodied? Could he? He was very unsure of his ability to restrain himself over the course of a lifetime. Could they practice methods to ensure that their relations would not bear fruit? It was the only question that gave him pause. If she desired children, his plan would fail. But then he would argue that the long-term protection offered by marriage was far superior than the often temporary comforts provided to companions of ladies in the often short, final years of their lives.
As he crested the last small hill before the little cottage came into view, Nicholas reached down and rubbed the tight muscle in his thigh. The break was all but healed, though he still experienced an achiness upon waking and occasional clenched muscles. He remembered Dr. Kittridge’s gentle ministrations and vowed to repay his kindness by marrying the daughter. The other reason he would marry her, he refused to admit to himself.
Charlotte had slept very little last night. The bleak truth of her future had taken hold while she had sorted through her father’s personal effects last evening. James had gone to the abbey instead. It had been the first time she had had a taste of what it would be like to be entirely alone. To her surprise, she felt no terrifying waves of fright. Only the grief of loss. She would recover and she would go on—alone.
She wondered, as she performed her simple morning toilette, if she would be leaving in a fortnight to live with the Dowager Countess of Livingston, whose corpulent form suffered from gout. Or possibly Mrs. Smith-Pennington, who was hopelessly deaf. The least-pleasing scenario would entail caring for Lady Sorringham, a virago of the worst sort who suffered from excellent health, despite her constant stream of complaints. At least Charlotte would be secure in that position, as she was sure Lady Sorringham would outlive her by a decade at the very least.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of a knock on the door below. Doro was talking to the visitor—a man, by the tone of the voice. Charlotte had told Doro that she would receive no more visitors today except Alexandre, who had promised to stop by to make arrangements for her departure for London. She did not have any energy left to receive more calls from the well-intentioned inhabitants of this corner of Wiltshire. She was putting the last of the pins in her chignon when Doro knocked on the door.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, it’s his lordship, come to call. Says it be of an urgent nature, it is,” said the maid through a crack in the door.
“Lord Huntington?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Please inform him that I’ll be down in a moment.” A tight knot formed in her stomach. She had not even had her morning tea. Not that it mattered. She had had no appetite for anything at all since Papa’s death.
He stood at the same window he always chose, wearing a new green Rifleman’s uniform. His striking and familiar form made her catch her breath. He was all masculine angles and muscled planes, but his expression was unreadable when he turned to face her. He was here to bid her good-bye. He was, quite obviously, leaving for Paris.
“Miss Kittridge,” he said, bowing.
Charlotte curtsied, then stood still.
Lord Huntington walked over to her and grasped her hand in his own. “I apologize for not coming earlier to formally express my sadness over the loss of your good father. He will be missed by all who knew him. I have not known anyone so willing to exert every ounce of himself in the performance of his chosen profession,” he said, pausing. “I am so very sorry.”
“I thank you for your formal call.” She halted, unsure of how to continue. “I am unpardonably early, but to be frank, I hoped to have a private word with you before others come to call.”
She looked down at his large bronzed hand. It was so warm and comforting. She was intensely aware of his body only a pace away from hers. It would be easy to take that one step into his arms. And he would hold her close to his heart, filling her with that rush of emotion she tried to force herself not to relive every day. But it would be out of pity or gratitude only, a poor relation of the passion she felt flowing through her veins.
“Miss Kittridge . It has been many weeks since I have found you to be one of the most admirable women I have ever known.”
Good God. His conscience had gotten the better of him. He felt impelled to do the honorable thing and propose to her once more.
“There are many, many reasons why I am here this morning, and I must be allowed the time to elaborate, for once I have explained all, it is my hope that your wishes will coincide with my own.”
She looked up to find his heavy-lidded eyes studying her face. The intensity of the feelings his proximity engendered within her breast forced her to lower her gaze to a spot just below his right shoulder. She watched his powerful chest rise and fall with each breath he took.
He squeezed her hand gently. “Charlotte. I hope you will allow me to call you that now?” She gave a very brief nod of her head, not daring to look at him again.
“Charlotte. I desire to marry you,” he hesitated, then rushed on. “With your father gone, and your brother soon to leave, you will be left on your own. And a single female, all alone in the world, is easy prey for all sorts of cruel mishaps. While I am sure you would be able to secure a post, what would befall you if that person died and your services were no longer sought by another lady? Or what if you should fall ill—too ill to perform your duties, and were therefore let go without references?”
Charlotte half listened to the continuing stream of depressing scenarios he presented. How was she to find the strength to refuse him when she desired more than anything else the possibility of being by his side always? Her pride was not that strong. Perhaps she would be able to live happily with him. She would love him more than life itself, and he would admire her. Admire her.
He would admire her but not love her. She forced herself to remember that he made his proposal because her father was dead and her brother was to leave her as well.
If she married him, she would fall deeper and deeper in love with him until she would hate herself because she would be unable to gain his love. And she would end up losing the meager amount of self-worth she had worked so hard to retain. She would go to her grave desperately wishing he loved her as she loved him. She would become a grasping female.
She shook her head slightly to rid herself of the unappealing thought. “My lord, I am aware of the great honor you do me in proposing to join our lives together. But, I fear you have taken too much upon yourself in an effort to be noble. You are not responsible for my brother or me. If you must perform a service, let James’s commission fulfill that need. That is much more than either of us ever expected.”
“Yes, well, I was aware that in securing a commission for your brother, I would be taking him away from you. I must be allowed to right that wrong. Surely, Charlotte, you must see that it is the only logical course.”
“No, my lord,” she said quietly, garnering the courage to look at his earnest expression. “It would prove to be a disastrous course. I am aware that His Grace and the duchess, as well as Lord Edwin, would never approve of a union between us. And I am also aware that you promised to never marry. I would not be the impetus for you to break your word. And you would regret your actions within a month’s time.”
“I had taken an oath never to marry. But in fact, my father never forced this promise from me. It was I who made it voluntarily. I have decided that it is in our best interests that I reverse my decision.” He tugged at her chin to bring her gaze back to his.
He looked so impossibly handsome. It was all unbearably tempting. She only had to say one word. But she could not.
“I made that promise when I was seventeen, when I had shown no aptitude for the huge responsibility that awaited me when the title and the properties would come to me. Edwin suffered none of my numerous failings. I was relieved to be unburdened by the prospect of a lifetime of tangible failures, from which my family and the families dependent on the dukedom would suffer. And so, I promised to immerse myself in military service to the Crown—or to die trying.”
“And your father allowed this? Surely it was not his idea?” she asked.
“Actually, the duchess proposed it when I told them I would not live another moment within the confines of Wyndhurst. My father did not oppose the idea when I agreed to it.” He paused for a moment to run the back of his hand along her cheek. “But Charlotte, so much has happened since then. Not the least of which is your doing. It is by your encouragement that I am trying to learn once again. Most likely I will never reach a plateau that would render me capable of assuming the duties of a duke. In fact, since I have yet to conquer numbers, I highly doubt it. But, at least I will never have to fear that I am unable to continue on as before, as an officer of the 95th Rifleman.”
“So, I would not have to live here?” she asked with wonder.
“Correct,” he said, with the glint of a smile. “I am certain that will be an added inducement. And you would have a choice as to where you would live—either in the small but quite lovely town house my maternal grandparents left to me in London, or you could follow the drum or accompany me to any postings I might receive.”
Oh, he was very persuasive. Did he realize that the offer to possibly see her brother from time to time would be an enticement almost impossible to resist? She closed her eyes, searching for the strength to deny herself.
“There is one last point I must touch on,” he said.
Charlotte opened her eyes and looked at his closed expression.
“Because this would be a marriage of convenience for you, I would not require you to perform any wifely duties.”
What? What was he saying?
“That is… any activities that would result in the conception of a child.”
Charlotte’s hands were cold, and she could feel all the blood suddenly rushing away from her head. How utterly mortifying. He found her so lacking that he could not bring himself to desire a child by her. The tiny sliver of pride she could claim her own came roaring to life.
“So let me see if I understand your offer,” she said. “If we were to marry, I would be offered the choice of living comfortably, tucked away in London, or following you about like a loyal puppy to perhaps see my brother. I would be kept away from the critical eyes of the ton and your family, but provided for like a, like a— well-cared for distant relative? With nothing expected of me in return?”
It was amazing how much she could not abide pity. And pity from the person she loved was the most painful hurt of all. It gave backbone to her resolve.
“Charlotte, no!” he replied. “You have twisted my words quite thoroughly.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. I would never classify you as a distant relative.”
“Then what would be my role?”
“You would be my wife, and as such would have the protection of my name.”
“Yes, this you already mentioned. So, I suppose that after the wedding night, and required consummation, I would be free to live my life however I choose?” she asked, then rushed on, “But then, perhaps consummation would not be required?”
His short hesitation was all Charlotte needed to form another layer of protection for her fragile heart.
“I am not sure, but I believe consummation—a one-time affair—would be required to legalize our wedding vows. If we are careful, it is highly doubtful a child would be conceived.”
“Ah .”
He pulled her into his arms. Try as she might she could not raise her arms to resist his embrace. It felt so good to be held. But she forced herself to remain stiff, her nose buried in his neck cloth. She breathed in his warm, masculine scent. Her resolve was so very weak, weaker than at any other time in her life. She wanted him so very badly. She wanted the comfort of his arms, his name, and more so, the possibility of seeing him— even if only for short periods in her life. A little voice also reminded her that she would never force him to remain by her side. It was too much. She wasn’t sure she could refuse him, even when her pride screamed no.
“Charlotte, please say yes. I promise to take care of you. And I promise everything will be all right,” he said quietly into her hair.
“All right… yes,” she whispered, desire triumphing over pride. What was she saying? She had meant to say the opposite.
He squeezed her. “I promise you will not come to regret it.”
“I wish I could say the same to you, my lord.”
“Do you think you might be able to call me Nicholas? The occasion calls for it,” he said, pulling back to look at her. A sudden wave of shyness engulfed her. “Yes, of course… Nicholas.”
“Well, then, it is all settled. I am sorry your circumstances will force you to marry me before the proper amount of mourning time for your father has passed, Charlotte.” His tone had changed from tender to efficient. “And of course, you will still be able to wear mourning for a year or for as long as you choose.”
Charlotte felt faint. This was all too fast, too unreal. “How soon would we have to marry?”
“I am afraid it will have to be as soon as your brother accepts his commission. I would not want you to have to live alone in this cottage,” he said. “I arranged everything in London a few days ago whither I went to discuss my future position with the Military Secretary at the Horse Guards. I was also able to purchase the commission, and arrange for a special license in Canterbury.”
How mortifying. He had arranged for a special license, knowing she would accept his offer—so sure was he in his success. She swallowed her hurt. It was too late now. She had agreed to marry a man who did not love her.
“You will inform your family, then?” “Yes. They will be delighted to accept you into the family,” he said. Charlotte remembered the painful scene between Nicholas and his father when he had been near death, and felt a knot form in her stomach. “Nicholas, please let there be a minimum of falsehoods between us. I know I will not be welcomed. But, it does not matter. We will not be living here. And at least Rosamunde will accept me as a sister, I believe.”
“I would never tolerate any ill-behavior toward my wife. But, forewarned is forearmed. And we will only stay as long as my father desires me to remain near him, and to watch over the beginnings of some agriculture and industry I have approved on my holdings.”
Charlotte’s curiosity was piqued.
Nicholas told her about the adjacent land his maternal grandparents had deeded to him and his projects. “While in London, I hired a man, who is very knowledgeable about the brewing process. Mr. Gunter helped to select a few key items and made arrangements for possible future distribution points.”
After listening to all his other plans, she replied, “Oh, this will mean so much to the Roberts family and so many like them.”
“The land was going to waste. It was very easy to help these poor people.”
“Don’t belittle your efforts. It will mean the difference between slow starvation and a much better life for the few who are involved,” she said with spirit. “And if you do import the sheep, even more will benefit. I cannot bear to see such poverty.”
“By opening some of the acres I own for common land, it will also help ease this problem, I hope,” he replied. “I only wish my father was here to see the good effects this will cause.”
He squeezed her hand, his gaze warm and sincere. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. He was the best of men. I felt honored to know him.”
He had said exactly the right thing, unlike so many others who had tried to console her. He was tugging at her chin. Charlotte raised her head to face the deep green intensity of his heavy-lidded eyes and prayed he would never know how much her love for him consumed her. She would never allow him to feel the heavy weight of her unrequited love. But his gaze moved to her lips, and she closed her eyes, hoping he would kiss her.
Warm lips touched hers, enveloping her in a sea of passion. She dared not breathe. He opened his mouth and his tongue reached past her lips. She curled her tongue against his and felt a spiraling sensation leap between her legs.
He would consummate the marriage. If only that one time, she would know him fully. And he would be part of her and she would be able to hold that memory with her for all time. She would have to make it enough. And perhaps if she was lucky, very lucky indeed, a force that had evaded her throughout her life, her wedding night might give her a child. And she would have a chance at reciprocated love.
She wished it would happen with Nicholas. She wanted him with every ounce of her being. Her arms had somehow found their way up around his immense shoulders, and she felt his warm hands caressing her waist.
He broke off the kiss. “Perhaps I should be on my way. I know you have much to do. Will you and your brother accept an invitation to dine with my family tonight?” he asked. “I will inform them all of our intentions before then.”
Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. “I suppose it would be best to face them all at once. Although I fear the effect the news will have on your father. If he is very angry, perhaps it would be better for me to put an end to any bedside nursing. I could give Doro the tisanes and some instructions.”
“Let us take it one step at a time. This has all been very overwhelming for you. Let us say no more until tonight.”
“As you wish,” she replied.
He bent down and kissed her forehead one last time before releasing her.