“You wish to go where?” James frowned as he stared at Charlotte, certain she’d lost her mind.
He’d ventured to her home on the pretense of speaking with Edward again. Luckily, Charlotte had been sitting in the drawing room writing letters when he’d arrived. He intended to see his promise to escort her somewhere over and done with as quickly as possible. He didn’t want Edward to discover what was happening as he was certain his friend wouldn’t approve.
“To a gaming hell.”
“Absolutely not.” It was out of the question. The very thought nearly made him shudder. “Ladies aren’t allowed in such places.” Thank goodness. Surely that was reason enough to avoid such an outing.
“I am quite aware of that. I don’t have to go inside. I just want to have a peek.”
Images filled his mind as he considered all the things that could go wrong. “It’s not possible. Pick a different place. What about the theater?” Before the words left his mouth, he was certain she’d refuse. But he had to try.
“I’ve been to the theater.” She shook her head, a scowl twisting her rosy lips. “That won’t do. What if I dressed as a man and—”
“No!” James’ heart lurched at the very idea of Charlotte clothed in breeches and running about in public. To think of himself along her side while she was attired as such was impossible. “Absolutely not. Think of something else.”
She tapped a finger on her chin as she considered the question, only to pause when the sound of Edward’s voice echoed in the hallway. “Riding in Hyde Park. Tomorrow morning,” she added quickly.
“Surely you’ve been there many times.” That wouldn’t be much of an adventure.
“I have but not with you.” She glanced toward the drawing room entrance as if worried they’d be interrupted then quickly returned her gaze to his. “However, meeting there will give us a chance to settle on a plan on which we can both agree.”
“Very well,” he agreed with reluctance. Perhaps he could talk her out of this crazy scheme given additional time. “When?”
“Seven o’clock.”
He nodded, surprised by the early hour. However, that time of the morning should provide them with some privacy as most of the ton remained abed until much later.
Edward entered the room, his gaze shifting between them. “Good afternoon. Am I interrupting?”
“Of course not.” Charlotte smiled at her brother. “I was merely keeping James company while he waited for you.” She put away the letter in the lap writing desk and closed the lid. “I’ll leave the two of you to converse.”
James forced himself not to watch her walk out the room and instead turned to Edward. Heaven forbid his friend realized what he and Charlotte were up to.
~*~
James arrived at the Grosvenor gate entrance to Hyde Park just off Park Lane the following morning astride his roan, wondering how long he’d have to wait for Charlotte to arrive.
The park was quiet at this hour of the morning with only a few other riders visible in the distance. He drew a deep breath of the crisp air, realizing he was looking forward to the ride despite being bleary-eyed from a late night of drinking and gambling with Edward.
However, a short night of sleep suited him as it provided less chance of nightmares. How he detested being jolted awake to the sound of gunfire in his dreams. He’d relived nearly every battle multiple times since his return home, almost always in the middle of the night. Older soldiers called it battle fatigue. Yet resting only seemed to make it worse.
James focused on the view, realizing he hadn’t ridden purely for pleasure since he’d come home. The beauty of the landscape soothed him. Deer grazed in a distant tree-lined meadow. He looked forward to the ride to come.
If only Charlotte wasn’t intent on courting trouble. Why hadn’t he simply told Edward what she was about? Surely her brother would be able to convince her of the folly of her plan, which would leave James out of it.
He’d only waited a few minutes when Charlotte rode into view with a groom in tow. She rode a gray mare with a black mane who appeared as eager for the ride as his roan. Her blue wool riding habit with a ruffled shirt made her skin glow. The clever matching hat held a large feather that bounced with each step of the horse. James suddenly appreciated the fact that riding habits no longer mimicked military uniforms and instead had shifted to something more feminine.
“Good morning.” Her bright smile caused his own lips to respond in turn.
“And to you.” He guided his horse alongside hers as they rode deeper into the park, her groom trailing behind.
“Though I question the urge to rise early to ride, once I arrive, I’m always pleased I did.” Her gaze swept over the expanse of grass and trees, a contented smile on her face.
James expected her to continue to fill the air with nonsensical chatter, but she remained silent as they rode. Only the soft thud of the horses’ hooves on the ground, the creak of their saddles, and the jingle of the reins met his ears. They’d ridden for several minutes before she glanced over at him with a mischievous, dimpled smile that put up his guard.
“Ready?” she asked.
“For what?”
“A race.” The light in her eyes sparked an answering light inside him that nearly had him pressing a hand to his chest at the unfamiliar sensation. Was it excitement? Joy?
Before he could decide, she’d urged her horse into a gallop, quickly gaining ground on him. He gave his horse the slightest nudge, and the steed leapt forward eagerly to give chase.
All his worries fell away as pure exhilaration swept through him. The thunder of hooves pounded on the turf, echoing in his chest. He closed in on Charlotte. A glance over his shoulder showed the groom falling behind. Though he knew he could easily pass Charlotte, he held back, giving them both the thrill of the race.
At last, they neared the end of the meadow, and he drew near enough to hear Charlotte’s laughter. The sound wove through his chest, slightly loosening the knot that had been there since his return to England’s shores.
Charlotte reined in her mare, her cheeks flushed, still laughing as she slid off her horse.
“That was perfect,” she declared.
“Because you won?” he asked as he dismounted, unable to resist teasing her.
“No.” Her gaze held steadily on his. “Because it made you smile.”
His heart did the oddest flip, almost like a somersault, leaving him breathless. He gathered his horse’s reins while he tried to collect his thoughts as she moved closer. He had no idea how to respond to her statement.
“I’ve missed your smile,” she added gently, her gaze searching his face. “You’ve become rather serious compared to what I remember.”
“I haven’t found much to smile about of late.” That was an understatement. The London he’d returned to wasn’t the one to which he’d held tight in his memory, the one to which he’d longed to come home. He supposed he’d held an idealistic view of it. But nothing had remained the same during his absence, especially himself.
He detested the way other men commented with admiration about his roguish feats such as winning at cards or the hand of an actress yet showed little interest in what happened to him and others who’d fought in the war. How could they admire his recent tendency to indulge in less-than-wholesome pleasures and ignore the reason behind them? Was it because he’d escaped physical harm and no outward sign of his internal wounds were visible?
As he forced himself to meet Charlotte’s eyes, he realized he was pleased she had noticed. He was different, and it was ridiculous to pretend otherwise. He was also pleased with the changes in her, both inside and out. The attractive, confident woman standing before him was a testament that not all was upside down in his world.
“Then I am even more pleased to have found something that brought you joy, even briefly,” she added.
“Thank you.”
They stood between their horses which provided them with a small measure of privacy. The quiet morning added to the sensation. He found himself reaching out to brush a gloved finger along her cheek. He wished he could feel it as he was certain her skin would be as soft as it looked.
How easy it would be to fall under her spell and give in to the urge to kiss her.
But that would never do. He intended to protect her, not ravish her. The thought of Edward had him easing back. James needed to remember the reason for this early morning ride.
“Did our race soothe your thirst for adventure?” He asked the question quietly, reluctant to change the topic.
She chuckled even as she shook her head. “I refuse to allow you to escape your promise so easily.”
Oddly enough, her declaration pleased him.
~*~
“I must say that once again you have surprised me.” James stared at Montagu House where the British Museum was housed with a perplexed look.
“Did you think I wouldn't be interested in seeing the exhibits?” Charlotte couldn't help but feel offended. Did James think so poorly of her?
“Not at all.” James studied her as they climbed the steps of the beautiful, French-style house in Bloomsbury where the museum's collections were housed, her maid following behind.
Physician and naturalist Sir Hans Sloane had left the entire contents of his collection to the King upon his death for a small fee to his beneficiaries. The collection included over 71,000 objects with everything from books to manuscripts, to coins and medals, to natural specimens and antiquities of all shapes and sizes. Classical sculptures purchased from Charles Townley were also on display. Both the gardens and the museum were open to the public on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from ten o’clock to four o’clock.
“I'm just not certain why you require my escort to view it.”
That made her feel better. Charlotte wasn't certain how much to admit to James. Especially when she still intended to convince him to take her to a gaming hell.
The exhibits that truly interested her were ones of which her mother would not approve. Lady Wynn didn't see any purpose in bothering with education beyond what Charlotte would require to be a proper wife, capable of managing her social duties as well as a household. She’d been taught manners, drawing, music, reading, and writing, and basic arithmetic, but little beyond that.
While that might satisfy some young ladies, it hadn't satisfied Charlotte. She'd taken to borrowing books from her father's library without his permission to read in the evenings after she retired to her bedchamber. Thank goodness her mother hadn’t noted the number of candles Charlotte went through. Reading some of the rather dry books, at least the portions that interested her, had opened a whole new world to her but left her wanting more. Viewing some of the exhibits housed here would add nicely to that.
Lady Wynn had no desire to visit the museum, therefore she didn't think her daughter should either. Her father certainly wouldn't approve, and Edward couldn't be bothered to escort his sister. While a few of her friends such as Margaret might enjoy accompanying her, the idea of James doing so had provided a certain thrill.
He would have an entirely different perspective on the exhibits than anyone else she knew. The outing would be good for him as well. That alone made it worthwhile. The war had obviously affected him deeply.
Did he and Edward ever speak of it? Talking about her own problems certainly helped her. However, she realized that true problems, the ones that couldn't be solved overnight, were difficult to speak of. Rarely was there an easy solution for them.
She couldn't expect James to confide in her when they didn't know each other well. But she hoped that would change after this day. Would he see any benefit to speaking with her? Probably not. Certainly not about such weighty topics as the war. But she intended to try if the right moment came along.
While tempted to give a flippant response to his question she decided against it, wanting him to understand how important this was to her.
“My mother sees little purpose in me learning anything about art, archaeology, or history. She thinks I only need to focus on what I need to know to be a good wife and mother.”
James glanced at her as they arrived at the entrance. “I, for one, applaud your curiosity.”
“Why, thank you.” She smiled. “I very much look forward to several of the exhibits.”
The collections were split into sections, including printed books and manuscripts, Natural History and modern artificial curiosities, and natural and artificial productions.
James held the door for her then glanced around inside with interest. “Where shall we go first?”
“Upstairs,” Charlotte answered confidently. Her maid settled into a chair to wait by the door.
The lower floor held a library of books and while it would be interesting to peruse them, now was not the time. The upper floor held modern works of art, fossils, stuffed birds, and other items.
However, it was the Gallery specifically that most appealed to her as it housed the Greek and Roman sculptures along with Egyptian antiquities and other artifacts.
An under librarian came forward to greet them. “How may we be of assistance today?” he asked with a bow.
James looked at Charlotte, one brow raised.
“The Gallery, please,” she responded. Charlotte would have preferred it if they could wander about on their own, but visitors were escorted by under librarians.
The young man appeared to be of a studious nature with wavy brown hair, glasses, and a small frame. His stature was much different than James whose broad shoulders and confidence suggested he was prepared for anything. Their guide appeared to only be ready to look at books. She had to smile at the comparison.
“What is it?” James asked as their guide, Mr. Jones, led the way across the entrance hall toward the grand staircase.
She shook her head, well aware of the heat filling her cheeks. She had no intention of advising James how handsome she thought he was.
Mr. Jones led them up a flight of stairs with an ornate iron railing and to the right, through several corridors which held beautiful paintings. The house was a pleasure to walk through with decorative embellishments along the walls and above the doorways.
At last, the guide paused in the Gallery where Charlotte drew an appreciative breath at the number of exhibits. She was especially interested in the Parthenon sculptures, a collection of marble architectural decorations from the temple of Athena on the Acropolis in Athens. She had read about them but to see them for herself was another experience altogether.
Even James's presence fell away as she studied the sculpted relief panels depicting the battle between Centaurs and Lapiths at a marriage feast. The display was positively stunning.
She knew from her reading that the Parthenon had been a temple, a church, and a mosque over the centuries. A terrible explosion in 1687 from munitions stored inside left it in ruins.
She glanced over her shoulder at their guide, waiting for him to share some of the details of the amazing sculptures. The condescending look he gave her suggested he didn't think she could be interested or appreciate his knowledge.
His gaze shifted to James, and he quickly cleared his throat and started sharing some of the specifics of each item.
Charlotte drank in the information eagerly, hoping she could remember even half of what he told them. The sculptures were much larger than she'd expected.
They passed a closed door, something that caught her curiosity, considering most of the other doors stood open.
“What's in there?” she asked.
Mr. Jones’s face turned red much to her surprise. “That room contains statues that aren't yet ready for viewing.”
The explanation only made her more curious. Could they be statues of Athena and the virgins? Whatever it was, she dearly wanted to see. A glance at James suggested he was curious as well.
Another guide with several visitors entered the Gallery but much to her relief, they continued past to another area.
Charlotte and James were studying a carved horse’s head when the other guide hurried back into the room.
“I beg your pardon, but I am in need of your assistance, Mr. Jones. One of the visitors, a gentleman, has collapsed.”
“Oh dear.” Mr. Jones looked back and forth between them and his associate, seeming torn as to what action to take.
“Please see to the other visitor,” James encouraged him. “We will wait here for your return.”
“Are you certain?”
“Please hurry,” the other guide urged.
With a tip of his head, Mr. Jones hurried away with his associate.
“I do hope it’s nothing serious,” Charlotte said.
“I’ll make certain they don't need additional assistance.” James strode to the end of the Gallery and paused to look into the other room, apparently watching the group.
Charlotte continued to view the exhibits before her gaze was once again captured by the closed door.
Was it locked? It certainly couldn't hurt to check. With a glance over her shoulder to where James was visible at the end of the room, she stepped to the door and tried the knob, pleased to find it turned easily under her hand.
A peek inside showed a large collection of a variety of statues stored in a haphazard manner. Some were draped with cloths, but others were bare. From what she could see, they were gorgeous.
“What are you doing?” James’ deep voice startled her.
She pressed a hand over her pounding heart before turning to frown at him. “You gave me a fright. Surely you were also curious as to what this room held.”
“The reaction of our guide did make me wonder. No doubt he'll be back any minute.”
“Then we should hurry.” Charlotte stepped through the door and gestured for James to follow.
He hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. “You can't be serious.”
“Why not? Hurry.” She motioned for him to join her, and he reluctantly stepped inside. She closed the door behind them, deciding this was a perfect adventure. “Just look at these.”
“Impressive.” He walked slowly forward as if as drawn to the statues as she was.
“Why wouldn’t they display them?” she asked in a hushed tone, the silence of the chamber demanding it.
“At a guess, I would suggest not all of them are genuine. Perhaps they’re attempting to sort the real items from the fraudulent ones.”
Charlotte followed his gaze to a statue that displayed a voluptuous woman in the arms of a man, both nude, surprised by the pose. “Wasn’t Athena the goddess of warriors?”
“Yes, which makes a few of these all the more suspicious, don’t you think?”
Yet the passionate embrace drew her forward. Whoever the artist had been, he had talent. The utter longing on both faces was also visible in the way they held each other—as if nothing else mattered except their love. The man’s hand on the woman’s breast and bottom had Charlotte swallowing hard. What might it be like to be so loved and adored and...desired in that way? Her entire body tingled at the thought as her mouth went dry.
The realization that she might never know had her quickly turning away. Lord Samuelson and she would never view each other in that light.
“What is it?” James asked, a gentle hand on her arm.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat as she glanced toward the lovers again. “Can you imagine loving another so much?”
His silence grew so long she wasn’t certain he was going to answer. “No, I can’t. That would be a privilege.”
The warmth of his body seeped into hers, soothing her. She appreciated that he hadn’t dismissed her question or made light of it. She looked into his eyes, wondering if he truly understood, and was lost.
He lifted his hand to draw a finger along the line of her jaw. His touch caused a ripple of sensation to wash through her. Suddenly, she could indeed imagine such a thing.
With James.
His gaze dropped to her lips and her breath caught. She wanted him to kiss her more than she wanted air at that moment. Those incredible brown eyes with their shadows still evident captured hers once more. Was that a question in their depths?
Before she could decide, he leaned close. Then closer still until their breath was one. Longing threatened to pull her under. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted anything as much as she wanted his kiss.
His lips pressed against hers as if an answer to her wish.
But the kiss was over before it truly began, much to her disappointment.
He studied her, his expression unfathomable. “I hope you find it someday, Charlotte. You deserve love in its truest form.”
Then he turned away as if to say it wouldn’t be with him. Her heart ached, whether from the poignancy of the moment or his rejection, she couldn’t say. She only knew it hurt.