Chapter Fifteen

“Tell me about Edmund,” Jacob said.

Charlotte stiffened. The fire crackled in the hearth and the brandy warmed her insides, but the question jarred her. Her senses tingled, warning her that he was getting too close. “What about him?”

She sounded defensive, and she warned herself to calm down. The question had come too close to her encounter—if one could call it that—with Edmund in the market. Coupled with her dream, she was on edge.

“Was your aunt as cruel to him as she was to you?” Jacob asked.

She concentrated on Jacob, not Edmund. The firelight made Jacob’s hair a deep red, his eyes a whiskey color. He was holding his empty brandy glass, and it reflected the oranges and yellows of the fire. She felt as vulnerable here as she had in her bedchamber with him, but in a different way. Not a good way. She had felt far less exposed in the rookery than in Jacob’s home.

“If you don’t want to talk about him we don’t have to,” Jacob said.

“I’ve never talked about it to anyone,” she admitted. Even Sarah didn’t know the whole story, just the mild bits and pieces. “That life… People would be hard pressed to believe it.”

“Tell me more about your life with your aunt.”

She took a sip of brandy for fortification. She would tell him some. Not all. But some. She felt this pressure from inside of her to tell part of her story so someone else would know and understand.

“Aunt Martha hates men. I’m uncertain why or how it started.”

“She hates her own son?”

“Yes.”

“What about her husband?”

“I didn’t know my uncle. He died a few years before I lived with them.”

“What did he die of?”

Did his questions seem more pointed than usual? She took another sip of brandy. The room was taking on a warm glow, and her tongue seemed thicker than normal. The anxiety of the afternoon and her dream seemed far off and not so important.

“I don’t know what he died of. I’ve heard it was sudden.” A thought slithered through her brain, slipping through her fingers before she could grasp it. Was there something strange about her uncle’s death?

She mentally shrugged. What did it matter now?

“My father was one of the kindest, most loving men I knew,” Charlotte said. “When Aunt Martha ranted about the evils of the opposite sex I purposely thought of him. She was wrong. About men. They’re not all bad. My father was a good man. You are a good man.” She looked down into her nearly empty glass. Where had all the brandy gone? Surely she hadn’t drunk it all, had she?

No. The glass hadn’t been that full when he’d handed it to her.

“Do you think…” Jacob paused. “I find it odd that your aunt hated men so much and your uncle died so suddenly.”

The thought that had slithered away came racing back, and she desperately tried to let it go.

“Do you think she did something to him?” She suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“I don’t know. I just think it’s odd.”

Their gazes locked. Firelight flickered across his dark eyes. His gaze dropped to her lips.

She wanted to kiss him again but he’d said they couldn’t do that. He said he wouldn’t do that to her. But what if she wanted him to? Did she not have a say in any of this?

Then she thought of America and the bright future that lay before her if only she could get there.

He stood abruptly and took the almost empty glass of brandy from her. She wanted to cry out at the loss—of a kiss that did not happen, of the intimate atmosphere of their conversation and, yes, at the loss of the brandy. It made all of her problems seem not so problematic anymore. She wanted the release that the brandy provided and that a good, long kiss afforded.

“I think we should return to our respective bedchambers,” he said.

Was there reluctance in his tone? Regret in his eyes?

She stood and faced him, and with a what-the-hell attitude that was more brandy than courage, she kissed him. And then like the untried, naive girl that she was, she fled from the room and down the hall to her bedchamber where she crawled into a cold bed and curled into a tight ball.

…

Armbruster’s butler let Jacob in the next morning, but Jacob’s mind wasn’t really on the task ahead, which was meeting with Armbruster’s man-of-business to discuss the earldom’s finances.

After his kiss with Charlotte last night he’d gone back to bed only to toss and turn and think endlessly about her. She’d been vulnerable, he told himself. She didn’t know what she was doing because her aunt had kept her from any suitors, since all men were evil.

He couldn’t take advantage of her in the frightened state she was in.

Marry Miss Morris.

Damn Armbruster for even mentioning such a preposterous thing.

And when he had not been thinking of Charlotte he’d been thinking of her uncle. Dead rather quickly, she’d told him. It matched what he’d learned of the Morrises. But what had he died of?

He didn’t know why he couldn’t shake the thought that Lord Morris had met a foul end. But why? Because Lady Morris despised men so much?

“He sent word that he was going to be a few minutes late,” Armbruster said of his man-of-business as he walked into the room. “Which will give us time to catch up on things.”

Jacob pulled his mind from his morbid thoughts to the task at hand. Numbers never interested him. He’d never done well in mathematics and had determined that today would be a rather dull day, but it had to be done.

“Catch up?” Jacob seated himself in the chair that Armbruster had offered.

“What is happening with Miss Morris?” Armbruster asked.

I kissed her, and it was magnificent.

“She’s going to America.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Still? So you haven’t given any thought to my suggestion?”

Oh, he’d given it a lot of thought. Mainly thinking that the idea was completely ludicrous.

Liar. In the deep of the night I think about it seriously. But in the light of the day it seems ludicrous again.

Jacob told Armbruster about visiting with Chadley, and Armbruster seemed intrigued.

“And she became angry?”

“Quite.”

“It would seem that she would want to mend the breach with them. Chadley could easily protect her from her aunt and give her a much better life than any she would have in service in America.”

Jacob shifted in his chair. “She seems most desperate to leave England.”

“Do you think there is another reason that she fled her aunt’s home? A jilted lover, maybe?”

The words angered him. Different from the anger of Cora’s passing. This was sharper. Desperate. He quickly stomped down on it, appalled at such an uncharacteristic reaction.

“Lady Morris has a strong hatred of men. She never let Charlotte near them, so I doubt there is a jilted lover waiting in the wings.”

“That doesn’t mean that Miss Morris didn’t find a man on her own.”

Jacob wanted to tell his friend that theory was preposterous. He’d kissed Charlotte—twice—and while he was no womanizer, he could tell that she’d been inexperienced and even a bit embarrassed. No, there was no other man in Charlotte’s life.

Which made him feel…relieved.

Armbruster observed Jacob for a long moment, making Jacob uneasy. He refused to meet his friend’s eyes for fear that Oliver would see the truth in them. And what was the truth? What was he hiding from Armbruster and himself?

“You have feelings for her,” Armbruster said, with an almost gleeful tone.

“Of course not.” But Jacob knew his defense was weak and lacked conviction, and he cursed himself for it.

“Good Lord, man, just marry the girl.”

“I can’t marry someone who is unwilling.”

Armbruster paused, and a grin spread across his face. “So you asked her?”

“No! Good God, please stop this. You’re acting like a gossiping hen.”

“The answer is just so obvious to everyone but you. She needs someone to save her. You need someone in your life before you rot away all alone in that townhouse of yours. And now that you’re an earl you need an heir and protection against the dragon mothers who will sink their claws into you.”

“I’m not alone.” That was the argument he grabbed onto? I’m not alone? Out of everything Armbruster said there was more truth in that than anything else. He didn’t realize until Charlotte came into his life how alone he really was. He had Armbruster. He had his barrister friends, and that was it. How pathetic he was.

Armbruster and the barristers were good companions at times, but those times were sporadic and unreliable.

They weren’t with him in the evenings when he was finished with work and rattled around his townhouse.

“Mrs. Smith doesn’t count,” Armbruster said.

Jacob ignored that remark. “Charlotte is determined to go to America.”

“Maybe because she thinks she doesn’t have any other options.”

“I’m not marrying her, so please stop pestering me.”

But the thought was there, always, at the back of his mind. He tried to think of Cora in those moments, but the memories of her were dimming. He’d noticed a few years ago that he couldn’t recall the sound of her voice or the exact color of her hair or the perfect pitch of her laugh.

He hated that her memory was no longer sharp and fresh but dulled and warm with the patina of time.

…

“His Lordship is in meetings all day,” Mrs. Smith told Charlotte when she came down for breakfast. It was the same thing Mrs. Smith had told her every other morning, and Charlotte wondered what it was that Jacob did all day.

She knew he was a solicitor, but she wasn’t certain what, exactly, that meant.

As usual, she took breakfast alone, eating a piece of buttered toast and drinking a cup of tea. Mrs. Smith tsk-tsked as she did every morning. Mrs. Smith thought Charlotte should eat more, fatten herself up.

Today she would visit Cotton and make firm plans to get to America. She wished she had the clothes that she had come here in. Wearing a gown like this would make her conspicuous. Dressed as a woman of better means meant that she would be a target for all of the thieves and pickpockets, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now.

“There is someone here to see you,” Mrs. Smith said, appearing in the dining room, her eyes round and the dust cloth fluttering in her hand.

“Me?” Who was here to see her? Unless it was… Was her aunt here? Had she discovered that Charlotte was living with Jacob? “Who is it?” she asked breathlessly.

“Said his name was Chadley.”

“Chadley? I don’t know a…”

And then it occurred to her who Chadley was. Her uncle.

“The Marquess of Chadley?”

Mrs. Smith sniffed. “He didn’t say nothing about being a marquess.”

Charlotte took a deep breath to tell Mrs. Smith she didn’t want to see Lord Chadley. Send him away.

Her entire life she’d avoided even thinking of her mother’s family, and now her uncle was in the next room. He’d come to see her.

There was a small part of her that wanted to see him. In her mind the Marquess of Chadley had been an ogre—an ugly man with green skin and horns. Of course, with age she’d realized that he was just a man—ugly on the inside but probably not on the outside.

“Where is he?” she asked. After all, one didn’t just send a marquess away. She was in Jacob’s home. She couldn’t be rude on his behalf—even though this was his fault and she certainly was not happy about the situation.

“In his lordship’s front room.”

Of course. Jacob desperately needed a formal sitting room. It just didn’t do to put a marquess in a home office.

Nervously, she smoothed down her gown, a white, fluffy creation with sprigged flowers with still too many ribbons, even though most had been removed. Absently she tugged on the short ends of her hair then tucked them behind her ear.

She was far more nervous to meet her uncle than she should be. After all, it was his family that had abandoned her mother. Nevertheless, her legs were trembling as she made her way down the hall and opened the door to Jacob’s office.

He was standing at the window, twisting his hat in his hand. He turned when she entered, and she was startled to find that he was young. Far younger than she had expected him to be. He had blond hair nearly the same color as hers, swept straight back off his forehead, and darker blond expressive brows. His nose was thin, but his smile wide yet guarded.

She looked for similarities, but other than the stories her papa had told her, she had no memories of her mother.

“Miss Morris.” He seemed hesitant, unsure, and she was pleased to see she had the upper hand in this meeting. It gave her a small boost in confidence.

She curtsied. “Lord Chadley.”

He took a step toward her, halted, and stood there, awkwardly clutching his hat.

“You look like her,” he said softly.

Charlotte swallowed, not expecting him to say that. Unexpected tears clogged her throat. She looked like her mother.

I look like my mother.

He looked down at the hat in his hand and turned the brim. “It’s uncanny.”

And her aunt had called her mother a whore. That had always made Charlotte so angry.

“Why are you here?” she asked. Why now? was what she really wanted to say. Why not when we needed you the most? Why not when I needed you the most?

“Lord Ashland called on me the other day.”

“I asked him not to.”

Chadley winced. “I can understand why.”

“Can you?”

“I can understand that you might be angry for the way my family treated your mother.”

“You abandoned her.”

“Some would say that she abandoned us.”

“Who would say that?”

“My father. Your grandfather.”

Charlotte had so many things she wanted to say, but none of them were nice, and she was aware that most of what happened had been out of this man’s control, just as it had been out of her control.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To see you. To apologize for the way we treated your mother.”

“She died when I was born,” she said brokenly, unnecessarily. She felt it needed to be voiced.

“I know.”

“She died knowing her family had turned their back on her. And still you didn’t reach out to my father. You didn’t even come to the funeral.”

“We were forbidden.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but why would I ever want to associate myself with your family after what they did to mine?”

“You have every right to your anger. My father… He was old, set in his ways. In his day, a daughter didn’t disrespect her father. Harriet was supposed to marry another man. Not only did she turn her back on that agreement, but she married beneath her. In his mind, it was unforgivable.”

“I didn’t know…” She swallowed. Talking about her mother was much more difficult than she had thought it would be. “I didn’t know she had been promised to another man.” Her father had never told her that part.

Chadley motioned to the two chairs facing Jacob’s desk. “May we sit?”

She hesitated, not wanting to prolong this visit. Not wanting to get to know this man, but he was telling her things about her mother. Things she didn’t know and she desperately wanted to hear more.

She rang for tea.

“My father was devastated by my mother’s death,” she said. “Even fifteen years later his grief was still sharp. I believe he died of a broken heart.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It was five years ago. There was no word from her family even then.”

“I know.”

“I believe your father had passed away by then as well.”

“He had.”

She waited for his explanation, braced herself for his excuses, but none were forthcoming.

“I would ask my father about my mother,” she said. “But there was so much he didn’t know about her younger years.”

“What would you like to know? I can try to answer any questions you have about Harriet.”

“I don’t know where to start.” And she was afraid to ask. For twenty years her mother had been an ethereal being, an angel looking down on her from heaven. She’d not really been real to Charlotte, and now she was about to learn what had made her mother a person.

“She was six years old when I was born,” he said. “We had another sister, but she died of influenza when she was just three years old, right before I was born. Her name was Charlotte, too.”

“I was named after your sister?” Charlotte’s heart was beating hard, and she was filled with much trepidation and anticipation. She didn’t want to like this man.

“I like to believe so.”

“Did you know about me?”

He hesitated. “Yes. My father kept up on Harriet’s life.”

“But he didn’t visit her. He didn’t invite her back home.”

“No.”

“He hated her that much?”

“I don’t think hate had anything to do with it. I think it was more about pride. He didn’t want to admit he’d been wrong.”

“He cut her off from her family, a family that she’d loved. That is unacceptable.”

“I agree.”

“Did you know my papa died?”

“Not until Lord Ashland told me.”

Would he have reached out if he had known? Would he have tried to save her from her aunt if he had known? Would her life have been completely different?

“What was she like?” she finally asked through a thick throat.

“Precocious. Strong-willed. She drove our parents mad because she never followed the rules and she lost many a governess because of it. But she was also kindhearted. Nothing was ever done in a mean-spirited way. Harriet was curious. She liked to ask questions, whether they were appropriate or not. She liked to experiment and test theories, and she never understood why we had so many rules.”

“When she met my father she didn’t understand why the relationship was frowned upon?”

“Oh, she knew. By then she knew the rules and understood them, but she didn’t care. She claimed they were in love and that love was more important than anything else.”

“Even when she knew she would lose her family?”

“Even then. She was sad about it. I remember lots of tears, lots of yelling, lots of slamming doors. Like you, Harriet didn’t understand our father’s stern disapproval and unbending convictions. She desperately wanted him to change his mind, but he refused. I think he regretted it in the end.”

“But it was far too late.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for filling in the pieces of the puzzle.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He paused and seemed to consider something. “I would like to get to know you better, Charlotte. I regret what my father did, and I would like to make amends. Lord Ashland said that you ran away from your guardian because she was cruel. I’m so sorry to hear that, and I open my doors to you. You are more than welcome to come live with us. Lady Chadley wanted me to extend the invitation, but please know that it comes from my heart as well.”

“I appreciate that, and I’m aware that my current living arrangements are…out of the ordinary. Jacob has been more than kind and has been nothing but a gentleman.” She dismissed the memory of their kisses for fear they would show in her expression, and that was none of her uncle’s business. “However, I will not be in London for much longer, so it seems silly to disrupt your household at this point.”

He frowned. “Where are you going?”

“To America. I thought to make a living teaching American heiresses the English ways so they can come here to find titled husbands.”

“But everything you know is here.”

She smiled thinly. “That is exactly why I am moving to America.”