Chapter Twenty-Eight

Darkness shrouded Berkeley Square, but Darington Terrace glowed bright with candlelight. Relief had tempered Finlay’s racing heart once he had rushed Charlotte out of Newgate and into the ducal carriage. Now, she sat across from him, freshly bathed and in a dress Alethea had given her, a thick wool shawl draped around her shoulders and a steaming cup of tea in her hands. His twin sat on her right side and Lady Flora on her other, each woman murmuring low words to her and flashing warm smiles. He was thankful the people closest to him had been willing to come to her aid and embrace her so readily.

But at that moment, Finlay wanted her to himself.

“Firthwell, you played that masterfully.” Darington raised a glass in salute. “I was convinced the pair were going to have an apoplexy right there.”

“I wish they had. They’re horrible people.” Lady Flora scowled.

“I’m just happy I no longer have to worry about them reappearing in my life.” Charlotte tugged on the sleeve of her gown, and Finlay suspected she did it so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him.

“They should leave you in peace. I’ve provided them with plenty of reasons to.”

“You have. Well done!” Lady Flora clapped her hands. “Now what are your plans?”

The question seemed to startle Charlotte for she jerked back, her eyes wide. “I–I’m honestly not sure.” She studied the wedding band that lay in her palm. “With your permission, I’d like to return to the Home. I was so very happy teaching there.”

Inverray smiled. “The position will be yours for as long as you want it.”

Finlay was relieved she was surrounded by people who welcomed her back to her old life so easily, and yet…

“Why the forlorn face, Firthwell?” Darington had an unholy twinkle in his eye.

Damn him.

Sucking in a discreet breath, he crossed to where Charlotte sat and kneeled in front of her. He reached for her hand, unsure of what to think when he found it trembling.

“I’d hoped you might take pity on me. Alethea has declared I’m in need of management, which we know means I need a wife.”

Her breath hitched, and hope bloomed in his chest. Before she could answer, Flora interrupted.

“I’m sure we’ve been an ill-mannered, uninvited audience for long enough. Why don’t we give our friends some privacy.”

The group trooped out of the room, but Finlay didn’t watch their departure. He couldn’t look away from Charlotte’s face.

“Char, this is my chance for happiness. For in you, I’ve found everything I want. And all that I need.” Drawing closer, he lowered his voice so only she would hear. “I love you, Charlotte. I love how you’re stoic and proper one moment and sipping whisky with a stranger the next.” As he’d hoped, she giggled. “You challenge me, force me to consider a world outside of what I’ve always known. As much as it hurt when I thought you’d betrayed me, the real pain came from the thought I’d lost the best friend I’ve ever had.”

She clasped his hand tighter. “I didn’t want to do it. But…but Fin, you know any association with me could ruin your chances to win a seat in Commons.” She touched his cheek. “You’ve worked so hard to write your own narrative. I would hate myself if I stood in your way.”

“Stand in my way? There is no way if you’re not by my side.”

“Oh Fin,” she whispered, tears slipping down her face. “I was trying to save you, but you’ve saved me, instead.”

“It was my proudest moment, you should know.” His heart felt light when she laughed. “Will you marry me? I don’t want to face any challenge, any celebration, any sunrise or sunset without you.”

A dull light glinted in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He swallowed. “Do you not want to marry me? I know you loved your first husband terribly. Is it possible you might have some love for me?”

“Oh Fin, you foolish man.” She pressed her lips to his, her fingers finding purchase in his hair. “I would be the luckiest woman in all of England to be your wife.” She pulled back, but her fingers continued to stroke his jaw. “But you know I cannot. I’m still Jewish, and you’re still Anglican.”

“H-how did you marry Roderick?” he stuttered.

She met his gaze. “He converted. We married in the synagogue.”

Finlay felt his mouth drop open. Roderick was proving to be a paragon of virtue. Recovering, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Another source of contention with the Townsends, I’m sure.”

“Naturally.” A wrinkle marred her brow. “But you can’t convert, or you would risk losing—”

“Everything.” He exhaled forcefully.

Charlotte turned her head to stare out the window, and Finlay allowed himself a moment to simply admire her. The contours of her face. The sweep of her sooty lashes. The pillowy lips pursed in thought. He loved her so much. That she couldn’t be his was not an option.

There had to be a solution. She had sacrificed her freedom rather than exploit his scandalous secret, and he now knew his dreams were colorless and hollow without her in them. For, Charlotte had rearranged the puzzle pieces of his heart. They would never again fit together without her for she was the matrix that aligned them.

“What if…” she hesitated, licking her lips. She slowly met his eyes. “I convert?”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t ask you to do that. You’ve sacrificed so much in your life, and to ask you to convert seems appallingly unfair.”

Without a word, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. Fiercely.

After several long moments, she pulled back. The color was high in her cheeks, and she looked achingly lovely. “And that is why I’m willing to do it. Roderick had been in a different situation than you, Fin. You might not think you’re entitled to or even deserving of your father’s title, but I know you are. Marrying me could kill your political career, but I won’t let it destroy your birthright as well.”

Fire raged through him as he attempted to order his thoughts and emotions. When he’d managed to subdue his strongest instincts, he cradled her jaw in his hand.

“I visited with Rabbi Davidman after I left your flat that morning. I wanted to marry you even then, but I knew this would be an issue. The good rabbi said you can convert in name only, like Esther did. And like her, your sacrifice will not be in vain, for as the future Countess of Rockhaven, you will be in a position to help those who need it most. We can champion causes together, while we practice the customs privately. I will help you observe as much as I can.” He grinned. “And I expect you to raise our children within the faith as well.”

“Truly?” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“Of course. I want them to grow to be as courageous, generous, and loving as their mother.”

“And you will fight to ensure they can openly observe their faith and customs, whilst still participating in public life?”

“Absolutely.”

Charlotte considered him for a long moment, and Finlay thought he’d surely expire from the tension. “If you consent to me practicing in private—”

“I would practice with you”—he dipped his head—“if you consented, of course.”

“I would be honored if you did.” She pressed her palm to his cheek, her smile crooked. “If you are determined to throw your chances at Weobley and threaten your standing with the ton, I am willing to convert. Because I love you, too. So much.”

And those words were a salve on an open wound. He drew her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

…

A week later

“My lord, there is a gentleman here to see you.”

Finlay blinked. The room fell silent.

“Who is it, Lockley?” Darington asked, rising to his feet.

“It’s Earl Matthews, Your Grace. He was told Lord Firthwell was here by the staff at Rockhaven House.”

Finlay exchanged a loaded glance with the duke.

“Please ensure a tea tray is delivered to the study. I find everyone is more reasonable after a cup of hot tea.” Alethea’s mouth quirked. “And ensure the whisky decanter on the sideboard is full.”

Lockley bowed in acknowledgment while Darington smiled and shook his head.

Finlay pressed a discreet kiss to Charlotte’s cheek. “I’ll return shortly.”

She nodded, her blue-gray eyes luminous. She sat next to his sister on a small settee, and just moments ago she’d been laughing at Alethea’s teasing remarks to Darington. It was obvious his future bride had become fast friends with his twin. That knowledge only solidified his decision.

Now to see what Earl Matthews thought of it.

“I still haven’t told Charlotte about when you taunted the bull in the south pasture something terrible until he chased you up that oak tree.” His sister directed a gleeful grin at Charlotte. “I had to save him, of course.”

With a roll of his eyes, he followed Lockley out the door. Stepping into Darington’s study, he spotted the earl inspecting the vibrant painting above the hearth.

“St. Lucia, I assume,” he murmured, not bothering to look at him.

“So I am to understand.”

Pacing to the sideboard, Matthews considered the bottles on display. He picked up one and raised his brow. “I imagine Darington won’t mind.”

“Only if you leave the bottle empty.”

Finlay grabbed two tumblers and poured the earl and himself a generous amount. After sitting in the armchairs before the roaring fire, Matthews stared at him over his glass.

“Inverray tells me you’ve selected a bride.”

He swallowed, welcoming the fire that streaked through his veins. “I have.”

“And who is she?”

Setting his glass aside, he folded his hands over his knee. “Her name is Charlotte Taylor. She’s a teacher at Little Windmill House, the foundling home Inverray founded. She’s the widow of Mr. Roderick Townsend, the former undersecretary to the governor of India.”

“Townsend’s son?” Matthews sat up straighter, his gaze keen. “The one who died in India?”

“The one.”

The earl studied the liquid in his glass. “What has become of Miss Eddington? I was under the impression you were going to ask to court her.”

Finlay raised a shoulder. “Miss Eddington is a lovely young woman, but she is not meant to be my bride.”

“So it is a love match, then?” Matthews swung his finger back and forth. “This relationship with Mrs. Taylor.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else would you forgo a stellar political match with Miss Eddington, who would no doubt aid you as you climb the ranks of Parliament, for a widow with tenuous connections?” The earl made a sound in the back of his throat. “Love matches are a political curse.”

Pressing his lips together, Finlay debated how to respond. Opting for honesty, he said, “Happiness is never a curse. I could have moved up the ranks, as you said, but would I have been happy? Miss Eddington would have been the perfect political wife who hosted dinner parties and planning sessions with aplomb. I very likely would have grown fond of her. But would I have rushed home to see her every night? Would us growing old together have been marked by political victories instead of intimate moments of joy?”

He rose to his feet and crossed to the fireplace, clutching the mantel as he stared at the flames. “My father and mother were a match heralded by the ton, and yet they were miserable together. I realized I would have been miserable, too, if I only pursued Weobley and ignored the wishes of my heart.”

Matthews nodded slowly. “Very well. If you’re determined, I will do my best to stem the talk, and make no mistake, there will be talk. From my understanding, there may be objections to her background. And Abernathy will definitely find a way to exploit this unequal union.”

Finlay planted his feet, placing his hands at his side. “He would be correct that this union is not equal, but that is because Mrs. Taylor exceeds me in intelligence, grace under pressure, poise, and determination. I invite you to join us for supper. I’d like to introduce you to my bride, so you can see for yourself how far above myself I am marrying.”

A tense moment ticked by on the clock, and Finlay pondered if he’d said too much. But the earl stood and extended his hand. “I thank you for the invitation. I find myself looking forward to making the future Lady Firthwell’s acquaintance.”

Stifling a smile, Finlay escorted him out the door.

…

Three months later

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

Finlay scowled, but it didn’t last long before he helped himself to another spoonful of lemon ice. “Of course I remembered. I’m almost offended you doubted me.”

“My love, of course I didn’t doubt you.” The touch of Charlotte’s hand on his arm soothed any ire he felt. “But the last several months have been a bit busy, and I wouldn’t have faulted you if it had slipped your mind.”

“With the Tiny Misses Club intent on reminding me any time I visited the home, that’s hardly likely.”

Even now, Finlay watched as the Misses Fanny, Elspeth, Meg, Polly, and Agnes chatted in between bites of ice, their feet swinging back and forth from their perches on the chairs at Gunter’s. They appeared so innocent, and yet he knew first hand how mercenary they could be.

“Hopefully all their haranguing was worth it.” Charlotte gestured with her chin to the packed interior and exterior of the ice shop. Every table was occupied by energetic children from the Little Windmill House. The little mites were showing impeccable manners, and the few patrons who had not been crowded out by their party seemed to have relaxed.

His eyes fixed on little Polly, who sat a few tables away, her back ramrod straight, a clean white napkin across her lap, and a dreamy expression highlighting her pixie features as she sampled her raspberry ice.

“This will play well in the papers, too.”

A frown darkened his face. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I tipped off a reporter that you would be here with some children from a local foundling home.”

“All of the children,” he grumbled, scooping a fresh spoonful.

“You won your seat by the narrowest margin of victory ever recorded. I want to make sure everyone knows they benefit by having you as an MP because you have the welfare of the most vulnerable members of society in mind.”

“They’re not members of my district, Char.”

“You seem to think details like that matter to the common reader,” she said, with a flick of her hand.

He snorted, wishing they weren’t surrounded by a gaggle of children so he could pull her into his arms and kiss her impertinent, luscious mouth the way he desired.

Instead, he cleared his throat. “I’m just glad the campaign is over. Those last two weeks were horrendous.”

And they had been. As predicted, Abernathy had used their engagement to cast aspersions on Finlay’s character, and the rumors and claims that had circulated about her had been particularly despicable. He’d tried to shield Charlotte from the worst of it, but he couldn’t stop all the maliciousness from making its way to her ears. Thankfully, she was resilient and a surprisingly shrewd political strategist. She’d made clever suggestions again and again, and Finlay had quickly learned to ask for her opinion on all matter of topics.

“Did you write to tell the earl?” She dropped her voice, knowing the topic of his father was still a sensitive subject.

His chest expanded as he nodded. “I don’t expect to hear back from him.”

“No? Not even to receive congratulations?” Her surprise was evident in her tone.

“He would not have approved.” He placed his spoon down and looked out the window, unseeing. “All my father ever cared about was appearances. He would have found fault in all of my actions these last few months.” His gaze darted to his current surroundings. “And he would have had a thing or two to say about this outing.”

“Do you care that he would have disapproved?”

“Absolutely not,” he declared, a bright grin overtaking his face. “Are you sad to have given up teaching at the school?” he inquired a moment later.

“Not as much as I thought I would.” Her gaze fixed on a young woman who chatted with a group of children several feet away. “Miss Conner has proven herself to be a kind but firm teacher, and the children are fond of her.”

Although Charlotte had never admitted it to him, he knew she had been struggling to balance her teaching responsibilities with the time she insisted on spending with his campaign. Her duties as a patroness in the new group Lady Flora and the Duchess of Ashwood formed added to the load.

“Plus, I’m still very much involved with the home, just in a different aspect. Flora tells me they expect interest in the group to increase with me as a patroness.” She waggled her brows. “Apparently, I’m quite the curiosity.”

“Heaven knows you piqued my curiosity…and other things, the night we met,” he said, his tone low and suggestive.

Before he could expand on his flirtations, a small body appeared next to their table. “Mrs. Tay—” Elspeth’s eyes grew large as her mouth fell open. “I do beg your pardon, your ladyship.”

Charlotte nodded, laughter lurking in her gaze. “It’s quite all right, Elspeth. My title is still new and a little foreign to me as well.”

A feeling very much like pride filled Finlay’s chest. That the incredible woman who sat across from him was now his viscountess, his wife, still amazed him. Humbled him.

“Thank you, my lady.” Offering a curtsy, Elspeth linked her hands at her waist, the picture of decorum. “I wanted to know if you’d heard Steven has spoken.”

Charlotte gasped in surprise, craning her neck to find the youngster amongst the crowd. “Whatever did he say?”

“He said, ‘I don’t like peach,’ when Mrs. Stevens made to order a peach ice for him.” The young girl grinned. “It was just as clear as can be, as if he’s been able to talk this whole time and just chose not to.”

“My goodness.” Charlotte placed a hand over her mouth while her eyes grew misty. “I must speak with him.”

He watched her greet the young boy with calm words, joy lighting her face. A strangling sort of love overtook Finlay as once again he considered how very kind, loving, and fiercely protective Charlotte was to all those blessed enough to know her. And not for the first time did he thank his good fortune for turning their long ago scandalous meeting into lasting happiness.