James stared out the window of the drawing room, waiting.
Charlotte sat nearby as did Lady Wynn. The doctor had been summoned, and they awaited his diagnosis.
Low hanging clouds had moved in, concealing the earlier sun. Fog crept along the ground and slowly hid the world from sight. How odd that the weather now mirrored the somberness inside the house.
They hadn’t been able to rouse Lord Wynn though he still breathed, if shallowly. With the assistance of two footmen, James and Edward had carried him upstairs to his bedchamber and made him as comfortable as possible.
Edward had been beside himself with worry, muttering curses for angering his father so much. James had the same concern and soon left him to pace the corridor outside his father’s bedchamber while the doctor examined the lord.
Charlotte sat on the settee, staring into space, her hands folded on her lap. She remained silent and still, her face pale. He dearly wanted to know what she was thinking but each time he approached, she only shook her head as if too overcome to speak.
Lady Wynn appeared stunned as well. She held tight to the needlework on her lap though James had yet to see her take a stitch.
Guilt slid through him, unnerving and unwelcome. Had they pressed Lord Wynn too hard? Had stress caused his heart to give out? Perhaps James should’ve spoken to him alone again after all. Or perhaps he should’ve asked Edward to speak to Lord Wynn on his behalf. Or...
He halted his circling thoughts. The advice his commanding officer had told him so often rang through his mind. I prefer to regret the things I’ve done rather than those I haven’t.
How true. A look at Charlotte proved he’d been right to do all he could to win her hand. Any other option was impossible to consider. A life without her would be no life at all.
Love welled inside him, and he moved to take a seat beside her, trying again to think of what he could say or do to ease her worry.
“Charlotte?” He kept his voice low, barely above a whisper as he reached for her hand, shocked at how cold it was.
She turned to look at him, her eyes wide and filled with fear. “I wish—”
Before she could finish the thought, Edward walked haltingly into the room, his pale face etched into taut lines as he glanced at his mother then Charlotte, and finally James.
Charlotte stiffened and pulled her hand from James’ to stand and James followed suit. “Father?”
Edward’s lips twisted then his gaze shifted to his mother. He shook his head. “He’s gone. The doctor said there was nothing he could do.”
“Oh!” Charlotte placed a trembling hand over her mouth as she blinked back tears.
James put his hand on her shoulder, but she moved toward her mother and knelt beside her chair. Lady Wynn showed little reaction to the news, her body stiff. Edward joined Charlotte, and they each took one of her hands.
“Mother?” Edward spoke gently. “Did you hear me? I’m so sorry.”
Lady Wynn looked at Edward after several moments passed. Then she nodded as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry too.”
James remained where he was, witnessing the painful moment, his heart aching, all too aware he could do nothing to ease their grief. Lord Wynn might have been an irritable man with little good to say about anyone or anything, but he had still been their father and Lady Wynn’s husband. Their lives wouldn’t be the same without him.
Worst of all, James was to blame for his passing. He took several steps closer. “My deepest condolences.” How insufficient the words seemed.
Edward offered his mother a handkerchief, and she dabbed her eyes and drew a shuddering breath. “I want to see him.”
“Mother—” Charlotte began to protest.
“We shall all go see him and pay our respects before we discuss what needs to be done.” Lady Wynn lifted her chin and edged forward in her chair, giving both Edward and Charlotte no choice but to stand. “I want to speak with the doctor myself.”
James moved closer, his gaze on Charlotte.
She turned toward him, her brow puckering as she saw him, making him think she might have forgotten he was there. Then she moved toward him, wiping away a tear.
He offered her his handkerchief which she took. “Perhaps it’s best if you go,” she said as she twisted the linen between her fingers.
“I could wait here,” he began, not wanting to intrude but hoping to lend support in whatever way he could. “I want to help however I can.”
“No need. Why don’t I send word if we require assistance?”
Though he wanted to protest, he held back. “I am so very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Edward escorted his mother out of the room without looking at James, causing unease to curl through him. Did Edward blame James for his father’s death? Did Charlotte?
“Charlotte, I—”
She shook her head, her gaze focused on the floor. “Please go.”
~*~
The days following that terrible moment passed in a blur for Charlotte. Her father’s body had been laid out for mourners to pay their respects for two days. Word spread quickly, and the visitors had been numerous.
Margaret called on her, which Charlotte appreciated. But despite numerous messages from James, she held off seeing him. How could she when her selfish wish to spend her life with him had caused her father’s death?
Her mother never said as much, but Edward nearly had. The three of them had gathered around her father while he still lay in his bed after her mother had spoken with the doctor—after Charlotte had asked James to leave.
“I should’ve spoken to him privately,” Edward said as they stared down at him. “I never guessed this would happen.”
“I’m the one to blame,” Charlotte insisted. “If I had only done as he told me, he’d still be here.”
“Neither of you are to blame.” Her mother studied her husband for a long moment then reached out to briefly press his hand. “I will ask his valet to prepare his body.” She left the bedchamber, leaving Edward and Charlotte alone.
“This morning was a terrible mistake,” Edward said. “One that can’t be undone.”
Guilt warred with grief inside Charlotte, clogging her throat, causing more tears to fall. He was right. “I am so sorry.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Edward continued. “I should’ve realized how upset he’d be to have not only his plan for you changed but his debt revealed. And now it’s my debt.” He ran a hand through his hair then tipped back his head as if it were too much to endure. “All his problems, including the debt, are mine now.”
That phrase had echoed through Charlotte’s mind more times than she could count as they worked their way through the numerous decisions to be made. What type of coffin should be used? What mourning attire should be ordered? What should the staff wear? What refreshments should be served to visitors?
Charlotte wanted to shout that none of it mattered. Only the fact that she was clearly to blame for her father’s death mattered. But she couldn’t leave her mother to worry about such things by herself.
Much to her surprise, her mother seemed to have discovered an inner strength since her father’s passing. Charlotte had expected her to seek solace in spirits or the laudanum the doctor offered to ease her grief and help her sleep, but she’d done neither. She’d made decisions after consulting both Edward and Charlotte. She greeted mourners with dignity and gratitude, especially Lady Devlin. Their renewed friendship warmed Charlotte.
Now that Edward was the Earl of Wynn, he was busier than ever. He had one meeting after another with the barrister and the steward, preferring to hold the discussions elsewhere, with only brief hours at home.
Each time she saw him, Charlotte wanted to ask if he’d seen James. Her heart ached at the loss of his presence in her life but guilt kept her from responding to his messages. How could she proceed with their plan to be together when it had cost her family so much?
She watched Edward carefully when he was home, waiting for him to declare they’d been ruined. That her father had gambled away everything unentailed, leaving them nothing with which to pay his debts. Had there been other debts than the one to Lord Samuelson? Thus far he’d said nothing, but she knew from the tension in his expression that all was not as it should be. It would only be a matter of time before Edward told them the truth.
With that in mind, she cautioned her mother from spending much on mourning attire. Instead, they’d taken several of their older gowns and dyed them black. The servants wore black armbands as well.
When James called, she couldn’t bring herself to see him. Not when it meant telling him that she intended to marry Lord Samuelson to settle her father’s debt. She refused to allow her family to be ruined because of her.
~*~
James stared at his desk and the paper and ink there, wondering if he should bother sending another message to Charlotte. She clearly didn’t wish to see him. Had he lost her forever?
No doubt he was a reminder of her father’s death. He told himself to be patient, something his mother continued to remind him of during his frequent visits home. The holes he’d felt when he returned from the war were nothing compared to the holes he felt now. Especially in his heart—he’d left it with Charlotte at Wynn House.
He attended Lord Wynn’s funeral, but Edward hadn’t lingered at the family tomb to speak with mourners. As was customary, neither Lady Wynn nor Charlotte had attended as women were considered to have too delicate of a constitution to endure them—something he thought ridiculous. James sent several messages to Edward as well but had yet to receive a reply from him either.
He’d shared the events of that terrible day with his mother and father, including his guilt.
“Obviously, he had a weak heart,” his mother insisted. “That fact has nothing to do with you.”
“If he hadn’t acted so unreasonably to your request to court Charlotte, there wouldn’t have been a need for confrontation,” his father added. “What were you to do? Leave Lady Charlotte to marry a man against her will? What sort of gentleman would do such a thing?”
All of their points were valid and gave him a small measure of comfort but none eased his aching heart.
He couldn’t dismiss his role in Lord Wynn’s death. Nor could he change what had happened. But there was one thing he could do.
It took several attempts to track down the whereabouts of Lord Samuelson. A last he found him at White’s. Part of him worried Charlotte had gone through with the betrothal—a dreadful need to fulfill her father’s last wish. Only a week had passed since his death. Surely she wouldn’t make a rash decision so soon. Would she?
“Samuelson.” James pointed to the man’s half-empty glass. “May I buy you a drink?”
The lord’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That depends. What is it you want?”
“A brief conversation.”
“Very well.” He gestured toward the other chair at his table.
James gestured for a waiter then took a seat, making idle conversation until the waiter arrived with their drinks.
“How much?” James asked after the waiter departed.
“How much what?”
“How much did Lord Wynn owe you?”
Samuelson’s brow lifted in surprise. “How do you know anything about that?”
“How much?” James repeated.
“What business is it of yours?” He glanced around as if looking for someone else. “Shouldn’t the new Earl of Wynn be asking that question?”
James gritted his teeth at the lord’s stubbornness and waited.
Samuelson scowled as he leaned forward. “Ten thousand two hundred and fifty pounds.”
James’ stomach dropped. The number was much worse than he’d feared. Raising that amount would not be easy, especially considering James had only a little over half that much.
He pushed aside his drink and stood. “Consider the debt settled. I’ll pay you half on the morrow and the rest next week.”
“Why would you pay the debt?” Samuelson asked.
To assuage his guilt over Lord Wynn’s death? To convince Charlotte to give him another chance? To persuade Edward to forgive him? The reasons were numerous, but he didn’t intend to share any of them with Samuelson.
He left without giving any reason at all.
~*~
Charlotte waited several more days, hoping she was wrong. But when Edward continued to stalk about the house with little to nothing to say, she decided she had waited long enough.
She rose early and dressed in a black crepe gown—a lightweight black silk that used to be a pleasant pale blue—determined to catch Edward before he left for the day.
She raised her hand to knock on the study door, remembering all too well the last time she’d entered this room. Her father had been alive and James had been at her side. She pressed her hand against the ache in her chest.
In truth, the pain was caused more by the loss of James than her father. She didn’t miss having to tip-toe about the house with the hope of avoiding his wrath. Even the servants appeared to be in better spirits than when he’d been alive. None of them seemed to mind wearing their black armbands.
But she missed James with a deep ache. She reprimanded herself for allowing him to steal into her thoughts. Not now. Thinking of him wouldn’t make this any easier. Far from it, in fact. Perhaps after more time had passed, in two or three years, she would look back on their adventures with fondness instead of heartache.
With a deep, steadying breath, she knocked on the study door. At her brother’s muted response, she opened it to find Edward staring out the window.
She walked slowly forward, her fingers finding James’ handkerchief, which she kept tucked in her sleeve to comfort her. The faint scent of him still clung to the fine linen. She couldn’t bring herself to have it washed, despite the numerous tears she’d shed into it. Holding it was the closest she would ever come to holding James again.
“Good morning, Edward.” She forced her lips into the semblance of a smile, worried that if she allowed her true feelings to show, her brother wouldn’t accept her plan.
He turned to face her but didn’t return her smile. Shadows smudged his eyes and his face was pale.
“How bad is it?” she asked with a glance at the papers strewn across the desk.
“Bad.” Edward tugged at his cravat as if it were overly tight. “Worse than I could’ve imagined.” He waved at the papers. “If I had known— If Father had told me—” He shook his head, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Have you advised Mother?”
“Not yet.”
“Good.” Her mother had suffered enough due to her father’s actions. At least Charlotte could take some pleasure in knowing she could spare both her mother and brother pain.
“Good?” Edward scoffed. “I have to tell her soon. Later today, perhaps. The quicker action is taken, the better. We’ll have to let most of the servants go.”
Charlotte nodded. That was one more reason for her to move forward with her plan. Many of them would be spared the effort of searching for new employment. She cleared her throat. “I have a suggestion.”
“What might that be?”
“I will marry Lord Samuelson as Father wished.” She swallowed against the lump in her throat, refusing to allow tears to fill her eyes.
“No.”
“Yes. It is what must be done.” She felt calmer for having said it. “Will you contact him or should I send him a message?”
“After all we went through to see you spared from a match with him, I will not allow this.” Edward’s eyes flashed with temper.
“I am very sorry for arguing with Father on the matter. If I could take back that day...” She didn’t bother to finish the thought as she stared at what she realized were a pile of bills on the desk. “I cannot undo the past, but I can do my part to aid our family.”
“No. I am searching for an heiress. If I marry well, it will ease our problems considerably. I have to marry soon anyway.”
“As do I. Send a message to Lord Samuelson. Today.”
“But Charlotte, James—”
She jerked at the mention of his name and held up a hand to stop whatever Edward intended to say. “This is the least I can do for causing all this.”
“You didn’t cause it. Father did. The selfish bastard,” Edward muttered, the anger in his tone shocking.
“Do not speak ill of him now. He’s gone. What’s done is done. Let us move forward. Today.” She lifted her chin. “Please advise me as to whether Lord Samuelson is still agreeable to a match. An extended betrothal will be necessary because of mourning, but surely he won’t protest that requirement.”
She turned and walked out, retrieving the handkerchief from her sleeve to hold against her cheeks as her tears fell. Only then did she realize the linen had lost his scent after all.