Chapter Nineteen

Charlotte tried not to let the soaring ceilings or the luxurious surroundings intimidate her, but it was difficult not to gape. This was where her mother had come from. This was what her mother had walked away from for the love of a man. It was hard to imagine her mother living here, with the grand staircase and the ceiling-high windows that looked out over Hyde Park and the nearly invisible staff who flitted about in their black-and-white uniforms.

She’d always pictured her in the small, bright cottage that Charlotte had grown up in, among the roses in the flower garden that her father had tended until his dying day.

The love that Harriet had felt for George Morris must have been immense to walk away from all of this.

Charlotte was grounded enough to know that money did not buy happiness and that Harriet’s father, Charlotte’s grandfather, had not been an easy man to live with, which might have made the decision to leave a bit easier.

She sat primly on the edge of a settee, her ankles and knees together to keep her body from trembling. She thought of her mother looking down on her from heaven, and Charlotte wanted to make her mother proud.

Would Harriet have wanted Charlotte to be here? To reach out to her uncle? So many times she’d wished her mother were alive to talk to, none more than this moment.

Her talk with Jacob the night before had kept her awake until the sun crested over the buildings of London. Now, more than ever, she knew that leaving England was the only choice. There truly was nothing here for her except bad memories, unrequited love, and a family she didn’t really know.

Jacob and her uncle could take the information that she had on Edmund to Scotland Yard, and they could do with it what they wanted. It was out of her hands now, and she felt better knowing that someone else knew.

The door opened, and her uncle walked in, all smiles. He was a nice man. It was such a shame that his father had been such an old goat who couldn’t see past Society’s strictures. He’d lost his daughter because of his narrow-minded beliefs. And his granddaughter. But that was all in the past now.

Charlotte stood, very aware that she was the poor relation wearing a dead woman’s gown.

“My lord,” she said with a curtsy.

“Really, Charlotte, I think you can call me David. Or uncle. Whichever you prefer.”

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Uncle.”

“I was surprised to hear that you had come.” He held up a hand. “Not that you aren’t more than welcome. This is your home, too.”

It wasn’t her home, and they both knew it. Her uncle lived here with his wife and children. Even if Harriet were alive and had wed per her father’s orders, she would not be living here.

“The marchioness would love to meet you, but she didn’t want to come barging in and make you feel uncomfortable.” He raised a brow in query, silently asking for her opinion.

Charlotte didn’t want to meet her aunt. She didn’t want to become embroiled in this family any more than she had to, because she was leaving and there was no reason to forge attachments that would not last.

So Charlotte bypassed the question altogether. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”

Disappointment tightened his features, but he smoothed it away. “Of course. Anything.”

He was so eager to please. So eager to put the past behind them and make amends, but Charlotte could not let go of the fact that her mother had died thinking her family had forsaken her. Maybe if Harriet had received the blessing of her father, she and Charlotte’s father would not have had to live in the country, away from the doctors that could have saved her mother. Then Charlotte would have known her mother and she would never have had to live with Lady Morris.

“As you know, I have plans to travel to America. I would like to educate the American heiresses who are interested in securing a marriage with an English noble. I feel I am quite suited to this task.”

Her uncle hesitated. “I was under the impression that you were to wed Lord Ashland.”

“That was Lord Ashland’s and your plan. It was never my plan.”

“But…it’s a good match. A solid match.”

“Because he is an earl and I am the granddaughter of a marquess?”

“Because you two suit.”

“Do we?”

“From what I could tell, yes.” He indicated the settee she had risen from. “Please, let’s sit.”

Reluctantly she sat, smoothing her lavender skirts. This was the closest gown she could find that suited her own style, and still she was well aware it was not her own, that she owned nothing. And she was here to beg for money.

Humiliation warmed her cheeks, but she pushed it away. She would do what it took to get the life she wanted.

“Uncle. Jacob only wants to wed me to help me out of the predicament I am in. He feels he can save me from my aunt who seems to want to have me committed.”

“I don’t think you’re seeing the broader picture, Charlotte.”

“Jacob loves his dead wife. He still pines for her. I can’t replace her in his eyes, nor do I want to.”

“I think with time—”

“I don’t have time. Lady Morris wants to keep me controlled. I need to escape England as soon as possible.”

“If you don’t want to marry Ashland, then move in with us. I can help you.”

She nodded briskly. “And that is exactly why I am here. I need your help.”

“We have plenty of room. Donna, that is, my wife and your aunt, would be ever so pleased to have you.”

Charlotte was becoming frustrated. She didn’t want to be the poor relation, taken in by her mother’s family out of kindness and pity. She wanted her own life. She wanted to forge her own path.

“Your offer is gracious and appreciated. I’m sure my mother would be pleased if she were looking down on us right now. But I don’t want to live here. I want to go to America and begin a new life, and I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation. And possibly loan me the funds to travel to America. I will pay you back,” she added hastily, her face burning in humiliation again. “As soon as I find employment I will send you a monthly payment. You can even tell me how much to send.”

Her uncle’s face closed up, and she could feel her last chance slipping away. If she didn’t get the traveling funds from him she didn’t know what she was going to do. Asking Jacob was out of the question since she’d turned down his proposal. He’d already done far too much for her to ever repay.

“I think you’re making a terrible mistake,” her uncle said.

Charlotte’s heart dropped. “I think this is for the best.”

“You’re running away from your problems.”

“I like to think I’m escaping to a better life. My aunt won’t be happy until I am back in her clutches, and I won’t go back there. I won’t.” She was mortified to hear her throat close up with tears, and she swallowed them away. She wouldn’t resort to tears to get her way, no matter how much she wanted to cry.

But she felt her last chances slipping through her fingers, and she was becoming desperate.

“I would never allow her to take you,” he said. “But you can’t run from this. You are the only one who knows what your cousin is doing. You need to go to the police.”

“Jacob knows, and you know. I’m sure they will believe a marquess and an earl over me, anyway.”

“Charlotte. Please reconsider. Take some time. A week. Take a week and think about this and help us convince the police that they need to investigate Lord Morris. After a week, if you still want to go, I will help you.”

Charlotte didn’t want to wait a week. She wanted to go now. A ship was leaving in three days, and she wanted to be on it, but it looked like her uncle wouldn’t help her unless she agreed to his terms.

“Very well,” she said in defeat. “A week.”

He smiled, and she knew he thought he’d won the war, but he’d only won the battle. She was still waging the war.

“Would you like to meet my wife? I’m sure she’s outside the door pacing and wringing her hands. She was never happy with my father for what he did to your mother.”

Again, Charlotte felt she had no choice. All of her choices were being taken away from her. That would all change when she got to America. In America she would decide her future.

…

When Charlotte returned to Jacob’s home she found him in his study, pacing, his hair askew as if he’d run his fingers through it numerous times. When he saw her walk through the door his look of relief would have been comical if the situation weren’t so frightening.

“There you are.”

“Did you think I had run off?”

“I didn’t know what happened to you. I thought your aunt…” He swallowed the last of what he was going to say and looked at her with such desperation and despair that her heart turned over for him. He may not love me, but he does have feelings for me.

“I called on Lord Chadley,” she said. “I asked him for the funds to sail to America and for a letter of reference.”

“I see.” He was very still, as if he were afraid to move.

“He told me to wait a week.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. It had taken so much courage to approach her uncle after she had insisted over and over that she didn’t want anything to do with him.

“I’m sorry,” Jacob said. “I know how hard it was for you to go to him.”

She pulled the lavender confection of a hat off and let it dangle between her fingers by the strings. “I just want to get on with my life.”

“I know you do, and I know you think that America is the answer to all of your difficulties, but delaying a week could be a good thing. This will give us time to go to the police with our suspicions.”

She slumped into the nearest chair in a most unladylike way and looked dejectedly at the floor. Even her shoes were from a dead woman. Her underthings, everything. She was living with a dead woman’s husband.

She closed her eyes in despair, feeling lost and confused. Did she even have a life that was hers anymore? She was being pulled in so many different directions that the strain was overwhelming, and she was beginning to wonder if America was truly the answer to her problems.

Certainly she would create a new life, a new identity. But would it help? Because she was dragging the old Charlotte Morris behind her. An accessory to her baggage that she would never shed. Some part of Charlotte Morris would always be inside of her, tapping on the door to be let out.

“I’m afraid, Jacob. I’m afraid my aunt will convince the authorities that I am mentally unstable and that they will agree that I should return to her care.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “I’m just so afraid,” she whispered.

Jacob knelt in front of her and put his arms around her, enfolding her in his warmth and strength. He smelled like a combination of spices and soap. It was a comforting smell.

She wanted to cry and collapse into him and tell him she was afraid that she was losing herself. She was terrified to go to America where she knew no one, and at the same time she yearned to get away, to start anew.

“I know you’re scared, Charlotte, but I will protect you. And your uncle will protect you, and if need be, I will pull Lord Armbruster into this and he will protect you as well. You’re not alone in this. No matter what you think, you are not alone.”

She drew in a shuddering breath and let her weariness lean into him. “What did I do to deserve all of you? None of you know me, and yet you all want to help.”

“We care about you. To Lord Chadley you are family. And to me… Well, to me you are someone very special.”

But not special enough. She pushed the thought away, tired of telling herself that she was not for him. It was not her problem that he was still mourning his wife. After all, didn’t her own papa mourn her mother until the day he died?

“What if it is not enough?” she whispered. “What if all of your resources are not sufficient to convince the police that I am right and my aunt is wrong?”

He pulled back and looked into her eyes, his gaze dark and unreadable. “There is always marriage.”

“I said I would not marry anyone who did not love me.”

“Even if it saves your life and possibly the lives of others?”

She looked away, chilled with the possibilities. Could she? Could she marry him under these conditions? She wanted a love like her mother and father had, but maybe that type of love didn’t come around frequently. Maybe for some it didn’t happen at all, and you settled for comfort and friendship. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? “You’re making me sound selfish.”

“What if we wed to keep you safe for now, and if you still want to go to America after this is all over then I will let you go?”

“You would do that?” she asked. “You would wed me for that reason alone?”

“I would wed you for many reasons. I told you that last night.”

“What do you get out of such a marriage? Scandal that your new wife ran away, leaving you?”

He hesitated. “But my life is rapidly changing. A wife would… Well, to be honest, a wife would keep the matchmaking mamas from my front door.”

“So I am to be a Trojan Horse of sorts?” She found the idea amusing rather than mortifying. Was Jacob that afraid of the voracious mothers trying to find a good match for their simpering daughters?

“I see it as you protecting me just as I am protecting you.”

“A marriage of convenience.”

He tilted his head in admission. “With the added benefit that we know each other rather well. We would not be coming into this as complete strangers.”

She liked the idea of paying him back for the kindness and hospitality that he’d bestowed on her. And she liked the fact that he needed her help, rather than her always needing his help. Yet, it was quite a high price to pay for both of them.

“You will truly let me go to America when this is finished?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“What if I decide to stay? You will be burdened with me for the rest of your days.”

One corner of his lips lifted in a smile. “I think I can live with that.”

“I might be an ogre of a wife.”

“I highly doubt that.”

She would be a countess, but that mattered little to her. If there was one thing she had learned from her mother and father it was that titles meant little in the face of happiness. And maybe, just maybe, they could find happiness.

“And if I left, would you divorce me?”

“If that is what you want.”

“You are an earl now. You have to think of the continuation of the earldom. You need heirs. What woman will marry a divorced earl?”

“According to you, there are plenty of American heiresses just lining up to marry us.”

She laughed at the thought of Jacob marrying an American, even as the thought twisted like a knife inside of her. “Even in America, divorce is frowned upon.”

“It doesn’t matter, Charlotte. I’m sure the crown can find some distant relative who will fill my shoes when I’m gone.”

The thought of Jacob gone saddened her. The thought of eventually leaving him saddened her even more, but the thought of a long life with him, knowing he still loved Cora and would never love her that way, made her even sadder.

How to pick between all of the sadness?