Chapter Twenty-Four

Jacob entered his office and threw his hat on the chair, exhausted from another meeting with Armbruster’s man-of-business, who had been combing through the former Earl of Ashland’s books. His head was stuffed full of numbers and plans and future prospects.

On the bright side, he’d discovered that he now owned a townhouse in Hyde Park, and all he could think about after that was rushing home to tell Charlotte, thinking she would be very pleased to learn that they were moving to Hyde Park.

He found her waiting for him in his office, her lips drawn into a tight line and her eyes narrowed.

She appeared to be on the verge of tears. Lord, he hoped she wasn’t going to cry. He didn’t know what to do with a crying woman.

“How was your day?” he asked, watching her warily. Truth be told, he felt he should circle her carefully.

“I had callers today,” she said, her words clipped.

He opened his mouth to say that he thought that was a good thing and that she needed more friends, but she cut him off, and he realized these callers weren’t really a good thing after all.

“Sarah and her mother, Lady Crawford. It was awful. I didn’t have anywhere to put them, so I had to put them in here, but there is nowhere to serve tea or to sit. We sat in these chairs.” She waved her hand toward the pair of straight-backed chairs that had been perched in front of his desk for so long he couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t there. “But then there was nowhere to put the tea service. Mrs. Smith had to put it there.” She halfheartedly flapped her hand toward the edge of his desk where the tea service still sat. “It was all so very awkward and embarrassing, but they were really rather kind about it, realizing that you’ve been a bachelor for a number of years.”

He wanted to protest that just because he had been a bachelor did not mean he was a Neanderthal but thought better of it.

“I apologized, of course, but luckily it was Sarah. We’ve been friends for years, as you know, and her mother was friends with my mother, and they all thought it rather quaint. At least I think they thought it quaint.” Her brows furrowed as she pondered whether serving tea in his office was quaint.

“I was pleased they visited,” she said, obviously discarding her thoughts on being quaint. “But I was also pleased when they left. Do you know how very tiring it is to take callers? Lady Crawford is good at small talk, so that made things easy. But I wasn’t finished. Oh, no. Do you know who arrived after the Crawfords left?”

She looked at him accusingly, and his mind went blank. He couldn’t have recalled one familiar name of an acquaintance if he’d tried. Luckily, she didn’t make him try.

“The Dowager Lady Armbruster. Lord Armbruster’s mother. His mother, Jacob!”

Apparently, this was not a good thing. Jacob would admit that Lady Armbruster was a force to be reckoned with and sometimes you just had to go with whatever she wanted done. He did feel a bit bad that Charlotte had to endure her first meeting with Lady Armbruster alone.

“A lovely lady,” Charlotte was saying. “If a bit strong-willed.”

Yes. That would be a good word to describe Lady Armbruster.

“She wanted to meet me.”

Jacob hesitated. Was he required to speak here? He had to admit that he was a bit lost in all of this and didn’t know what his reaction should be. Charlotte appeared outraged. Was he supposed to be outraged as well?

“Before the ball.”

He closed his eyes while his insides seemed to shrivel up. “Charlotte—”

“Apparently there is to be a ball in our honor next week.”

“I’m sorry—”

“You and Armbruster were supposed to tell me when Armbruster was here for our wedding.”

“That day was very much a whirlwind—”

“She said it was supposed to be like a coming-out dinner for you, so she could introduce the new Earl of Ashland to Society. Apparently, you were to be the newest marriage opportunity for several young women.”

His mouth dried up, and his tongue stuck to the roof.

“But I ruined that. Oh, she didn’t say so in so many words. In fact, she’s pleased that you wed so high. To the niece of a marquess. How she knew all of that I don’t know.”

“That would be my fault.”

But Charlotte didn’t seem to want to hear an explanation. She was in fine form, her color high, her back straight, and chin up. “So this dinner is now a ball to introduce the Earl and Countess of Ashland.”

“It’s just one night. And we should be properly introduced to Society.”

“Jacob, I served tea off your desk. I had no idea what to do with callers. I’d never had a caller in my life. I’m wearing your dead wife’s clothes! I have nothing to wear to a ball. I don’t want to go to a ball. I don’t know what to say, what to do. How to eat correctly. I don’t know how to be a countess!” By now tears were slowly dripping down her face, and Jacob realized she wasn’t so much angry as she was overwhelmed.

He slowly walked up to her, still a bit wary of this mood she was in, and gathered her in his arms, pressing her head against his chest.

“I don’t know how to be an earl, so I think we are well matched in that.”

“I didn’t realize any of this,” she said between gulps of air. “I didn’t realize that people would want to see me just because I am a countess or that they would want to meet me. I’m not ready for this.”

He smoothed the back of her hair. “I’m not ready, either. But it is what it is, love. We’ll simply soldier on together and learn these people’s ways together, and when it becomes too much we’ll retreat and regroup.”

She pushed away from him and sniffed. “Don’t you see?”

Well, he thought he was seeing, but apparently he wasn’t?

“I wanted to go to America and teach American women how to be English so they could find husbands like…like you. I thought it would be about teaching them to be reserved and about the way we spoke and about the hierarchy of our system. Today I realized that I don’t know the first thing about any of this. I would never have been successful in America.”

She sniffed and fresh tears flowed, and Jacob wondered what this was really about. Was it about stumbling through her first set of callers, unprepared and unexpected? Or was it about the death of a dream? Or maybe the death of her future plans?

“I can’t go to America,” she said softly.

He was suddenly cold inside, fearful that she thought she was stuck with him because her other plans had fallen through.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

She looked away and bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

Her eyes were red and wet and her face blotchy, but she’d stopped crying, and she looked more beautiful to him right at this moment than she’d ever had before because this moment was real. This moment was honest.

“I wouldn’t be upset if you stayed my countess forever.”

She stopped biting her lip, and it was plump and moist, and he desperately wanted to kiss it, to remind her that they were perfectly matched in bed, and maybe that would allay all of her fears. But being good in bed was shallow and only a small part of what made a marriage work.

“I think you might be stuck with me,” she whispered.

He nodded soberly. “I can handle that.”

But he wasn’t sure he could handle many more scenes like this one. The fact that she was so upset, and it was because of him, because he’d made her a countess without thinking of the consequences—hell, he still wasn’t aware of all of the consequences—nearly killed him.

She tried to smile, but her lips trembled, and the smile fell away before it was fully formed. “What are we going to do, Jacob?”

“We are going to take this one step at a time. A new countess needs a new wardrobe. I just came from a meeting with Armbruster and his man-of-business, and we went over the books of the estate. We will not only get you an entire new wardrobe, but a grand ball gown for your first ball as well. We will drop the jaws of all of the people who come to honor us at our first ball.”

…

“Watch your step.” Jacob guided Charlotte up the wide stone stairs. She held his arm tightly, her steps tentative. “Just a few more.” He glanced up at the door with the large knocker and felt a thrill.

After Charlotte’s experience with the callers the day before, Jacob knew how he was going to tell her about their new home. He would surprise her. No longer would she have to accept callers on rickety wooden chairs in his home office.

“Jacob, where are you taking me? Where are we? I don’t like this.”

She had been hesitant to put the blindfold on, and he supposed it was her testament of trust toward him that she finally did and allowed him to lead her down the street and up these steps. Charlotte trusted very few people, and he was proud that he was becoming one of them.

They entered the cool interior, and Charlotte stiffened, sensing the change in temperature and light.

He carefully unknotted the blindfold at the back of her head and let it fall away then stepped back to watch her reaction.

She blinked a few times and turned her head to capture the entirety of the large entryway. She looked up at the soaring rotund ceiling, her gaze sweeping toward the staircase that hugged the rounded wall.

She looked down at the black and white marbled floor at her feet.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“This is our new home.”

Her gaze darted around the entryway one more time, before meeting his.

“What are you saying?” She was still whispering as if they had walked into someone else’s house.

“I inherited this from the former earl. It’s ours now.”

With her hands clutched in front of her, as if she were afraid to touch anything, she walked around the entryway, her heels clicking in the loud silence. She stopped in front of a small table on which was perched a large black and white vase.

“I can’t believe this,” she said.

“Follow me.” He headed for a closed door, opened it, and stood back to let her enter first. She approached hesitantly and poked her head inside the room.

“Jacob,” she whispered.

Jacob followed her into the dimness. The curtains had been pulled tight since the house had sat unused for so long, and the furniture was covered in sheets to protect it from the dust, but none of that affected the sheer size of the room nor the elegance of it.

A fireplace big enough for Jacob to stand in was directly across from the door with a grouping of chairs and couches in front of it. The mantel was an intricately carved monstrosity with a very large, gilt-framed mirror perched atop it.

The room was mostly white with accents of gold and yellows.

“I think you can accept callers comfortably in here,” he said to the hushed silence.

Charlotte moved through the room, lightly touching the covered furniture as she passed. She turned to him, and even from this far away, even in the dim light, he could see the sparkle in her eyes.

“This is all ours?”

He threw his arms wide. “All of it.”

“But how? Why? I mean, I know why, but…I’m speechless.”

“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? There is no staff. Just a caretaker who comes in once a week to check on it. We’ll have to hire some people.”

“What about Mrs. Smith?”

“This is far too large for just Mrs. Smith. She’ll need a staff.”

“I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off. “I’ve never hired a staff before. I’ve never lived in such a place. I feel inadequate.”

Jacob took her hands in his. “Don’t ever feel inadequate. Ever.” He squeezed her fingers for emphasis. “I don’t know the first thing about being an earl, but we’ll figure it out together. And in the meantime, you’ll never have to worry about where to put callers.”

She leaned her head against his chest and breathed deep. “Oh, Jacob. I don’t know what to say. This is all so overwhelming. But, thank you.”

He cricked his neck to look down at her. Her lashes were resting against her cheeks, and he realized that she had gained weight while in Mrs. Smith’s care. Her cheeks were pink and rounded, not sallow and hollow like when he’d first met her, and when he put his arms around her it didn’t feel as if he’d break her.

“Now the next thing we need to get you is an acceptable wardrobe. I’ve made an appointment with Lady Armbruster’s modiste for this afternoon.”

Her eyes widened, and she pulled away but not enough that he had to let her go. He liked holding her. He liked feeling her in his arms, and he liked sleeping next to her. Even after less than a week of being married he was falling under her spell.

“Jacob. This is too much. I don’t need Lady Armbruster’s modiste to dress me.”

He hugged her tight and then let her go, but just an arm’s length away. “You deserve Lady Armbruster’s modiste. I want you to get gowns that fit you and your style. Enough of wearing someone else’s clothes.”

She blinked back tears, and Jacob was relieved to see that he hadn’t overstepped his boundaries and that his instincts had been right. She needed to become the Countess of Ashland, just like he needed to become the Earl of Ashland.

…

Jacob showed Charlotte around the rest of the house, although she was hardly able to take it all in. The idea that this was her home now, that she would walk these halls, command these servants, was not what she was accustomed to, and she was overwhelmed by all of it.

Everything was so big. She was fairly certain there was not a rickety chair here. And there was a matching tea set. Probably several. How was she going to manage all of this?

What had she gotten herself into?

She’d gone from planning to travel to America to find employment to being a real countess in a gigantic house.

She could see that Jacob was quite pleased with the new arrangement. He was proud of his new home and was excited to show it off to her, opening doors and ushering her into one room after another. Besides the formal sitting room where she would take callers, there was a music room, a masculine-looking study that he seemed particularly pleased with, a ballroom that he said was smallish compared to most.

The thought of hosting any type of ball terrified her, but she kept that to herself and swallowed her trepidation with a trembling smile as he led her up the sweeping staircase covered in red carpet to the balcony above that led to the private rooms.

“Here is what was the nursery,” he said. Pink touched the tips of his ears, and he quickly closed the door before she could get a proper look at the room. Did it remind him of his son? Did he regret that Cora wasn’t his countess and his son wasn’t going to be in that room?

She pressed a hand against the butterflies in her stomach and moved down the hall with him.

“And this is the master bedroom.” He opened the door to reveal a masculine room done in shades of blue and gold. The centerpiece of the room was the large mahogany four-poster bed with a cover of the deepest, most royal blue that Charlotte had ever seen. It dwarfed everything else in the room.

Jacob opened a door on the other side that revealed a changing room. “Your bedchamber is through here.”

Charlotte followed him tentatively, looking back over her shoulder at the massive bed that she would need a stepstool to climb onto. And then it penetrated her brain what Jacob had just said, and she entered what would be her room. This was a much more feminine room, the furniture dainty, the bed not nearly as large, the colors muted greens and yellows.

“What do you think?” Jacob was standing in the middle of the room looking at her expectantly. She blinked up at him with a mixture of emotions.

“I…I think it’s beautiful. And overwhelming.”

He chuckled. “I agree that it’s all overwhelming.”

“Do we have to sleep in different rooms?” She looked down at her hands, then away, embarrassed to look at Jacob.

When he didn’t answer she peeked up at him to find him looking at her with the most heated, nakedly desirous expression she’d ever seen. It made her blush deepen.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he said. “In fact I would despise it if you slept in this room, without me. I’ve come to like you sleeping next to me.”

She grinned, relieved, and her legs suddenly weak with a longing that she was beginning to identify as a need for Jacob that defied anything she’d ever known before. “I like sleeping with you as well.”

He reached for her, his desire a conflagration in his eyes.

She kissed him, believing for the first time since she became his countess that maybe they could do this. Maybe they could make some sort of life out of this.