She isn’t coming, Newton. I think we must resign ourselves to that fact.” John stood on the pier and watched as the ship’s crew loaded his trunks. They would set sail at first light, and the captain wanted to be ready tonight.
Newton looked up at him and whined.
“It’s all right, boy.” At least, that was what he was trying to tell himself. It was all right that Charlotte didn’t want to marry him. A life together might have made sense when he was Viscount Harrow and he could work productively for something here in England and she could be the grand lady of the ton as she had always dreamed.
But there was nothing for him to work toward now. Not once he’d sold the firm and lost the title. He could ask Fiona and Asterly for a position. They’d hire him in an instant, but he couldn’t bring himself to work as an employee at the place he’d built. Even if he could ignore his wounded pride, no working man’s salary could fund an aristocratic lifestyle.
John slung the single bag not yet stowed away over his shoulder. “Come on, Newton. Let’s go get something to eat.”
The public house where he’d been staying had clean rooms and good food. As he entered, his stomach growled. He stopped first at the front desk. “Have there been any letters?” He’d given Mosely the address of where he was staying. If Charlotte had sent word, Mosely would see it forwarded.
“No, sir.”
John tried not to let the disappointment show. “And have there been any visitors?” He hoped Charlotte wouldn’t come down to the docks in person, but there was every chance she’d ignore the danger. She had prior form in that arena.
The clerk nodded. “Yes, sir. He is waiting for you in the dining rooms.”
He. Not Charlotte, then. John nodded his thanks. He could take Newton back up to his room, but on the off chance Walter had come to say good-bye, he wanted his dog with him. Walter hated Newton and petty as it was, John wanted to watch his brother shrink back in the deerhound’s presence.
It wasn’t Walter, though. Wildeforde sat at a table in the corner, nursing a large beer glass. The duke rarely drank beer unless he was trying to blend in or make someone else comfortable.
John sighed. He’d been cowardly to think he could avoid this confrontation. He and Charlotte had ended their gambling scheme, but John had still broken Charlotte’s heart. He deserved Wilde’s wrath.
He took a seat opposite his friend and signaled to a passing serving girl for a drink and a bone from the kitchen for Newton.
“Were you truly going to leave without saying good-bye?” Wilde asked.
A kernel of guilt lodged beneath John’s ribs. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. I assume Charlotte told you everything.”
“About your engagement? Or about William’s debt and the scheme you were running to pay it off? She told me about the former and my man discovered the latter.”
John dropped his head into his hands. “I never meant for any of this to happen. It was an idea that started moving and just kept picking up speed. I could barely catch it, let alone stop it.”
Edward chuckled, taking another swig. “That sounds like Charlotte. You might be one of the most brilliant physicists in the world, but she is still a bigger force than you can reckon with.”
Wilde was right. She was the very definition of momentum. “Is she well?” he asked, apprehensive of the answer.
Edward shook his head. “Today was the first time she has left her room in almost a week. She looked like hell when she did. Her heart is broken.” His hand tightened around his glass.
The news made John ill. He’d hoped that somehow it had only been his heart that had been crushed. “I love her. I know you thought we were too different and that we would never suit, but truthfully, she was everything I needed. She showed me I was wrong, that mankind is better than I assumed, that society was worth being a part of. When I get to Boston, I’ll remember that.”
Edward twisted his glass. “You’re still determined to go to America?”
There was nothing left for him here. “I’ll lease a house in the city, at least close to it, and I’ll attempt to have more people in my life. To trust a few more people.” He would not allow the time he spent with Charlotte to be wasted. He would be a man she could be proud of, even if she never knew it.
Wilde leaned forward, hands clasped, very duke-like, as though he were negotiating a bill in parliament. “Is there any way I can convince you not to go?”
The mere suggestion of his staying rattled John’s determination. He didn’t want to leave. He had to leave. “I can’t stay. We can’t be together, and I certainly cannot be in England without her.”
Edward sighed and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed between his brows, looking years older than he was. “I was wrong,” he said finally. “I thought she would be miserable. But Charlotte was happy while the two of you were spending time together. She used to flit from thing to thing, from person to person, and nothing was ever enough for her. She was always looking for more, something no single person could give. Whatever that something was, I think she found it in you.”
John closed his eyes, wishing for all the world that Wilde would take those words back. “I don’t want to hear that. I want to hear that I’m replaceable. That while she’s sad now, someone else is going to come along and she’s going to forget me. I want to hear that she’s going to find happiness here in London with someone who can give her what I can’t.”
That was all he wanted—her happiness. The thought of her with someone else caused actual physical pain, but that pain was preferable to her misery.
Edward shook his head. “I don’t see that happening. She’s had four years out in society to find that person. I hardly believe I’m saying this, but I think she was waiting for you. And I don’t think she’ll ever not be waiting for you.”
Nausea bubbled up his throat. He tugged loose the ribbon that tied his hair back. “I have nothing, not a cent to my name. I can get work, but does she truly want to be married to a man in trade? Where would we live? Where would she receive her friends?”
Edward sighed. “You can live with us. There’s plenty of room. Nothing would have to change.”
Wilde would suggest that. He didn’t understand that Charlotte had grown as much as John had during their relationship. “No. It’s time Charlotte stop hiding too. Being your hostess has been safe for her. She could focus her energies on you and William and fool herself into thinking she’s living her own life. But she needs to move on.”
Wilde grunted, obviously displeased with John’s assessment.
“The problem is not just where we’d live,” John added. “She needs someone who can provide for her better than I can.” He hadn’t meant to yell, but his frustration was boiling over. Nearby tables turned their heads and he lowered his voice. “Surely you want that for her?”
Wilde’s fingers tap, tap, tapped on the table as he considered John’s words. Eventually, he stopped. “I don’t think you’ve got the right of it. Charlotte needs her family and needs her friends and yes, I think she needs London society. But that doesn’t equate to her needing riches. She’s never been a girl to only wear a dress once. And while I’m not sure she could ever do without a cook, since none of us can boil water, she could do without a butler or a footman.”
Wilde made it sound so simple, and it was infuriating, but it also gave him hope. “Would society accept her like that? Can you see the Duchess of Camden coming to a tiny two-bedroom apartment to pay a call?” Society might not be as cruel as John once thought, but it was certainly stratified and only a fool thought differently.
“Her dowry will absorb the worst of it. You won’t have the riches she’s used to, but you won’t be paupers. You’ll have a home. And you underestimate the strength of Charlotte’s relationships. She is beloved. She won’t be turned away from anywhere regardless of how small a life she lives. Society would rather see her happy than rich.”
“You truly think so?” It seemed beyond comprehension to John. He could rely on a handful of people—literally six—to look beyond his flaws and accept him. To think that all of society could look past a lack of money and title, the two things they valued most, beggared belief.
But Wilde knew these people. He’d spent his life among them. If he thought Charlotte could be happy here in London in reduced circumstances, then perhaps there was a chance.
And if there was even the slightest chance that he could be happy with the love of his life, he would take it.