John was sitting in a small, richly appointed chamber in the palace. Every now and then, his head would loll to the side as he succumbed to sleep, only for him to spring back awake as the smell of the docks, which had infused his clothing hit his nose.
He’d spent the night sitting on the pier out the front of the Lutetiana, his back against a tall wooden post crusted by salt and grime, waiting for Charlotte.
If she had truly gone to find him, that was where she would go. But she had never arrived.
By dawn, the smell of the Thames had seeped into the clothes he wore. The ship’s captain had been impatient. He’d refused to delay their departure without recompense, even by five minutes. So all of John’s clothing and possessions, except for what he currently wore, were on the ship heading to Boston.
That hadn’t mattered. All that had mattered was getting to Charlotte, but as the hack trundled through Mayfair, John had made the stupid, stupid decision to stop by Walter’s home and have his brother give him a fresh change of clothing. Surely Walter owed him that much, at least. If John was going to fall at Charlotte’s feet, he’d prefer to do it smelling fresh.
The house had been abandoned. There was no sign of John’s butler, housekeeper, or cook. Walter’s dressing room had been in shambles, as though hastily rifled through and semi-packed.
The king’s guards had shown up before John had had a moment to change. No matter how many times John insisted he was no longer the Viscount Harrow, the guards refused to listen. Apparently, they were to take any and all Viscounts Harrow to appear before the king. That had been hours ago, and while he’d been given food and tea, the attendants who waited on him refused to give him pen and paper.
“Please,” he said again. “Let me send word to my betrothed. Let me tell her where I am.” The last thing he wanted was Charlotte thinking that he had boarded the ship without her. He didn’t want her believing for a moment that he had chosen his life in America over a life—any life—with her here.
After several more hours, John was escorted from his chamber to the throne room, where the king sat unamused, flanked by equally grim-faced attendants.
“Your Majesty,” he said as he bowed, trying to keep the frustration from his tone. Whatever Walter had done now, it was once again impacting John.
“Mr. Barnesworth,” the king said. “I can smell you from here.”
John was a good twenty feet in front of the throne, but he was unsurprised. The attendants on either side of His Royal Majesty snickered, but John didn’t have the energy to care. “My apologies, Your Majesty. My clothes are crossing the ocean as we speak.”
The king looked across at one of the aides standing at the edge of the room. “Find Mr. Barnesworth some clothes that don’t smell like arse.”
John gave his thanks and then waited to find out what the king wanted of him, too tired and too keen to see Charlotte to truly care.
“Your brother is proving quite the issue. My officers say that he has once again disappeared from England to escape the consequences of his actions.”
Damn. “I apologize for whatever my brother has done this time. He is…irresponsible.”
“He is a liar and a fraud and he deliberately preyed on my good nature, with no intention of returning the money he owed me. Faking one’s death for financial benefit is against the law.”
“Oh, that.” It served his brother right that his schemes had come undone so quickly.
“Were you aware of your brother’s deception?” The king traced the beveled edge of the throne’s arm with his fingertip as his gaze bored into John’s. His tone might be calm, but the violence in his stare made John swallow.
“Not until his return, Your Majesty. I would not have taken p-part in such actions.”
There was silence as the king’s finger went around and around the edge of the throne. John’s eyes found his boots, and they remained there as the monarch weighed John’s response.
There was a muted clap as the king smacked his hand on his thigh. “Very well. There will be consequences for your brother. I have already spoken with the prime minister. There will be a motion to strip Lord Harrow of his titles put forward in tomorrow’s session. I do not enjoy being fleeced, Mr. Barnesworth, and I think you’ll find the rest of the House of Lords agrees. They will be quick to pass such a motion, I think.”
A breath of relief escaped John. The estates reverting to the crown would give the people who worked and lived on them a modicum more security than they had with Walter as their lord. “Your decision is wise, Your Majesty.”
The king’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need your approval, Mr. Barnesworth.”
John nodded hurriedly. “Of course not. I spoke out of turn.” Perhaps that would be all and the king would allow him to leave, finally. John waited to be dismissed, heart sinking as the king motioned to one of his pages, whispered in his ear, and then turned his attention back to John. It wasn’t over then.
“Is it true that you sold off your business to pay your brother’s debts?”
“It is.” And despite how ghastly it had all turned out, if John was faced with the same situation, he would make the same choice. He’d sold the firm to extricate Charlotte from Brunel’s clutches. Her safety would be worth it ten times over.
“I like you, Mr. Barnesworth. I have always liked innovative people. I like the creative energy they bring to a room. I like their ideas. I am a great patron, you know.” He sat back in the throne, his displeasure and judgment replaced with an air of curiosity.
“I am aware of Your Majesty’s generosity.” For what else could one say?
“I have made my decision. Your contributions to society have not gone unnoticed. Your new steam engines have been a boon to the country’s economy and to the safety of its citizens. Your inventive spirit promises great things and your work has been a true service to me and my people.”
“I…Thank you…”
The king sniffed. “I am bestowing upon you an earldom in reward for your service. I will transfer your brother’s estates to your care and protection as soon as the legalities of stripping him of his titles are done. I trust this is agreeable?”
Agreeable? Only a month ago, becoming the Viscount Harrow had felt like the worst thing that could happen to him. A title had been the last thing he’d wanted. He’d railed at the thought of returning to England, resented the responsibilities, and been terrified of what they’d meant—a life in England, among the society he’d hated. Just a month ago, he’d have thanked the king but politely declined.
But as an earl with estates and his fortune returned, he could give Charlotte the life they had planned for. And truth be told, he didn’t hate the idea of living among the ton. He knew he could be a good lord and he could make his way in society just fine. His heart didn’t leap in breathless anticipation at the thought, but neither did it shy away.
“It would be a great honor, Your Majesty. One that I would not take lightly.” He would give his new role all the care it required. Tomorrow. Today, he was busy. “But if you’ll excuse me, I really, truly need to go see my betrothed.”
The king nodded, and a small smile played across his face. “Am I to assume you mean my cousin?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Good. That pleases me. She has been unwed for far too long. Tell Lady Charlotte I expect to see her for dinner next Tuesday.”
* * *
Charlotte stood with her hands on the iron railing, feeling the sharp cold sting of the metal through her kid gloves. The ship rocked ever so slightly beneath her fingers, and she tightened her grip. Lord, she hoped the nausea was just her nerves about leaving and not seasickness. Six weeks of this as they crossed the Atlantic would be unbearable.
“Any regrets, Charlie?” Will asked as they watched the captain finish his final inspection of the ship and signal to the boys waiting at the end of the gangplank, who picked up the ropes that held the walkway secure.
“No regrets,” she said. There had been a moment of hesitation following her friends’ news about Walter and his ruination, but as the day went on she felt more and more secure in her decision. After all, if John hadn’t been on a ship to America that morning, he would have come to see her.
“Can I take this for you, miss?” A cabin boy gestured to the small satchel at her feet. All of her other possessions had been stowed.
“Thank you. I will be down shortly.” As much as she needed a moment to sit and collect her thoughts, she didn’t want to be belowdecks when the ship set sail. She wanted to witness the shore disappear into the distance. It was such a significant occasion, it would be anticlimactic to miss it.
With a rasp the wooden gangplank slid from the ship’s deck and hit the pier with a loud clang. There was a rattle as the heavy chain of the anchor was raised. Charlotte could feel a change in the way the ship rocked the moment it was no longer securely fastened.
“There’s no turning back now, sister.”
She gave a small smile. “This is the right choice.”
The captain blew a whistle and in unison the crew dipped their oars into the water. At the first stroke, the ship inched backward. At the second stroke, the ship drew away from the wharf. By the fifth, the ship had glided into a turn, positioned to sail down the Thames.
There was a sharp snap as one of the sails dropped open. Charlotte almost lost her balance when the ship lurched, and she had to grab Will to stop him from falling as his cane slipped out from under him. Once they’d steadied, she dropped to her haunches and picked it up. It was one of the ebony canes Private James had purchased. She wondered how the boy was doing in his new position as assistant groundsman.
As she stood, she had a direct view of the pier they’d just pulled away from, and the horse that was riding up it, and the rider who was swinging off, then running a hand through his hair.
“Oh my God.”
“Is that Barnesworth?”
“Oh my God,” she repeated.
William whistled, a low sound that ended with a nervous chuckle.
On the pier, John was untying the rope that held a small tugboat fast. A young lad approached, waving his arms. John reached into his pocket and shoved something in the boy’s hands.
“Oh my God.”
As the ship continued its journey down the river, the scene onshore got harder to see. John was climbing into the boat, then he had an oar in each hand. The boy gave a hard push, sending the small tug toward the ship.
“He’s not going to make it.”
Will was right. There was no way John could match the speed of the ship, no matter how hard he rowed.
Charlotte whirled around, casting her eyes across the deck until they rested on the ship’s captain. She hiked her dress and ran toward him, only slipping a little.
“Captain,” she called. “Captain.”
He turned around, his displeasure rolling off of him. “I am somewhat busy, my lady.”
“We must go back,” she said.
If he’d been displeased initially, he was outraged now. “Absolutely not.”
She had to make him understand. “I thought my betrothed had left for America, but he has not. He’s back there.” She pointed in John’s direction. “We must go back.”
The captain sighed. “My lady, we are already late. If we were to return now, we would miss the tide, and I cannot be delayed by an entire day because of one young lady’s affairs of the heart.” The condescension with which he spoke had echoes of Luella.
Will arrived then, and he put a hand on her shoulder in support. “We will give you twenty pounds to turn this ship around.”
The captain scowled. “It is no easy feat to turn a ship around, particularly in the middle of a river. Now I ask you to please go belowdecks. We are working.”
“Fifty pounds,” Charlotte blurted.
The captain remained silent.
“Need I remind you who I am?” she snapped, squaring her shoulders, fists on her hips. At this, the men around them, who were watching avidly, exchanged expectant glances.
William raised his hands as though trying to ward off a physical altercation between her and the infuriating captain. “You do not need to turn around. Just pause a moment, while her betrothed catches up.”
“Pause?”
“Lower the sail. Drop the anchor. Whatever you do to stop a ship from continuing its forward path. She’ll give you a hundred pounds. Surely that’s worth your time. You can buy the crew several casks of brandy at the next port to make up for their troubles.”
The captain looked at his men, who were nodding to each other. “Fine. A hundred pounds and she”—he jabbed a finger in her face—“leaves the ship.”
“Done,” Will said before she could respond to the captain’s rudeness. With a hand on her back, he guided her toward the railing.
“I cannot believe we’re paying that man such a fortune,” she muttered. “How hard could it possibly be to turn around?”
“Sister, this is not the time to quarrel.”
Will was right. Now that the anchor had been dropped and the sail furled, the small tugboat was gaining ground. It took only a few minutes before it was close enough that she could see John’s face. His cheeks were puffed, no doubt from the exertion of rowing, but his expression was shadowed with relief.
Beside her, one of the deckhands threw a rope ladder over the railing. “Are we to climb down that?” It shifted as the ship did, and looked suspiciously flimsy.
Will handed over the small satchel she’d brought on board. A deckhand must have fetched it for her. “No, we are not disembarking. Someone must chaperone your things to Boston and back.”
“You’re not coming with—” There was a hard thunk as something hit the side of the ship. She looked overboard to see John, shielding his eyes as he looked up at her. All of the yelling and the chaos melted away and she took a full breath for the first time that day. He’d come for her. She’d come for him. Whatever happened next, they could face together.
She turned back to William. “Will you be all right?” His leg had not fully healed, nor had his mind. He was sober, but could he stay that way surrounded by sailors?
“I’ll be fine, Charlie. An adventure will be good for me.”
She rummaged through her satchel until she found her reticule, stuffed with more cash than she’d ever carried at one time. “You’re going to need this. Please don’t spend it on booze.”
He winked at her, and then took her bag and dropped it overboard into John’s arms. He offered her his hand.
With a thudding heart, she took it. Her slippers weren’t made for climbing rope ladders. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes. Drat. Dash. Darn it. Don’t let me die now. Not when I finally have all I want.
She swung a leg over the side of the ship, gripping on to the railing with every ounce of strength she had. As she put her weight on the ladder, it swung to the side slightly and she yelped.
William’s hand, which was fisted in the back of her dress, yanked upward. “It’s all right. You’ve got this. Next foot.”
Each rung gave a little as she stepped down. The rope was uncomfortable to hold. So focused was she on not slipping that it wasn’t until John’s hands were on her hips and he was guiding her into the wildly rocking boat that she remembered to breathe.
“John.” She turned the moment her feet hit the wood and she threw her arms around him, burying her head in his neck. Above them, the crew whistled wildly and she could hear Will protesting.
John sank one hand into her hair; the other arm caught her around her waist and pulled her close. “Love,” he murmured. “Oh, love.” He loosened his grip on her and she stepped back, throwing her arms out as her shift in bearing threw the boat off-kilter.
He sat and helped her to a spot on the bench by his side.
She took his face into her hands and kissed him deeply, ignoring the catcalling from the ship. She reveled in the urgency of his lips against hers and the feel of his day-old whiskers beneath her fingers. “Where have you been?” she asked when she could finally bring herself to pull away.
“You will not believe my day,” he said. He brushed aside a flopping lock of hair and caught her gaze in his. His green eyes, though pinched with exhaustion, were full of love and humor and acceptance. His lips, soft and full, were smiling at the sight of her. His hands, his long and slender fingers, settled on her thigh, drawing her close. They were exactly as they should be—together, with barely an inch between them, let alone an ocean.
“John,” she whispered. “Last night, you should know that I—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Charlotte, wait. I need to apologize first. I should never have—”
“No,” she interrupted, pulling back. “No, I must apologize first.” She brushed down her skirts and tucked a loose curl behind her ear before launching into the speech she’d rehearsed. “John, I love you. I love you with every ounce of my being, but you know that already. Love was never our problem, was it?”
John’s lips quirked. “No, love was never the issue.”
She nodded, glad for the confirmation. “The issue was that I was terribly, terribly afraid. I have a happy and comfortable life here in England and there’s nothing that has really challenged it. When I said no to you, I was acting out of cowardice. I had no confidence in my abilities to succeed elsewhere. I’m terrified of being alone and I let that fear force me to make a decision that I shouldn’t have.
“Because I won’t be alone, will I? I will have you by my side and, in that case, I know I can establish myself somewhere else. I know we could go to Boston together and I would find new people. I would make new friends, and you would be my family.
“So I changed my mind. Yes, John. Yes, I’ll come with you to Boston.” She paused and looked up. “Just not on this particular ship because I do not think the captain cares for me.”
Now that the words were out of her, she could study his reaction. If anything, he looked disappointed, which was not at all the reception she was going for. She put a hand to his chest, felt the unsteady thump…th-thump…thump of his heartbeat. “John, what is the matter?” She thought he’d be thrilled. Instead, he looked devastated.
“I should never have made you choose,” he said through a strangled throat. “It wasn’t fair. And though to hear you say such words makes my heart leap, the reality is you don’t need to come with me to Boston.”
She furrowed her brow, confused. “You don’t want me to come with you?”
He took her shoulders in both hands. “I want you with me always. But you don’t need to come to Boston for that. We will have a life here in London.”
Charlotte furrowed her brow. “But would you be happy? With all the people?”
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, a resigned but not unhappy movement. “I don’t mind all the people,” he said. “Not when you’re one of them.” He tipped up her chin with his finger and captured her mouth with his.
It was a kiss to get lost in. A kiss that promised a future of more kissing, kissing everywhere. It promised quiet nights spent together and noisy ones spent with friends. It promised a happiness she didn’t know was possible.
A horn blasted. She looked up to see the deckhands scurrying off. Only two people remained watching. The captain, whose foul mood seemed completely unaffected by her and John’s joyful reunion, and Will, who winked before sauntering off.
John pushed an oar against the side of the ship and their little boat glided away from it. “Give me one,” she said, holding her hand out.
“You do not have to row.”
She shook her hand at him. “Just give it to me. You do not have to do all the work on your own. I’m sure we can keep in time with each other.”
He handed it over and she settled herself, rolling her shoulders.
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips, sending shivers through her. “You really will not believe my day.”