London Ladies (The Complete Series)

by Eaton, Jillian

  “I’ve been drying,” she said defensively. “But she’s returned every calling card I’ve sent except for the last. Gavin postponed a meeting so we can go together.”

  “That’s encouraging!”

  She smiled. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? We are having dessert. It should all be very civilized.”

  “Make sure you hide the cutting knife.”

  “I fully intend to.” Charlotte was most definitely not looking forward to sitting across from Bettina and defending her marriage, but she knew it was something that needed to be done. She just hoped that her mother would be capable of understanding her decision.

  Yes, and on the carriage ride over, Gavin will profess his undying love to me.

  “Best of luck,” Dianna said solemnly. “You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I am nervous,” Charlotte admitted as they pulled away from Shire House.

  Gavin glanced at his wife. She sat directly beside him in the small phaeton, her head bowed and her hands clasped together on her lap. The evening breeze played with her hair, twisting the curls this way and that. Her profile was basked in the light of the setting sun, giving her an ethereal appearance that caused his breath to catch. She was exquisitely beautiful, and he had to clear his throat twice before he was able to form coherent words.

  “Nervous? Why?”

  Her head lifted. A flicker of surprise passed over her countenance, as though she had not expected him to answer. “My mother can be a very intimidating woman. She will not be pleased with me, or with you.”

  Gavin transferred the reins to his left hand and stretched his right along the back of the phaeton, unconsciously shifting closer to Charlotte. He inhaled a whiff of her perfume, and just barely stopped himself from leaning in and nibbling along the length of her neck. This was the nearest they had been in weeks, and from the second he’d climbed into the buggy it had been torture.

  Pure, unadulterated torture.

  He should have told her to visit her mother alone, but when she came and asked him to accompany her with her eyes shimmering amber eyes and her little chin wobbling as if she was trying to hold back tears, how could he possibly have said no? He hated to see her upset. It tore at him, wrenching his heart as if her distress was his own. So he’d agreed, and felt instant regret as soon as he saw her waiting for him in the foyer, looking pretty as a picture in a jewel-toned evening dress that fit the curves of her body perfectly.

  A body he’d been doing everything in his power to ignore.

  For weeks, Gavin had thrown himself into his work. He’d been a man possessed, taking on new investments and making new deals with a dizzying speed. It was the only way he could keep himself from thinking about Charlotte every single waking minute of the day. But then there were always the nights. The nights, when he was alone in his room and all he could do was think about her.

  He thought of the way she looked when she smiled, which she rarely seemed to do anymore. He thought of her laugh, the way it always lit up the room, and how he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard it. He even thought of their fights.

  Christ, he missed their fights.

  Not the arguing…but the resolution that came after. Because no matter how dark the disagreement, they always seemed to find their way the light. But now he couldn’t remember the last time they’d fought. They were ships, passing silently in the night. He left the house before she woke. He returned when she was nearly ready for bed. Occasionally they dined together, but more often than not he retreated to his study like a bear into his cave and she went to the courtyard, or the music room, or up into her bedchamber.

  He interacted with the bloody butler more than he did with his own wife. And he should have been ecstatic because of it. At long last, he had what he’d always wanted. More money that he could spend in ten lifetimes, the glowing admiration of the ton, and an emotionless marriage that required no effort on his behalf.

  He’d never been so fucking miserable.

  When he glanced at Charlotte with her downcast eyes and tension-filled shoulders, he wondered if she felt the same way as he did. Was she lonely? In the witching hour, when all seemed bleak and hopeless, did she yearn for him as he yearned for her? Did she count how many steps it would take to travel from her bedchamber to his? Did she lay awake, listening in vain for the creak of a floorboard or the whisper of fabric rustling?

  He could always ask her, he supposed. But that would mean revealing all the secret desires he held guarded in his heart. It would mean making himself vulnerable, not just to the possibility of love but the near certainty of pain. His hands grip tightened on the reins as doubt gnawed at him. Why would Charlotte desire him? How could she desire him?

  He came from nothing.

  He was no one.

  Even with all the wealth he’d accumulated and everything he’d achieved, there was a part of him that still felt lacking. And he didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

  A bigger house? He’d build it.

  A better carriage? He’d buy it.

  A faster horse? He’d breed it.

  Except he had those things. He had all of those things. Along with an aching in his soul that couldn’t be filled, no matter how hard he tried.

  Frustrated beyond all bearing, Gavin gave the whip a loud crack, urging the team of matched bays into a faster clip.

  Charlotte looked at him askance. “Are you nervous as well? Not to worry. My mother will likely yell exclusively at me. Although, she’ll probably have some choice words for you. But she’s harmless.” She paused. “Mostly.”

  “I am not nervous,” he snapped.

  “Oh.” Her eyebrows swept together over the delicate bridge of her nose where freckles, born from the sun, dotted her cream-colored skin in a delightfully sporadic design. “What is the matter, then?”

  How was it, Gavin wondered with an irrational surge of anger, that he could easily bluff his way through a high stakes card game with some of the best players in all of Europe, and yet his wife knew how to read every damned emotion that passed over his face?

  “Nothing is the matter,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended.

  A shadow passed over her countenance. “I see.”

  She pointedly turned her head to gaze at the passing scenery. A heavy silence fell between them, much louder than any of their words had been, and Gavin bristled against it.

  He knew–somewhat, at least–how to deal with Charlotte with she was a bright ball of fiery energy. But this quiet, subdued version of his wife baffled and bewildered him.

  Where was her spirit? Where was her heart? Where was the part of her that made her…well, her?

  There was only one way he knew to bring a spark to those eyes.

  And that was to intentionally provoke her.

  “You shouldn’t be afraid of your mother,” he said with deliberate casualness.

  “I’m not…I am not afraid of her.” She turned on him with a scowl. “Who said I was afraid?”

  “No one. I’ve just never seen you look more terrified.”

  Her jaw clenched. “I am not afraid of my mother. I’m merely thinking of what I am going to say. You’d be well served to do the same!”

  And there it was. Faint. Like the first glimmer of light at sunrise. But it was there, all the same, and he secretly rejoiced at the sight of it.

  He could have nodded in agreement and let them return to the separate bubbles they’d built for themselves. But he didn’t. The little devil perched on his shoulder wouldn’t let him.

  “Why?” he said with a shrug. “I do not have to say anything. In fact, I believe I shall wait in the carriage. Maybe even take it for a drive through the park.” Gavin knew he was playing with fire by deliberately antagonizing Charlotte. But damnit, he wanted his wife back in all her vibrant, temperamental glory. Not this meek, mild creature he barely recognized.

  He acknowledged this was exactly how he had wanted his marriage to be. Cold
, distant, impersonal. And maybe with another woman, with another wife, he would have been grateful for it.

  But not with Charlotte.

  Never with Charlotte.

  “You said you would go with me.” Her cheeks taking on a dull flush, she lifted her chin. “We’re very nearly there, and you cannot change your mind. I won’t let you.”

  Gavin nearly chuckled. “You won’t let me?”

  “No,” she said with an adamant toss of her head. “I won’t. If you’d like, I would be more than happy to come with you to meet your mother. In fact, I’d rather like the opportunity to–”

  “My mother is dead,” he said flatly as the smile that had begun to tug at the corners of his mouth vanished in an instant.

  All of the color drained from Charlotte’s cheeks. “Gavin, I…I had no idea. I’m sorry. When…when did she pass?”

  His gaze veered to the street in front of them as something tightened unpleasantly inside of his chest, like a clock spring wound in the wrong direction. “When I was a boy. She fell ill, and there was not enough money to spend for a doctor or medicine.”

  He felt suddenly, inexplicably cold. The warmth that had started to fill his heart evaporated, like mist off a lake. And he knew then that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk loving Charlotte, knowing one day he might lose her just like he’d lost his mother. He didn’t want to feel that agony again. He didn’t want to experience that hurt. Hurt made all the worse because it would be his fault. Just like it had been his fault then.

  Gavin glanced down when he felt a faint pressure on his arm, and saw Charlotte’s long, elegant fingers enclosed in white kid gloves touching the sleeve of his jacket.

  “That must have been horrible for you,” she said quietly.

  “It happened a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. “Doesn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer, and they traveled the rest of the way in familiar silence.

  If Charlotte had any hope of her mother coming to terms with the marriage, it dissolved the instant she stepped into the drawing room.

  Dressed in a somber gray gown with her hair pulled into a severe bun and her eyes flinty chips of blue ice, Bettina waited for them in the middle of the room, still as a statue.

  Candles had been lit in preparation of their arrival and light crawled up the walls, casting shadows in the corners and giving the room an uneasy appearance that caused shivers to race down Charlotte’s spine.

  Goosepimples dotted her arms as she perched on the edge of a velvet chair. Gavin sat down beside her, and even though he look relaxed in posture, the tension in the cords running the length of his neck revealed he was anything but.

  “Mother,” she began, adopting her most optimistic tone, “I would like to introduce you to my husband, Gavin Gray—”

  “I do not care what his name is.” Bettina’s voice cracked through the room like a lash, and Charlotte flinched at the hardness of it. Beside her Gavin did not stir except to keep his eyes trained on Bettina like a hawk as she began to pace back and forth in front of them, her skirts snapping smartly against her ankles.

  Do not lose your temper, Charlotte told herself. Yelling would get her nowhere, and she dearly wanted something to come of this meeting even though she knew the odds were stacked against her.

  “I am sorry you feel that way, Mother,” she said evenly. “And I am sorry I left without a word. I know it must have upset you.”

  With the haughtiness of a queen, Bettina slowly lowered herself onto an ivory settee. She painstakingly arranged her dress until it draped perfectly across her legs, crossed her hands on her lap, and fixed her only daughter with a stare that could have easily shattered stone.

  “The maid putting two spoonful’s of sugar in my tea instead of one upsets me, Charlotte. The driver being a few minutes late upsets me. My daughter, whom I have loved and cherished since her birth, lying and deceiving me in order to run off and marry a commoner?” Her mouth twisted. “That is not upsetting, it is unacceptable.”

  “I did not come here to argue.”

  “By all means,” Bettina said coolly. “Enlighten me.”

  “I came…” Charlotte faltered. How was it, that at twenty-one years of age, she could still sit before her mother and feel like a little girl being chastised for forgetting to wash her hands before supper? It was embarrassing, demoralizing, and most of all, disheartening. She felt a second pair of eyes upon her and peeked sideways to discover Gavin watching her intently. He gave the slightest of nods, a silent gesture for her to continue, and even though they were currently at odds, she found strength in his support.

  “I came to see you, Mother.” She took a deep breath, and forced herself to meet Bettina’s disdainful stare. “I wanted to make sure you were well.”

  “How could I possibly be well? You have brought shame upon me, Charlotte, and shame upon the family name. I’m sure your poor father is rolling in his grave and you have brought me ten years closer to mine. How could you?” Tears glittered in Bettina’s eyes, and Charlotte felt an unexpected pang of guilt.

  “I’m sorry, I–”

  “And to dare bring this…this riff-raff into my house. You have no place here,” Bettina snapped, addressing Gavin for the first time. “Leave at once, or I shall have you tossed out like the filth that you are.”

  “Mother,” Charlotte gasped. “Gavin, please excuse her—”

  “Do not speak for me,” Bettina said shrilly. “You may have married against my wishes, but you are still my daughter and this is still my residence. I shall admit who I want, and I do not recall seeing that man’s name on the calling card.”

  “That man is my husband.” Charlotte could endure her mother’s barbs. She’d taken them before. But she would not let them pierce Gavin. “He is your son-in-law, and I’d appreciate it if you treated him as such. If I am welcome here, then so is he!”

  She glanced at Gavin then, expecting to him red with anger. To her surprise, he didn’t appear annoyed or irritated in the slightest. If anything, he looked amused.

  “With all due respect, Lady Vanderley, I go where my wife goes.” He smiled thinly. “If she wishes for me to leave, I will gladly do so. Otherwise, I am staying right here and there’s hell all you can do about it.”

  Charlotte could have kissed him.

  Bettina did not seem to be of a like mind.

  “Are you going to allow him to speak to me in such a crude fashion?” she cried, shoving the settee back as she jumped to her feet.

  “You were rude to him first, Mother. He was only defending me. I said I did not come here to argue. Even though it seems that is all I do now,” she muttered, scuffing her heel on the floor.

  Was it her? Was she the one at fault? First her mother, now her husband. Could she keep no one happy?

  “Why come here at all, then?” Bettina demanded.

  “To see you, and to apologize for running off like I did. I pray you can forgive me. Maybe not today, but someday.”

  “It’s not my forgiveness you should be begging for, it’s the Duke of Paine.”

  Stiffening at the mere mention of Paine, Charlotte reached blindly to the side and grasped Gavin’s hand. She did not know why this innate fear of her former fiancé continued to haunt her. He couldn’t do anything to her now even if he tried. With the ton’s support at her back, she was well beyond his reach. Something he fully realized if his lack of attempts to contact her were any indication.

  “You are still speaking to him?” she asked her mother incredulously.

  “Naturally,” Bettina said with a sniff. “He is very disappointed in you, but is willing to overlook your poor judgment pending an annulment. Unfortunately there cannot be a wedding like the one we’d planned, but a small ceremony in a smaller church should suffice.”

  Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Gavin’s fingers tightened around hers, holding her in place when she would have otherwise leapt to her feet.

  “
Mother,” she cried, aghast, “I am not getting an annulment and I am not marrying the duke!”

  Bettina went white as chalk. “You stupid, impetuous child! I gave up everything for you, and this is how you repay me? No. No, I will not have it, do you hear me?”

  Before Charlotte could think to defend herself Bettina had crossed the room. She raised her hand and brought it crashing down on her daughter’s cheek, whipping Charlotte’s head to the side. Her mouth curling is disgust, Bettina lifted her arm again, but before she could strike a second time Gavin was on his feet and had her by the shoulders.

  “I have never hit a woman,” he growled while Charlotte cradled her burning face and stared at her mother in shock, “but you sorely tempt me, Lady Vanderley. Touch my wife again and you shall know the full consequences of your actions.”

  “Your wife,” Bettina sneered. Retreating to the far wall when Gavin released her, she reached for a goblet of wine and took a long sip. “She will not be your wife once this farce of a marriage is annulled,” she said in a tone that was eerily pleasant. “Charlotte, dear, go to your room.”

  Hearing her name spoken was enough to snap Charlotte out of the daze she had momentarily succumbed to. Shaking her head to clear it, she rose from her chair to stand beside Gavin.

  “You–you hit me,” she said numbly.

  It was a stunning realization for any child to discover their parent was capable of such violence, but even more so for Charlotte because it indicated a depth of passion in her mother she never knew existed.

  For as long as she could remember, Bettina had always been coldly detached. No matter what Charlotte did, not matter how well she behaved, she could never achieve more than a faint glimmer of approval in her mother’s eyes. Because of that, she had always believed–had made herself believe–that her mother was incapable of feeling true emotion. But there was emotion in Bettina now.

  It simmered in every part of her body, spilling off her in waves. Finally, Bettina truly felt something for her daughter.

  Hate.

  “I cannot go to my room,” Charlotte said softly. “I no longer live here, Mother. I live with my husband.”