“For what?”
“For helping me see what was right in front of me this entire time.”
“Oh, that.” Dianna waved her hand. “Think nothing of it. I have to run now. Mother is expecting me for dinner. A friend of my father’s is coming to call and we all must be there to greet him. Lord Hatchett or Ratchett or something or other. He is horribly boring, if memory serves, and is fond of discussing hunting and fishing in great detail.”
“He could walk you through the step by step process of butchering a deer and you would still have a better evening than me,” Charlotte grumbled as she abruptly recalled what awaited her in one hour’s time. “Gavin and I are calling on my mother,” she explained at Dianna’s blank stare.
“You have not seen her yet? Charlotte!”
“I have been trying, but every calling card has been returned unopened, save the last. Gavin postponed one of his meetings so we could go together. We are having dessert. It should all be very civilized.”
Dianna’s released a very unladylike snort. “Hide the cutting knives.”
“I intend to.” Charlotte was most definitely not looking forward to sitting across from Bettina and defending her decision to marry Gavin, but she knew it was something that needed to be done. Perhaps now that time had passed her mother would be more understanding. Yes, and on the carriage ride over Gavin will profess his undying love to me. Her lips quirked. One could always hope.
“Well, best of luck.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte sighed. “I am certainly going to need it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I am nervous,” Charlotte admitted as they pulled away from Shire House.
Gavin glanced up from his papers and over at his wife. She sat directly beside him in the small phaeton, her head bowed and her hands held tightly together on her lap. The light 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 happy with me, or with you.”
Gavin set his papers aside and stretched an arm across the back of the phaeton, unconsciously shifting closer to Charlotte. He inhaled a whiff of her perfume, and stopped himself just in time from leaning in and nibbling along the length of her neck. This was the nearest they had been in weeks. It was torture. Pure, unadulterated torture.
He should have told her to go alone to see Lady Bettina, but when she came and asked him with her eyes shimmering like ambers and her little chin wobbling as if she were 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 until her pain was his own.
He’d found the only way to avoid thinking about her constantly was to keep himself busy with work, but even then she crept into his mind. The way she looked when she smiled, which she never seemed to do anymore. The sound of her laugh, which he never heard. Her expression when they argued and she got so mad her nose wrinkled and it took everything he had not to laugh.
Christ, he missed their fights.
Now they were little more than ships passing silently in the night. He left the house before she woke. He returned when she was nearly ready for bed. When it came right down to it, he interacted more with Dobson than he did his own damn wife.
Gavin knew he should have been ecstatic. Finally, he had everything he ever wanted: more money than he could ever hope to spend, the glowing admiration of the ton, and a perfect marriage to a woman who did not interfere with his life or his business.
He had never been so bloody miserable.
Looking at Charlotte now with her downcast eyes and her hunched shoulders he could not help but wonder if she felt the same way he did. Was she lonely? In the deep, dark night when there was nothing else to occupy her mind did she yearn for him as he yearned for her? Did she count out how many steps it would take to go from her bedroom to his? He could ask her, but that would mean revealing what was in his heart. He would have to give himself up, not only to the possibility of love but the near certainty of pain. Doubt gnawed at him, a festering wound that refused to heal.
How could Charlotte possibly love him? He came from nothing. He was no one. Even with the wealth and the respect of his peers he still felt lacking. Something was missing. Something he could not quite put his finger on. A bigger house? He would build it. A faster horse? He would buy it. Except he had done those things, all of those things, and there was still an emptiness inside of him that would not ease.
Frustrated beyond all bearing, Gavin swept a hand through his hair and growled under his breath, earning Charlotte’s wide-eyed stare.
“Are you nervous as well?” she asked. “Do not worry. She will mostly yell at me. Although I am sure she will have some choice words for you as well.”
“I am not nervous,” he said gruffly.
Her eyebrows knitted together. “Oh. Well, what is the matter then?”
How was it, he wondered with a surge of irrational anger, that he could bluff his way through a high stakes card game with some of the best players in the city and yet his wife knew how to read every damn emotion that passed over his face? “Nothing is the matter,” he said, more harshly than he had intended.
Charlotte’s lips compressed and she drew back. “Very well.”
A heavy silence fell between them, the same silence that had hung over their heads since the morning in the study. Gavin bristled against it, wanting to say something, but no words came to mind. They never did. He knew – somewhat – how to deal with Charlotte when she was a bright ball of fiery energy, but this quiet, subdued version of her bewildered him beyond all reason. Damn it, this was not what he wanted.
“You should not be afraid of your mother, you know.”
“I am not – I am not afraid of her.”
“Really?” One eyebrow lifted. “You look terrified.”
Charlotte twisted on the seat to face him. “I do not,” she snapped, revealing a brief glimmer of her old self. “I am merely thinking of what I am going to say. You would do well to do the same.”
He could have nodded and agreed. He should have nodded and agreed. But he didn’t. The little devil that was perched on his shoulder wouldn’t let him. “Why? 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 exactly what he was doing. Something he had sworn not to do, but bloody hell, he wanted his wife back in all her flashing eyed glory, not this meek creature that he barely recognized.
Some part of him acknowledged this was exactly how he had wanted their relationship to be: cold, distant, impersonal. And perhaps 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.” Cheeks flushed, jaw clenched, she glared daggers at him. “I was not the only one who agreed to this marriage. I did not propose to myself. You cannot change your mind,” she decided. “We are nearly there and I will not let you.”
His second eyebrow rose to join the first. “You will not let me?”
“No. If you want, I will go with you to tell your mother, but you agreed to go with me to tell mine first, and that is precisely what we are doing.”
The smile that had crept into the corners of his mouth vanished in an instant. “My mother is dead,” he said flatly.
Charlotte’s mouth fell open. “I… Gavin, I am sorry. I did not know. How… When did she die?”
“When I was a boy. She was sick, and we did not have enough money to buy her medicine.” He felt suddenly, inexplicably cold. The warm feelings that had filled his body and heart mere moment
s ago were evaporating, like mist off a lake.
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. Lost her because he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t rich enough. He wasn’t smart enough. He felt a faint pressure on his arm, and glanced down to see Charlotte’s long, delicate fingers encircling his wrist.
“That must have been horrible for you,” she whispered.
Gavin shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
“Doesn’t it?” Charlotte said cryptically.
He did not answer, and they rode 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 very second she stepped into the parlor.
Dressed in a dark gray gown with her hair pulled into a severe bun and her eyes hard and unforgiving, Bettina waited for them in the middle of the room.
Candles had been lit in preparation of their arrival and light flickered up the walls, casting shadows in the corners and giving the parlor an uneasy appearance that caused shivers to race down Charlotte’s spine even though she had spent hundreds upon hundreds of hours curled up in the same velvet upholstered chair that she sank into now. Gavin sat beside her, and even though his long, relaxed body gave the implication of casualness, she knew he was tense by the whiteness of his knuckles as he placed his hands on the armrests of his chair.
When Bettina said nothing, Charlotte cleared her throat and did her best to break the ice. “Mother, 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 whip, and Charlotte flinched at the hardness of it. Beside her Gavin did not stir, although he kept his eyes trained on Bettina as a hawk would a snake in the grass.
Do not lose your temper, Charlotte reminded herself. Yelling would get her nowhere. “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 gracefulness of a queen Bettina slowly lowered herself onto an ivory settee. She painstakingly arranged her skirts, 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 gave an elegant wave of her left hand – “enlighten me.”
“I came…” Charlotte faltered and, even though she hated herself for it, broke Bettina’s gaze to stare down at the floor. How was it, she wondered, that at twenty-one years of age she could still sit before her mother and feel as though she was once again a little girl being chastised for something so foolish as forgetting to wash up before dinner?
She felt a second pair of eyes upon her and glanced sideways to see Gavin watching her. He gave the slightest of nods, a silent gesture for her to continue, and even though they had just been arguing she took comfort from his presence and unspoken support.
“I came to see you, first and foremost,” she said, reciting the words she had been practicing since Dianna left. “I wanted to make sure you are well.”
“How could I possibly be well? You have brought shame upon me, Charlotte, and shame upon the family name. Your father is no doubt rolling in his grave and you have brought me ten years closer to mine. How could you?”
Seeing a suspicious glimmer in her mother’s eyes, Charlotte felt an unexpected pang of guilt. “Mother, I—”
“And to dare bring this… this man into my house. You have no place here,” Bettina snapped, speaking directly to Gavin for the first time. “Leave now, or I shall have you tossed out like the trash you are.”
“Mother,” Charlotte gasped. “Gavin, please excuse her—”
“Do not speak for me,” Bettina snapped. A bloom of color appeared high on her cheeks, revealing how upset she truly was. Adopting a chilled smile that fell far, far short of her eyes, she said, “You are still my daughter and this is still my house. I will admit who I want when I want, and I do not recall seeing that man’s name on the calling card.”
There was simply no talking to the woman. Hissing out a frustrated breath, Charlotte peeked sideways at her husband, expecting to see him red with anger. To her surprise, he did not appear angry at all. If anything, he looked amused.
Stretching his legs out in front of him, he crossed his arms over his chest and drawled, “With all due respect, Lady Vanderley, I go where my wife goes. If she wishes for me to go, I will do so. Otherwise, I am staying right here.”
Charlotte could have kissed him. Bettina did not seem to be of a like mind.
Her face turning florid, she stood up so abruptly the settee was pushed back a good half yard, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. “Are you going to allow him to speak to me like that?” she hissed.
“I said I did not come here to fight with you.” Feeling suddenly, inexplicably weary Charlotte slumped in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Long dark shadows darted across the white plaster and trickled down the walls. “Even though it seems that is all I do now,” she muttered. Was it her? Was she the one at fault? First her mother, now her husband. Could she keep no one happy?
“Why did you come, then?” Bettina demanded.
“I came to see you, and to apologize for running off like I did. I am sorry if it embarrassed you, but surely you must know the ton has accepted our marriage.”
“Perhaps the ton has, but the duke has not.”
Stiffening at the mere mention of Paine, Charlotte reached blindly to the side and grasped Gavin’s hand. She did not know where this innate fear of the duke came from, but whenever she thought of him it felt as though a shard of ice was piercing her chest. When she and Gavin first began to attend balls and parties she looked for him everywhere, but after the sixth function had passed and he still had yet to appear she assumed he had, at long last, let her go.
“You are still speaking to him?” she asked her mother now, incredulity written over every inch of her face.
“Of course,” Bettina said, staring down her nose. “He is, naturally, very disappointed in you, but he is willing to overlook your poor judgment pending an annulment. There cannot be a wedding like the one we had planned, but a quiet ceremony in one of the smaller churches 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’s face went white. “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 was across the room in three quick strides. She raised her right hand and brought it crashing down across 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 lash out Gavin was on his feet and had her by the shoulders.
“I have never hit a woman,” he growled, his eyes as hard as steel in the flickering candlelight, “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, although once Gavin released her she did keep her distance after casting one last, searing glare at Charlotte. Going to the far wall where a silver tray was set up on a long legged table she poured herself a cup of tea and took a sip. When she turned around she was coolly composed, the anger that had overtaken her once again contained and buried beneath a veneer o
f politeness. “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 to her feet and stood beside Gavin, cupping her burning cheek with one hand and using the other to steady herself against his side. “You hit me,” she said dumbly.
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 thought had simply not 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 no matter how composed her countenance. Finally, Bettina truly felt something for her daughter.
Hate.
“I cannot go to my room,” she said softly. “I no longer live here, Mother. I live with my husband now.”
“Where? Under a bridge?” Bettina’s laugh was short and mean. Setting her cup aside with an uncharacteristic clatter, she turned her full attention to Gavin. “I blame you for this, you know.”
“I know,” he said indifferently.
“You swooped in like a vulture after a poor, witless rabbit and charmed it with your looks and smooth tongue. Well, soon enough my daughter will realize what you truly are: a money hungry womanizer with nothing more than a pretty face and empty lies!”
Enough, Charlotte thought wearily as Gavin and Bettina exchanged glares of mutual dislike. This has gone on long enough.
Runaway Duchess (London Ladies Book 1) Page 21