The lady continued, “Oh, you’re fair of face, much like your mother before you.” At the reference to her mother, her lip seemed to curl even higher over her teeth. “But that is hardly enough to make you a good wife to my William.”
“You didn’t like my mother,” Charlotte concluded, the realization dawning on her. “Is that why you dislike me? Is that why you don’t think I’m good enough for your son? Because you disliked to my mother?”
Mrs. Pembroke made an exaggerated sound that was part incredulity and part denial. “Do not think me so spiteful. I merely expected better for my son. A girl from a better family. Your father was a physician. A disgusting sawbones who consorted with people I wouldn’t speak to, much less touch . . . He was little better than a blacksmith.”
Charlotte sucked in a sharp breath, indignation sweeping through her. Her father had been a good man, respected and admired in the community. He often treated people who couldn’t afford to pay him. That was why upon his death his daughters had found themselves without funds. He’d always been too busy tending the injured and sick to think beyond the present.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
Mrs. Pembroke went on, either unaware or indifferent to Charlotte’s rising temper. To be certain, it was a rare thing for her to feel such anger. “Mind you, your mother was an upstart. Gave herself airs and pranced about the village as though she was the reigning queen. You should’ve seen the way men fawned over her. It was disgusting.”
Charlotte gaped. She had never heard her mother described in such an unflattering manner.
The elderly Mrs. Pembroke suddenly spoke up from the window, lifting her silvery head and narrowing her small eyes. “Indeed. Your husband included.”
Mrs. Pembroke’s face deepened to a splotchy red. “Mother,” she said sharply. “You know not of what you speak.” Her gaze then shot to Charlotte. “Pay you no mind to the ramblings of an old woman.”
Then, as if she had said nothing particularly shattering or cruel, Mrs. Pembroke lifted the basket that sat on the floor near her feet and plopped it down beside her on the settee. She started sorting and arranging the swatches of fabric, draping them on her lap. “Now.” She tapped a bright green swatch. “This is the one. We will dress the tables in linens of this color for the bridal luncheon.”
It was not a question. Mrs. Pembroke was not asking Charlotte’s opinion. She was telling her. Nora was correct. This woman would have been a miserable mother-in-law. She exhaled in secret relief to have escaped that fate.
And considering there was not going to be any wedding, she need not sit here and feign otherwise for a moment longer.
Clearing her throat, she inched to the edge of her seat. “If you would excuse me, please. I require some air.”
With the woman’s insults still ringing in Charlotte’s ears . . . and throbbing in the marrow of her bones, she rose to her feet.
Without waiting for either woman to grant her pardon, she fled the room through the double doors and out onto the lawn.
She sucked in a deep breath of warm air, filling her lungs as soon as she was several feet clear of the doors. She tilted her face up to the sunshine, realizing she did not have her bonnet with her. She’d left it inside. No matter. She would not go back for it. Nothing could propel her back into that room.
She would rather stand out here in the warm afternoon than endure another moment inside with Mrs. Pembroke.
She turned to look back at the house and spotted the elderly Mrs. Pembroke staring at her through the drawing room window. The old woman’s lips pursed as though she had just bit into a lemon. Her wizened little face brought to mind a prisoner looking out from the bars of their cell.
Prisoner or not, Charlotte did not think it her imagination that she stared at her in pity. The irony was not lost on her. Old Mrs. Pembroke, an elderly woman confined to a wheelchair who slept the majority of the time, was staring at her in pity. She thought Charlotte was deserving of pity. Charlotte, who, to the world, was a young bride-to-be on the cusp of beginning her married life.
“Charlotte!”
She spun around at the sound of her name to spy William striding across the lawn.
Her chest immediately tightened at the sight of him.
Now it would happen.
He took her hand when he reached her and gave it an affectionate squeeze before placing it on his arm. “I didn’t know you were coming. What are you doing outside? Why are you not inside with Mother?”
She smiled tremulously. “I needed some air.”
He tugged at his cravat. “Some of this dreadfully humid air, you mean?”
She nodded, clinging to her smile. “And where have you been this fine day?”
Presently any conversation that did not involve his mother would be preferable. She did not want to explain to him why she was outside. She’d never complained to him about his mother before and she would not start now.
“I . . . ah . . .” He looked uncertainly over his shoulder. “I was actually next door.” He nodded to the house mere yards away.
“At the Purcells?” His mother could have mentioned that.
“Yes.”
“Oh. And how are they?” she inquired in what she was quite certain was an evasion. She was not certain how to begin this whole ending-the-betrothal matter.
His smile grew strained at the edges. “In truth, they were not there.”
She frowned. “You were in their home whilst the Purcells were not there?”
“Ah . . .” He glanced back toward the house. “You know, come with me. I will show you.” He smiled strangely. “I think you’re going to like this.”
Chapter 20
With her hand resting securely on his arm, William led Charlotte into the Purcells’ house. Curiously, he didn’t even pause to knock. He simply entered the front door of the house.
“The Purcells have gone,” he announced, waving an arm as he led her through the empty foyer.
She looked around curiously. “Gone?” She gave her head a small shake. The family had lived next door to the Pembrokes for ages. “I had not heard they were leaving. Where did they go?”
He led her into the drawing room. “Apparently they were in some financial distress. They had kept it quite secret. Clearly they were eager to avoid public ridicule, but Mother had suspected, of course. She’s clever that way.”
She fixed a brittle smile on her face. “Of course.”
William continued, “Over the last few months they let the majority of their staff go.”
Her tight smile slipped. “Oh.”
She knew what that was like. After Papa died, they’d had to do the same. They’d let staff go and sold off what they could. It was a horrible situation and she wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.
“They simply sold the house and moved away to live with relations elsewhere.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “One day they were here and the next they were gone.”
Her hand slid from his arm as he moved on to stroll through the drawing room. His steps thudded over the floor as he eyed the vacant room speculatively. Surveying the space, he dragged his fingertips over the faded wallpaper.
“Oh.” She blinked and glanced around the room she dimly recalled from a long-ago visit.
She’d taken tea here once. She’d been just a girl then, sitting beside Papa. He’d sometimes taken her along on his calls. That was before Nora had proved herself to be such an enthusiastic assistant. Charlotte never really had the stomach for attending to the sick as Nora did.
She stepped forward to part the heavy damask drapery covering the window and peered outside, awarded with the familiar view of the Pembrokes’ house. The Pembrokes’ drawing room windows to be specific. The two houses sat in close proximity and, with the drapes drawn, one could see directly into the other house.
In fact, the Pembroke drapes were presently pulled back from the drawing room windows, and she could see directly into the house. Old Mrs. Pembroke still s
at there. She sent Charlotte a small wave.
“Hopefully a nice family will take residence and be lovely neighbors for your parents.” She stifled a wince of pity for that nice family.
“Indeed, I am quite certain of that fact.”
She looked at him, curious at his conviction in the matter. “Do you know something? Has someone already let the house?”
He smiled slowly; the same smile he’d given her when he first escorted her to the house. She would use the word slyly if she had ever seen William look sly in all the years she had known him. “Yes. I believe it has.”
“William, I don’t understand.” She glanced around. They were trespassing in someone’s home and she didn’t understand why. “What are we doing here?”
“I’ve acquired the house.” He held his arms out wide, a silly grin creasing his face. “It’s ours.”
She glanced around a little wildly, her heart accelerating in her suddenly too tight chest. “What do you mean you’ve acquired the house?”
“This house. It’s ours.”
She shook her head. “I don’t under—”
“I purchased it . . . Admittedly, with a little help from Papa.”
With all the help from Papa. William did not have wealth of his own. He lived at the grace and mercy of his parents, like so many well-bred gentlemen.
She moistened her suddenly dry lips. She knew it didn’t matter. Especially now. She had come here with the intention of ending their betrothal, but indignation burned a fiery path through her. “William,” she began with a slight clearing of her throat. “We had an agreement. We discussed at length where we would live after the wedding—”
“And isn’t it wonderful that we can live here instead? Your family house is so far outside of town.” He beamed at her, and she didn’t understand that at all. He knew what she had wanted. It wasn’t this house. How could he think she would be happy about this? Living next door to his parents?
He didn’t know her.
He did not know her at all, she realized. Not truly. Not if he thought she would be happy living next door to his family. She shuddered. Every single one of her days would have consisted of Mrs. Pembroke. The woman unquestioningly disliked her. She would never have kept to herself and given them space. Of that there was no doubt.
Now she felt even more confident, more convinced that she and William were not suited. They might have been friends all their lives, but that didn’t mean they belonged together.
“But that was the agreement,” she said again, her anger a dull thing. She wouldn’t be living here after all. She couldn’t be too upset. Her relief to have escaped this fate far surpassed her anger.
William approached her and claimed both her hands in his. He gave them a squeeze. “Don’t be disappointed. Our new life will be brilliant here, in this house. You will see. Trust me in this.”
Trust. It was ironic for him to use that word when he had gone out and acquired this house directly against her wishes.
“I . . . No. No, William.”
Confusion flickered over his face, all the delight from moments ago melting away. “Charlotte?” The lilting question to his voice was almost comical if she wasn’t about to deliver a blow.
“I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
She gestured. “This. Us. Marriage. I can’t do it.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she breathed in a manner she had not breathed . . . in months. Even before Samuel . . . and that was a revelation. It told her she was truly doing the right thing.
It had been so long, she had forgotten what it felt like to breathe easy and clear. Her lungs lifted, expanded unfettered.
He stared at her as though she were a stranger to him, and she realized she was. He didn’t know her at all.
Perhaps she was just coming to know herself.
“Because I bought this house for us?” He shook his head as though that made no sense.
“No. And you bought this house for you, William. But it is not only that. This house just confirms what I’ve come to realize.”
Marriage to him would be the complete loss of herself.
“And what have you come to realize?” he asked rather stiffly, but she could still detect an undercurrent of hurt.
She had come to realize that there was someone else.
Someone who didn’t want her for anything more serious than a fleeting dalliance, but she still preferred him over William.
“I’ve realized . . . that we don’t love each other . . . not in the way either one of us deserves.” She took a deep breath. “And I’ve realized I want that. I want all . . . or nothing.”
Chapter 21
Charlotte returned home at an easy, relaxed stroll. She was in no hurry to confront her family and let them know she’d just ended her betrothal. Officially. She had just changed the course of her life, and, ultimately, theirs, too.
Guests would need to be notified, to say nothing of all the other plans they had made. All those plans would have to be undone. Explanations given . . . gossip to weather, stares to endure. All of that rubbish. Just thinking about it made her head ache.
When she entered the house, she noticed a certain buzz on the air. An energy that seemed proved by the staff members rushing about without sparing her a glance.
Something was afoot.
Marian entered the foyer, talking to the housekeeper in an intent manner. A pair of maids followed behind them.
“Marian?” Charlotte queried.
Her sister turned on her, looking her up and down. “Char? Where have you been? Look at your hem. I’ll ring a bath for you. You need to look presentable tonight.”
Charlotte frowned. “Is something—”
“We have guests.”
“Guests?”
“Indeed, yes.” Marian’s head bobbed excitedly. “Nathaniel’s mother and stepfather have surprised us with a visit.”
“Nathaniel’s mother and stepfather . . .” she echoed. Samuel’s father.
“Yes. I’ve already spoken with Cook. She is preparing a splendid dinner for this evening. Now go on with you. Ready yourself.” She smoothed a hand down the front of her dress, casting it a frown, as though realizing that she, too, needed to concentrate on that same task.
Charlotte nodded. “Of course.”
Her announcement could wait. Her sister was naturally preoccupied with the arrival of their most august guests. Marian had never met her husband’s mother before. Charlotte knew Marian well enough to know she wanted the visit to go smoothly.
“Now go. Make haste.” She clapped her hands and gestured for Charlotte to take the stairs to her chamber. “And please see to Nora. Can you do that for me? You know how distracted she can be. She gets lost in her work and loses track of time.”
Nora could lose track of days.
“Of course,” Charlotte repeated. “Don’t fret about either one of us.”
Marian beamed. “Thank you.” She pressed a quick kiss to Charlotte’s cheek and then hurried away, the housekeeper and maids fast on her heels.
Charlotte spent the rest of the afternoon doing as Marian asked, readying herself for the evening and making certain Nora was doing the same—no easy task. As Marian had predicted, Nora was deep in one of her projects. Charlotte managed to tear her away from her work.
She felt lighter than she had in a long while. She and Nora entered the drawing room together wearing smiles.
The earl and countess had not arrived to the room yet, but Samuel stood near the fireplace, looking as stern and grim as a pallbearer. She made her way to his side.
“Good evening, Mr. Kingston.”
“Miss Langley,” he returned. “Come to witness the circus?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My father and stepmother are here.” His lips twisted as though tasting something distasteful. “It promises to be quite the diversion. It always is.”
Charlotte was saved from replying. A good thing co
nsidering she did not know what to say. At that moment, the distinguished couple entered the drawing room. Introductions were made, and they were all soon filing into the dining room.
Marian had outdone herself. The table sparkled with the finest crystal and bone china. Candlelight sparkled throughout the room. Profuse arrangements of flowers populated the corners of the room as well as the center of the table. It was the height of extravagance, and from Marian’s hopeful expression, it was clear she sought to gain the approval of her in-laws.
The duke appeared to care less. There was a certain guardedness to his eyes as he took his seat at the head of the table, the only smiles to grace his face reserved for his wife.
Charlotte felt utterly fascinated as she stared at the pair of them—both so very fashionable and handsome across the dining table.
It was easy to mark Kingston’s resemblance to his father. They possessed the same bourbon-hued eyes. Except the earl’s were clouded with drink and years of dissolution. She saw that at once, and those effects were not limited to his eyes. She read the evidence of hard living in the lines around his eyes and the redness to his nose and in the loose skin of his neck and jaw. He possessed none of the keen awareness so inherent in Samuel’s gaze.
Nevertheless, he was a striking gentleman. The type of man one noticed in a crowded room. Dressed in dark evening attire, he was a marked difference from William’s father, the last man who had sat in his seat.
She frowned at the intrusion of William and his family on her thoughts. She didn’t want to think about the Pembrokes and how very angry they would soon be with her. She’d have to face that soon enough. Presently, she only wanted to watch the interesting byplay between Samuel and his parents.
She might have risen significantly in the social order of things since Marian tied the knot with a duke, but the earl and countess were the most sophisticated people she had ever met.
The countess was lovely. Her hair was midnight dark, not a gray streak evident anywhere in the strands, which made Charlotte wonder if nature had blessed her with such lustrous hair or perhaps she helped Mother Nature along with unnatural means. The countess’s face was equally brilliant, a softer, less angular version of Nathaniel’s face.
The Virgin and the Rogue Page 17