The Reunion

by Sara Portman

  “Charlotte’s spent her whole life in Boston, not out in the country.”

  Brydges clucked his tongue. “Never ridden, never spent time in the country. Turning this sister into Lady Charlotte Brantwood ought to prove quite a project.”

  John glared at his friend’s comment, but could not dispute it. It was a good reminder, he supposed. Why should he be bothered by his wife not accompanying him to London for a pair of days? They were not meant to be lovesick fools.

  “Why don’t you let me select a couple of suitable mounts? I’ll bring them out to you myself,” Brydges suggested.

  “I’d appreciate that.” It wasn’t a half-bad idea. John would need something to entertain himself while the ladies worried about dresses and dances and whatever else they should worry about.

  “What’s this?” a graveled voice barked at them from across the room and both men turned.

  John grimaced. He remembered well enough that Felix Pentwater was not particularly good company sober. He was even worse drunk, especially when one considered the likely damage to one’s hearing.

  “Didn’t expect to see you in London so soon after the wedding. Tired of her already, are you?” Pentwater released a hearty laugh at his own humor.

  John scowled darkly at him. “Not at all, Pentwater. I’m here out of necessity—to meet a ship.”

  “Got some precious cargo coming in, have you?”

  “I do. My sister’s ship will dock in the morning.”

  That announcement brought Pentwater up short. “What’s that? Your sister? I didn’t think you had any sisters.”

  “You were misinformed.”

  Pentwater’s substantial frame swayed precariously with the strain of his thoughts. “Wait…wait… Yes, you did have a sister. The little one who died, right?”

  John’s jaw tightened. “I have one sister. She is very much alive.”

  Pentwater’s laughter was more of a gurgle as he slapped John on the shoulder. “Well, you’ll have to explain that one.”

  John itched to simply beat Pentwater to a pulp and have him tossed out of the club, but drunk as he was, the man was right. He would have to explain. Hadn’t Brydges asked him that afternoon how he planned to explain his sister without completely exposing his father for the bastard that he was?

  “There is no explanation. My sister has spent most of her life living abroad with relatives. She’s returning home now to live in England.”

  Pentwater leered at John, swaying as he did, then catching himself. “A bit odd, don’t you think, having a sister who shows up out of nowhere? How does anybody know she’s really your sister and not some woman you’ve collected while you’ve been off doing God knows what for four years?”

  Rage settled over John like a cloak, but before he could respond, Brydges stepped between them and threw his arm around the stout man’s shoulders.

  “Pentwater, you drunken fool, have you been reading ladies’ novels again?” Brydges steered the intoxicated ass back toward the room from which he’d come. “Where do you get these outlandish notions? I’ve known Worley’s sister for years. Lovely girl. She’ll be the toast of the town, I’d wager.”

  John took the moment to allow his fists to unclench and his boiling blood to slow to a simmer. “Thank you,” he said, when Brydges returned without Pentwater.

  Hugh tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat and straightened his jacket. “I left him at the card table. Should be an expensive punishment in his present condition.” He recovered his seat and peered at John. “Well, that was poor planning, I’d say.”

  “Pentwater’s a braying ass.”

  “Of course he’s an ass, because he said it to your face. You’re a duke, so no one else will, but they will think it behind your back.” Brydges recovered his glass and found it empty. He scowled at it and set it back down. “You need a better speech, man—quickly.”

  “I didn’t intend to talk about her yet.”

  “Then why did you?”

  “I don’t know. Don’t you think keeping her a secret implies there is something to hide? I thought the truth to be the better approach.”

  Brydges shook his head. “Next time you want to tell the truth, wait until you have a better lie to support it, will you?”

  John sighed heavily. “Any story I give will be questioned. They’re going to whisper about her no matter what I say.”

  Brydges didn’t dispute it. John knew Charlotte had no idea what she was getting into and she was a scandal before she even arrived.

  He wondered if he’d given his new duchess an impossible task.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Good morning, Emma.”

  Emma halted in the entryway to the breakfast room, surprised to find her husband already helping himself to a healthy serving of food from the sideboard. She’d had no word in the four days of his absence—no expectation of when he would return.

  “Good morning,” she said carefully. She continued into the room and slowly began filling a plate, determined to remain unaffected. “Did you arrive in the night?”

  “Yes, it was quite late. Charlotte was tired, but I wanted to push through.”

  She placed a small portion of ham on her plate. “It’s dangerous, travelling at such late hours.”

  “Is that wifely concern, my dear?” His words were teasing, but his tone was absent and he did not look at her.

  “Just common sense.” She added a boiled egg to her plate and seated herself at the table. She didn’t know why she was being so contrary. Why didn’t he wake her in the night to tell her he’d returned?

  Why would he? They may be husband and wife, and lovers by some definition, but it’s not as though they were in love, pining away for each other these past several days. She’d been very busy familiarizing herself with the house and the gardens, and arranging her new rooms, as well as seeing Charlotte’s room made ready. And dealing with Mr. Crawford, of course. That had been satisfying.

  “How is your sister?” she asked, with a new resolve to be amiable.

  “Fine. A bit tired, I suppose.”

  “Yes, I imagine she would be after her journey. May I presume it was uneventful?”

  “Yes, that appears to be the case. I arranged for her to travel with a respectable older couple from Boston, and it seems they got on just fine.”

  “How very overwhelmed she must be.” Emma herself had been surprised by the grandeur of Brantmoor. If Charlotte had been awake enough to take in any of it, she would surely have found it intimidating.

  “She is perhaps a little out of sorts. I expect she’ll do fine, however.” He smiled up at her. “She will have an excellent friend and guide in you.”

  Emma returned his smile with one that was equally pleasant and superficial. Was this the way of marriage, then? Were they to be amiable acquaintances, exchanging polite, meaningless conversation?

  “You’ll have much to do,” John added. “Charlotte has a great deal to learn. Beginning with her riding.”

  “She does not ride well?”

  “She does not ride at all.”

  Not at all? That circumstance hadn’t occurred to Emma. She’d have to arrange riding lessons in addition to the dress fittings, dance lessons, and discussions of general comportment she’d already planned for Charlotte. Poor girl. Emma’s heart ached for her. How very frightened and insecure she must feel right now. Even making her way to breakfast in this immense house would be intimidating.

  “Did you offer to collect your sister at her room for breakfast?” she thought to ask.

  “I had something sent up so she could rest. I expect she’ll join us for dinner.”

  Emma wanted to shout at him to look at her—to meet her eyes. Where was the passionate man from their wedding night? She’d even welcome the debates of their first acquaintance over this indifference.

  “Did you plan to introduce us?” She couldn’t quite keep the sharp tone from her voice. The result, at least, was a direct look from her husband.

/>   “Of course. I thought this afternoon would be best.”

  “That would be fine.”

  “I mentioned Charlotte’s need to start riding. My friend Brydges will arrive today with new mounts for both of you.”

  “That wasn’t necessary. The gelding I’ve been riding is perfectly suitable.”

  “Nevertheless, you’ll have one for yourself. I have complete trust in Brydges’s selection. He’s a better judge of horseflesh than any man I’ve ever known.”

  Emma’s brow lifted. “Really? I didn’t realize he was so…gifted.” Perhaps his judgment of horses would prove more sound than his judgment of people.

  John’s expression as he studied her was odd, but she was coming to realize she should not attempt to predict his manner toward her, as it could change so dramatically from one moment to the next.

  “You may be assured he is,” John responded finally. “He’s built quite a name for himself with one of the most successful stud operations in England.”

  Hmmm. She supposed she could tolerate the man’s company for an afternoon if he came with a particularly magnificent horse. “Should I instruct Mrs. Dewhurst that there will be four for dinner?” she asked.

  “Yes. She should make up a room as well. He’s going to remain with us for a time to help me assess the stables.”

  Splendid. Now she and poor Charlotte would have to contend with an indifferent John and the insufferable Mr. Brydges.

  They should be a merry party indeed.

  * * *

  “I’ve sent Mrs. Dewhurst to bring Charlotte to join us,” John announced to Emma and Mr. Brydges when the three were gathered in the rear parlor that afternoon.

  “I am eager to make her acquaintance,” Mr. Brydges announced.

  Emma did rather like her new mount and so endeavored not to be annoyed by his mocking tone.

  “Where have you been all day, John? I thought you would come to see me?”

  All eyes rose at the intrusion.

  A slip of a girl, with hair as dark as her brother’s and eyes just as blue, marched into the room without pause or preamble.

  “Ah, Charlotte. Welcome.” John rose and crossed the room to take his sister’s arm. “Did you take the opportunity this afternoon to walk around the house?” he asked solicitously.

  Her pretty features bore a dreadful pout. “I’ve had no choice but to hide in my room all day. Each time I came out, all the servants kept peeping at me as though I’m some sort of ghoulish creature risen from the grave.” She put her hands on her hips as she challenged her brother. “When you told them I was coming, did you explain I am a living person and not a ghost?”

  John just smiled affectionately. “Come now, Charlotte. They’re naturally curious. Most of them were here when you and mother left. They’re just trying to match you with their memory of a three-year-old girl.”

  “Well, can you at least order them to stop staring?”

  John only smiled indulgently.

  Charlotte turned then, her gaze finally taking in Emma and Mr. Brydges. She glared.

  Emma supposed she was staring in as rude a manner as the staff at that moment, but how could she not? She had expected Charlotte to be overwhelmed, intimidated perhaps—certainly grateful. She hadn’t expected…this.

  “Shall I spin for you as well, so you may examine me? Have you never seen a poor, American relation before?”

  “I’ll admit I never have,” Mr. Brydges said from behind Emma. “Are they all this contrary?”

  John placed a protective hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Let’s not argue. Charlotte has been through a harrowing ordeal this past year.” He turned to face his sister.

  “Charlotte, I want you to meet two very important people. The smug one is my very good friend Mr. Brydges, who has brought you a lovely new horse and will henceforth keep his commentary to himself. And this lovely lady,” he said, leading Charlotte to stand in front of Emma, “is the Duchess of Worley. We were married one week past. She is now my wife and your sister.”

  Charlotte’s eyes grew round at her brother’s announcement.

  Emma cursed John’s misjudgment in not informing his sister of his marriage until this moment.

  Charlotte faced Emma with narrowed blue daggers that solidly established Emma as a nemesis of the first rank, then turned accusing eyes on her brother. “I cannot believe you would marry without telling me—before I even arrived.”

  “I am the duke now, Charlotte, and I have responsibilities. Having a wife to act as hostess will make it possible to launch you in society.” He took his sister’s hands and looked upon her with the indulgence of a parent as she pouted. “Things will be very different for you here. You have much to learn. Emma will help you through it better than I could.”

  Charlotte looked back at Emma with such warning and distrust, Emma nearly recoiled from the force of it. “If I’m such an inconvenience that I’m to be foisted off upon others, why did you bring me here?”

  Emma waited for John’s patience to expire, but he seemed to have unlimited stores where Charlotte was concerned.

  “You could never be an inconvenience, Charlotte,” he declared passionately. “You belong here. This is your home. I only mean that Emma will be able to help you with dresses and the like—those things that are better left to ladies.”

  From what they’d witnessed so far, Charlotte needed a good deal more than new dresses to become presentable, but Emma kept that opinion to herself. “I hope I can be helpful to you, Charlotte,” she said instead. “I know you’ve been through a difficult time.”

  “You don’t know anything about what I’ve been through. But I can tell you it’s enough to know I don’t need your help or anyone else’s.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared back at the lot of them.

  Was that so? Emma turned to her husband and waited, brow raised, for him to respond to this outburst.

  He did not.

  “Are these the kind of manners commonly displayed in Boston?” she asked then, still wide-eyed at her husband’s silence. Was he not even the least bit offended by Charlotte’s temper tantrum? Was this to be the kind of behavior he tolerated?

  John sighed. “Of course not.” He addressed Charlotte again. “Emma is here to help you. There is no reason to feel offended by her presence.”

  Was he concerned that Charlotte had been offended by the conversation?

  “I have no reason to be offended by anything you do.” Charlotte’s blue eyes flashed brightly as she faced Emma with a haughty lift of her chin. “I don’t even know you.”

  “Charlotte.” There was finally warning in John’s tone, but he said nothing further.

  Emma’s own chin rose, but she did not respond. She had no possible dignified response to give.

  Mr. Brydges, who had returned to lounging askew in his seat, peered at Charlotte. “You’re a pretty enough package on the outside. Too bad you’re so ugly underneath it.”

  “How dare you.”

  “Who are you to reprimand me?” she bit out, struggling against the grasp John held on her arm. “My brother and I are none of your business.”

  Mr. Brydges rose from his seat. His mocking disdain was replaced with a tight jaw and flashing eyes. “Your brother is my oldest friend and, therefore, very much my business. He’s made a great sacrifice for you. The least you could do is demonstrate a little appreciation.”

  “That’s enough, Brydges,” John barked, stepping forward.

  He loosened his grip on Charlotte as he spoke, and she snatched her arm from his hold. She put her fists on her hips and glared up at Mr. Brydges, as though she were too oblivious or too reckless to care that she was half his size.

  “Don’t try to tell me what my brother’s done for me the past four years. I saw it. I was with him.”

  “Four years? You think that’s all he sacrificed for you.” Brydges’s laugh was bitter. “Try forty years.”

  “You’re not even making sense. I don’t have to
listen to you.” She flung herself around to present her back to Mr. Brydges.

  Charlotte may have been too incensed to understand the subtle barb of the man’s comments, but it pricked Emma without any difficulty at all. He referred not to the prior four years, but the next forty married to Emma as John’s martyrdom.

  John stepped between his sister and Mr. Brydges. “I said that’s enough,” he thundered. The two men stared in silent challenge before John spoke again, much more quietly. “Tread lightly, Brydges. These ladies are my sister and my wife. We are none of us enemies here.”

  Charlotte spun around to face them again, her indignant expression turning suspicious. “You’re saying John married entirely for my sake?”

  Wisely, Mr. Brydges did not confirm Charlotte’s belated conclusion. “I still believe you owe an apology to your brother, Lady Charlotte, and his new wife as well.”

  Emma rather thought Mr. Brydges had a few apologies to be distributed but did not share that. “I do not require any apologies from anyone,” Emma declared instead. “Perhaps we are all travel weary and would do better to dine in our rooms this evening.” She could not imagine the misery that dinner together would be. “We can all start anew in the morning.”

  John flashed her a tremulous smile. “Yes. A wise suggestion.”

  Emma nodded. “I shall inform Mrs. Dewhurst.”

  “Why would I owe her an apology?” Charlotte posed the question to Mr. Brydges, ignoring the discussion regarding dinner.

  “Because if you hope to appear anything other than a fool in London,” Mr. Brydges said, enunciating purposefully, “you’d do better to make her an ally than an enemy. Acting the spoiled brat and engaging in childish tantrums will get you nowhere.”

  “Damn it, Brydges,” John hollered.

  “How dare you speak to me that way?” Charlotte puffed to her full height, which was still considerably below that of Mr. Brydges. “You forget yourself. I am Lady Charlotte Brantwood, daughter of a duke. You, sir, are the just the man who sold me a horse.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched from the room.