A Passionate Endeavor
Page 16
“I would never tolerate any ill-behavior toward my wife. But, forewarned is forearmed. And we will only stay as long as my father desires me to remain near him, and to watch over the beginnings of some agriculture and industry I have approved on my holdings.”
Charlotte’s curiosity was piqued.
Nicholas told her about the adjacent land his maternal grandparents had deeded to him and his projects. “While in London, I hired a man, who is very knowledgeable about the brewing process. Mr. Gunter helped to select a few key items and made arrangements for possible future distribution points.”
After listening to all his other plans, she replied, “Oh, this will mean so much to the Roberts family and so many like them.”
“The land was going to waste. It was very easy to help these poor people.”
“Don’t belittle your efforts. It will mean the difference between slow starvation and a much better life for the few who are involved,” she said with spirit. “And if you do import the sheep, even more will benefit. I cannot bear to see such poverty.”
“By opening some of the acres I own for common land, it will also help ease this problem, I hope,” he replied. “I only wish my father was here to see the good effects this will cause.”
He squeezed her hand, his gaze warm and sincere. “I am so sorry, Charlotte. He was the best of men. I felt honored to know him.”
He had said exactly the right thing, unlike so many others who had tried to console her. He was tugging at her chin. Charlotte raised her head to face the deep green intensity of his heavy-lidded eyes and prayed he would never know how much her love for him consumed her. She would never allow him to feel the heavy weight of her unrequited love. But his gaze moved to her lips, and she closed her eyes, hoping he would kiss her.
Warm lips touched hers, enveloping her in a sea of passion. She dared not breathe. He opened his mouth and his tongue reached past her lips. She curled her tongue against his and felt a spiraling sensation leap between her legs.
He would consummate the marriage. If only that one time, she would know him fully. And he would be part of her and she would be able to hold that memory with her for all time. She would have to make it enough. And perhaps if she was lucky, very lucky indeed, a force that had evaded her throughout her life, her wedding night might give her a child. And she would have a chance at reciprocated love.
She wished it would happen with Nicholas. She wanted him with every ounce of her being. Her arms had somehow found their way up around his immense shoulders, and she felt his warm hands caressing her waist.
He broke off the kiss. “Perhaps I should be on my way. I know you have much to do. Will you and your brother accept an invitation to dine with my family tonight?” he asked. “I will inform them all of our intentions before then.”
Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment. “I suppose it would be best to face them all at once. Although I fear the effect the news will have on your father. If he is very angry, perhaps it would be better for me to put an end to any bedside nursing. I could give Doro the tisanes and some instructions.”
“Let us take it one step at a time. This has all been very overwhelming for you. Let us say no more until tonight.”
“As you wish,” she replied.
He bent down and kissed her forehead one last time before releasing her.
Chapter Thirteen
“If a woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to “Yes,” she ought to say “No” directly. It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a heart.”
—Emma
WALKING back to the abbey, Nicholas wondered if he had done the right and proper thing. It was clear that Charlotte did not really want to marry him. If the doctor had not died, Nicholas would be planning his departure as soon as his own father and brewery venture would allow. He would have probably never seen her again. She had only agreed to marry him because he had used every logical argument to force the agreement.
She had blanched when he had mentioned consummating the marriage. And he would not soon forget her wistful questions: “I would be free to live my life however I choose? Perhaps consummation would not be required?” At least he had not had to face the embarrassment of explaining that he and his family had decided long ago that the risk of any of Nicholas’s progeny inheriting his great failing was too large a risk for the successful continuation of the dukedom.
She had wanted to make sure that a coupling would only have to occur once in their marriage. It would be as she had suggested, a marriage of mutual respect such as one held for a dear distant relative. That would have to be enough for him
And she would be safe from harm, never dependent on the whim of an employer. Perhaps in time she would grow to admire the set of skills he possessed: his organizational capabilities, his cool head under fire, the loyalty he could inspire in his men, and his willingness to give of himself.
But as his father had warned him, he would never try to live up to the high set of intellectual standards she would expect in a man she could truly respect and love, for it was an impossible task that he was sure to fail.
He had yet to attempt to tackle his greatest difficulty: the task of figuring numbers on paper. He had always had the capacity to calculate long sums in his head, just as he had been adept at music. He had confounded Rosamunde’s music teacher and his stepmother by his ability to perfectly execute memorized piano concertos. Her Grace had been horrified and had denied him access to the music room, saying the playing of instruments was reserved for young, unwed ladies.
That was when he had realized that he must leave the abbey; he would never be of any value to his family. But with perseverance he had regained his self-worth through servitude to the Crown.
Nicholas was on the precipice of wishing he could alter his fate. She would be worth it. Her love would be worth it.
The consecutive private interviews she had faced with the two male relatives in her life proved more trying than expected. First Charlotte had had to endure the exuberant well wishes of her overjoyed brother, who believed that it was a love match on both sides. Then she had had to withstand the cynical musings of Alexandre, who had dissected her betrothed.
“Ah Charlotte, it is a shame that he is a cripple both mentally and well, perhaps less so, physically. You deserve a `whole man,’ not someone you will have to nurse and read to your entire life. But I suppose his title and his gold will go a long way in erasing his faults,” Alexandre had said, after receiving the news.
She was infuriated. “That is most unfair. You know he is as fit as you or James. And as for—”
“Did his injury affect his ability to sire…” He waved his hand loftily in the air, allowing her to guess his vulgar question.
“Why, of course not. But I have not had firsthand—oh, you are just teasing me now, I know your tricks,” she said in annoyance.
“Well, I suppose if I cannot have you…”
“You never wanted me, monvieux.”
“You burst the illusion so heartlessly, my love.”
“It is easy. It is too bad the ladies at the abbey are not so well-used to your illusions,” she said, with a knowing smile.
“But then it would not be nearly so amusing. The petite Lady Susan, is she not deliciously delicate and feminine? Albeit not a trace of intelligence in her attic,” he said, with a sly smile. “Unlike you, my little bluestocking cousine. It is really too bad your father was not the miser I made him out to be. I was so sure.… We could have returned to Paris and cut quite a dash, as the English say.”
“Yes, well perhaps for a week or so. Then you would have found une petite amie to try your charms on, and I would have become a shrew.”
“My dear Charlotte, you think me very fickle,” he said with a grin. “Do you think it would be de trop to continue to bed Lady Susan’s delightful maid if I many Lady Susan and her divine ten thousand a year?”
“I see how it will be. No joy in your marriage, only duty and honor. How very English and boring. I would expire within a week’s time. Ma cousine, I wish you joy, but do not expect my attentions to change toward you just because you have altered the rules somewhat. In my experience, married ladies are adventuresome and quite enchanting!”
Charlotte sighed. Alexandre used his flirtatious charm to hide the genuine familial bond he had finally developed for her since arriving in Wiltshire. At least his verbal jousting had forced her to sharpen the meager amount of wit she possessed. It was a tool she would need to survive the ordeal of facing the frosty overtures of the duke’s family.
“Well I see you have not lost all notions of propriety, Miss Kittridge,” said Her Grace, halfway through dinner that evening. She had not condescended to say one word to Charlotte before then. The duchess had refused to meet her gaze, and had given the briefest nod when she and her brother had appeared at the abbey. “I suppose we should have a mourning dress or two made up for you so you do not have to continue to wear Rosamunde’s.”
Charlotte would not rise to the bait. “That will be unnecessary, Your Grace. I ordered several a few days ago.”
“Well, I for one find this hasty marriage business more than a little awkward. It is unheard of to marry in blacks. Not that I was consulted. People will talk. I don’t understand why this cannot be put off until the proper mourning period has passed. At least a year. Indeed, I do not see why it should take place at all.”
A long, awkward silence enveloped the room. Lady Susan drew all attention her way with the sound of a loud sniff and a haughty tilt of her nose.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “I am sure, madam, that you are not intentional in your insults. However, let me assure you that I will not allow my betrothed to suffer any abuse. Miss Kittridge and her family have been nothing but beneficial to us. I suggest you remember that on all future occasions. She has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife, and as such I will insist that she be accorded the respect due her position.”
“Well, of all the—” replied Her Grace before halting when faced with the steel of Nicholas’s gaze.
Stone-cold silence invaded the room. Only the clacking of silverware could be heard. Charlotte forced herself to continue taking small bites of food that tasted like sawdust.
Only Rosamunde was capable of maintaining the facade of gentility. “Will you remove from the cottage, Charlotte? There is a lovely bedchamber next to my own in the south tower.”
Charlotte’s gaze darted to Her Grace, who was biting her tongue in anger. “No, I think not. At least not until after my brother departs for London. I must sort through all of my father’s papers and books. Lord Huntington has been kind enough to suggest that I store the books and such in the Duke’s great library,” she said, before continuing, “And it will be easier to see those who stop by for the occasional complaint or two between my visits to your father and other patients.”
“Do you intend to continue to practice your nursing skills when you are the future Duchess of Cavendish, my dear?” Lord Edwin asked in a mocking tone. “How utterly charming and provincial.”
“I see nothing wrong with helping the less fortunate, my lord,” she replied.
“Yes, but Miss Kittridge, you might bring some horrid disease to the abbey. We can’t have that, especially when His Grace lies so ill. And we do have a respected apothecary in the village,” said the duchess.
“I understand your concerns. However, my father and I tended the infirm throughout our stay in Wiltshire, and no one expressed any concern until now. I fail to see what has changed. Although I am sure the apothecary will be frequented much more now, despite his ill care of His Grace.”
Charlotte glanced at Nicholas, who gave her a small smile of encouragement.
“I would be delighted to help you in any way, Miss Kittridge,” said the vicar. “I for one am most impressed with your good deeds in the face of your devastating loss.”
“Oh, please do not offer me compliments. They are unjustified. Really, I do not think I have had a moment to comprehend what has happened,” Charlotte said in a low voice.
“My dear, we are very sorry for your loss,” the Dowager Duchess of Cavendish said. “I fear we will never be able to find another physician as competent as your father. We are lucky to have you still willing to nurse my son.”
The Dowager Countess Elltrope made a disgruntled noise. “Well, I still say my Susan would have made a dedicated nurse to the duke as well.”
The dowager duchess snorted.
Alexandre stepped into the fray. “What? My delicate flower—Lady Susan exposed to the dangers of the sickroom? I think it would be most unwise. Her sensibilities would be overpowered.”
“Thank you, sir, for understanding my wilting Feminine Nature, although I am sure I could match Miss Kittridge’s abilities if I was ever to Heed the Calling,” replied Lady Susan haughtily.
“My dear, perhaps it would be better for you and your grandmother to consider departing our little family gathering. We would be sad to lose your delightful presence, but I would not want to compromise your sensibilities and your delicate health,” said the dowager duchess, with a comical mixture of false sadness and ill-concealed triumph. “Really, the duke’s illness and now Dr. Kittridge’s sudden demise must surely have left you feeling unsettled in the extreme. We would understand if you must cut your visit short.”
The elderly Hortense Elltrope easily trumped her hand. “But my dearest friend, we could not leave you in your hour of sisterly need, and besides, I daresay the extensive renovations we have ordered on the country estate are not complete. I fear we must trespass on your hospitality a bit longer, Margarita,” she said, directing a simpering smile to the vicar.
If Charlotte had not been feeling so vulnerable to every person’s speculations, she surely would have found the exchange amusing. As it was, she was amazed to watch Lord Edwin vying with Alexandre for Lady Susan’s favors as feverishly as the two matrons fought over the patient vicar. And glad she was to have the attention of almost everyone move to other corners.
James and Rosamunde continued to glance in each other’s direction. Louisa Nichols tried unsuccessfully to garner a few compliments from Lord Edwin and Alexandre, while Lady Susan preened and pouted.
Charlotte felt the weight of the duchess’s disapproving stare and Nicholas’s gaze in her direction throughout the rest of the lavish meal. She would count the days until she could leave these argumentative and frequently unkind personalities. She was only song to leave Rosamunde and perhaps even the Dowager Duchess of Cavendish, who had offered a kind word or two when she could be torn away from the fray.
All in all, the idea of her union with Nicholas had gone over as well as could be expected. And at least no one had thought to bring up the embarrassing topic of possible children the union might bring. She would not have been able to hide her sadness. Without a doubt, the duchess would place infertility at the top of her list of requests—or demands—to God in her evening prayers. Little did Her Grace realize that her prayers were unnecessary.
She kept putting off the date of their nuptials. Nicholas wondered if he would have to bundle her up and force her to face the vicar. He rested on a log, taking a brief respite from helping to finish building the brewery’s sluice gatehouse. How many more days could he stand the delay of the marriage?
The commission was in her brother’s eager hands, and he was panting to be off. And Nicholas very much wanted to accomplish the deed before his poor father departed this earth, and he feared the end was near. For the last three weeks he h
ad had to withstand his stepmother’s insistence that the news of his engagement had led to the current spiral downward. He had refused to listen to any of it.
And now the brewery was well on its way to completion. The ponds had been dug, the buildings almost completed, and the barley planted. The expert from Prussia had proved his weight in gold. Mr. Gunter had spent hours teaching the ragged group from the countryside all there was to know about his trade. The man had even gathered orders from several neighboring counties, and he had agreed to stay on through the first several batches.
In the upper areas, more and more neighbors were beginning to use the fields and pastures Nicholas had declared common land. The laborers and tenant farmers did not know it yet, but he had also arranged for the purchase of twelve milk cows for the most needy families.
Those animals would not be the first to munch their fill of the verdant pastures. Already, old Silas had brought in the first small flock of prize sheep he had been sent to purchase in Lancashire. Altogether, three shepherds would be required to oversee the flock once it filled out. Rough enclosures were planned to provide protection for the prime animals.
Edwin had been furious, calling Nicholas all kinds of unchivalrous names for not using his funds to support the ducal lands. Edwin had pulled out the ledgers, indicating every reason why the estate could better use his monies. Nicholas had listened patiently and promised to consider the dire situation. The steward had coughed once and asked who would be overseeing the enterprises once his lordship returned to the military life. Nicholas had a growing unease with Wyndhurst’s steward, despite Edwin’s assurances of the man’s past successes. Mr. Coburn had shaken his head when Nicholas had mentioned Owen Roberts’s name.