“I see,” Charity mused.
They stood in silence for a long while as he waited for her to agree with his reason. He did not so much as take her hand. She felt it was the strangest marriage proposal ever.
“But you are not in love with me. Do you not wish to find someone you could love?” she said softly.
“Are you in love with me?”
“I do not feel as I imagined I would in love,” she admitted.
“Neither do I,” Michael said.
She looked down at the fan in her hand, and realized that she was not nervous. She was nearly as cool and collected as Michael himself. “Michael,” she said. “I also thought I could find love with you; perhaps hoped I could.” She looked up at him then. She owed him that. She faced him completely as she said the words. “I cannot marry you. I think I only realize at this very moment, that to marry without love, is a mistake, a mistake for both of us.”
Charity watched a look of relief cross his face. For the first time she saw a side of Michael that revealed that he did care more than he let on. He did wish to find love for himself.
“I do not think that we would grow to love each other in the way that we would wish,” she said. “While I admire you, and rest assured that I mean no insult to your person, I do not think that our match would be full of happiness. I cannot agree to a union that makes sense in the head, but not in the heart.”
Michael nodded. He had been rebuffed and that must have hurt his ego, but he did not seem terribly upset by her refusal.
“I shall always consider you as a dear friend,” she caught his hand and smiled up into his brown eyes. “I am sorry, I cannot consider anything more. I am sorry. I led you to believe there could be more between us.”
Michael nodded. Still he had not spoken, so Charity placed her hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead her back up the path where they were soon joined by a frantic James and Flora.
“We have been looking everywhere for you two!” Flora cried. “We had thought you lost.”
“We were just up the way,” Charity gestured down the overgrown trail. Many a walker would have missed it for it blended well with its surroundings. Charity was aware that it would be the perfect spot for a pair of lovers to disappear without causing suspicion.
James and Flora grinned for the remainder of the walk. Charity wished to inform them that no agreement had been struck, but she could not do so without injuring her companion’s pride. The lovers assumed that they knew what had occurred and looked forward to the announcement.
~.~
Chapter Twenty
When Charity returned to her home that afternoon, her mother too seemed to expect a whispered confirmation. When she received none, Lady Shalace was distraught. Charity finally told her mother the outcome of the conversation. She could make no explanation for her refusal, other than that she did not love the gentleman. Lady Shalace would not be consoled and retired to her room without her evening meal. Charity could hear her mumbled cries about her spinster daughter echoing through the halls. Finally, she went to her mother’s room.
“I do not know why you are so upset,” she said. “After all, Michael Poppy is no particular catch. You said that yourself not a month ago.”
“That was before you rejected every suitor out of hand.”
“I have not,” Charity said, but as her mother began listing names, she realized that her mother was right. She had rejected quite a number of suitors. That was because a part of her was still hoping that Lord Wentwell would answer her letter. She knew it would not be so, but still, she dreamed of green eyes and strong hands helping her to alight into a carriage, while he promised that he would find her father. She dreamed of a man who would put everything aside for her, a man who made her heart beat fast and spoke to her as a person, not a contrivance, or a business deal. She realized that when Michael was squeezing out his bland proposal. He was everything Lord Wentwell was not, but Lord Wentwell didn’t even want to see her or even speak to her. The thought made her want to cry.
It did not help that her mother was scolding her. “You are ruining your future, Charity. Eventually the gentlemen will realize that you will have none of them. Especially, now that you have broken poor Michael Poppy’s heart. Word will spread.”
“I have not broken his heart.”
“I do not understand why you have rejected him, Charity. Just a few weeks ago, you were telling me why the Poppys were perfect, and now you are back to playing games.”
“You should know about games, Mother,” she snapped feeling annoyed.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her mother demanded.
“I am not playing games,” Charity said, sighing as she thought of Lord Wentwell, saying, it’s all a game isn’t it? The thought put her completely out of sorts.
“I am not,” Charity repeated. “I am the one who wants an honest relationship. How can I find honesty if everyone is wearing a mask?” Charity complained. “You most of all, Mother.”
“Charity, that’s enough.”
“It’s true.”
“Charity, I don’t know what to do with you. Do you even want to get married?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why would you reject Michael Poppy when just a fortnight ago, you were telling me why I should consider him?”
“I don’t love him, Mother.”
“Then we are back to the beginning,” Lady Shalace said. “You need to…”
“No!” Charity shouted. She wanted to put her hands over her ears. She could not hear one more direction, one more reason why she was a failure. “No. Just stop. I cannot. I cannot do this anymore. I can’t be what you want me to be.” Charity burst into tears, feeling like she would never measure up, not as a daughter or as a wife. “I will always be a disappointment to everyone,” she said as left her Mother’s room for her own. She threw herself across the bed and unmindful of the disorder she was making of her dress. She cried until her face was a blotchy mess, and she did not care one whit.
~.~
When Lady Charity had cried herself out, she stood and washed her face. She did not know what to say to her mother. She was such a disappointment to her. She was a disappointment to everyone, most of all herself. She decided that she would go and visit with her father. Even if he had no advice for her, it was comforting to sit with him. Perhaps she would read to him. She knew he was going to take the waters later in the day, but she hoped that he would feel well enough to talk for a while.
She wanted to speak with him about her suitors since she could not see eye to eye with her mother. She fixed his blankets and fluffed his pillow and then sat beside him. First she told him about Michael Poppy’s proposal and why she had to reject him, and she began to tell him about her feelings for Lord Wentwell, but he interrupted her, sharply. “I don’t care about your dross, woman.”
The statement struck to her heart. “Do you remember me?” she asked plaintively.
“Of course,” her father said brightly. “You are the young lady who comes every day to read to me.”
She sighed, and her breath shook with pain. “Father, it’s me, Charity,” she said. “Your daughter.”
“Of course,” he replied, but she wasn’t sure he actually knew who she was. In a moment he demanded, “Girl, read me the Times.”
“Father,” she persisted. She needed him to know her. She needed her father. “Please, Father, I am your daughter. I am Charity.”
“You are not!” he said. “You only think yourself above your station, and if you continue in such a manner, you will find yourself in want of a job. Do you understand me, girl?”
Charity blinked back the tears. “I understand, sir,” she said.
“Now read the bloody paper or get out.”
She wanted to run, but she stayed. Her lip quivered a little as she began to read to him, but after a few moments she got control of herself. It did not matter that he did not know her. She knew that he was her father. She read to him
until his man came to get him ready to go and drink the medicinal water. She hoped it helped him.
Saddened and frustrated, Charity came back to her room, after her father left for the waters. Jean did not try to talk to her. She just brushed her hair until it shone and twisted it into a simple style. It was still hours before dinner and Charity was at loose ends. She decided to walk with Jean along the path to the shops.
“We will buy something beautiful,” she told Jean.
“As you wish, my lady.”
Her mother would be furious to be left behind, but Charity felt that Jean was chaperone enough, and she did not want her mother with her right now. It was a beautiful sunny day and she didn’t want to spend half of it waiting for her mother and the carriage to be readied and the other half fending off her mother’s barbs and trying to explain herself.
She looked at all the pretty baubles along the artist’s market, and thought to buy a piece or two to cheer herself. She found some exquisite hand painted combs. “Which one to you think, Jean?” she asked, and Jean shook her head. “They are both pretty,” her maid said.
Charity asked the seller to hold them because of course, she didn’t carry coin. She would send one of the servants back for them. “Wrap them both for me,” Charity had said, but neither of the lovely pieces made her feel better.
~.~
Chapter Twenty-One
As she was walking home, she imagined The Earl of Wentwell calling upon her. That would not happen. She had dressed him down. He had helped her with her father, but he had not really spoken to her socially since the quarrel. He had not responded to her letter, nor had he acknowledged her in public. She thought perhaps the reason he had not replied was her involvement with Michael, but that was ended now. What might she do about it? Would another letter be too forward? Jean had said that it was in protection of her own reputation that he had not replied, and that she should be thankful for the consideration. Still Charity just could not understand why he could speak with every other female, reputable or not, besides her.
She found herself on a familiar street, nearing a familiar townhouse. Lady Amelia Atherton would be staying there with her Aunt Ebba while she was in Bath. The thought gave Charity pause. “Shall we visit Lady Amelia?” she asked Jean, not really expecting Jean to be a naysayer.
But Jean hesitated. “It is rather irregular to do so without prior appointment.”
“But you would like to see your friends, wouldn’t you?” Charity asked. “Your sister is still her upstairs maid is she not?”
“She is,” Jean said.
Charity had not seen her friend since The Duke of Ely’s funeral and she had barely spoken to Lady Amelia since their argument so many months ago. First Charity had stubbornly felt she was right, and then after Amelia lost her father, it had felt strange to speak to her once good friend with all that lie between them. Charity realized she had jumped to conclusions then too. Was that what she did with The Earl of Wentwell? Had she spoken out in haste and anger when the man was undeserving of her ire? Was he a better person than she surmised? Charity did not know. She only knew she deeply regretted how she had chastised Amelia and she wanted to fix something. She wanted to make something right.
She had alienated her friend several months ago with her sharp words, and although Amelia had been just as sharp, Charity felt the need to speak with her. The sad occasion of Amelia’s father’s funeral had not truly allowed them time to talk. It was instead a hollow empty occasion deemed necessary by society, but it was not the place for conversation. Anyway, Amelia had been devastated. Charity found herself wanting the easy comradery that she had once had with the duke’s daughter.
Perhaps it was her own father’s condition that made her feel the closeness with Lady Amelia. The Earl of Shalace was at times as lost to Charity as Amelia’s father was to her. So it was with sudden determination she stepped up in front of the townhouse. She knew it was gauche to call without first sending word, but Charity felt strangely compelled. She marched up to the door, and ignoring Jean’s protests, knocked like a commoner. Her mother would have been upset to know Charity had done so. She did not care.
Lady Amelia was perhaps the only person who could understand her relationship with her father, since Amelia had been close to her own father. Perhaps speaking to Amelia would bring her peace. At the very least, Charity could mend the rift that was between them. That she could do.
The butler opened the door, and invited her into the townhouse. The first moment Charity saw Amelia she knew the girl would understand. She stood for moment in the foyer with Jean and when the butler went to inform Lady Amelia who was waiting, her friend did not even wait for the butler to announce her. Amelia came rushing to greet her in the foyer. She was clothed in a pale gray dress of half mourning. Amelia smiled and welcomed her friend with open arms, as if they had not quarreled at all and Charity went to her and returned her embrace to give solace as much as accept it.
“I am sorry to come unannounced. I hope your Aunt Ebba will not mind.”
“She will not,” Amelia said. “She has taken Phillip to the park.”
“It is good to see you, Charity,” Amelia said.
“And you, Amelia. How are you?” She stood at arm’s length holding her hands.
“I have been well.”
“I mean, since your father’s death. Oh Amelia, I cannot even imagine.” Charity squeezed her friend’s hands, feeling tears well in her own eyes, not for Amelia’s father, but for her own. “He was such a pillar. How do you go on?”
Amelia sighed and moved from the foyer. “Come, and sit,” she said leading the way to Aunt Ebba’s morning room. Amelia called for tea, and smoothed her dress before she spoke. “It has been difficult since father’s death, but Aunt Ebba is a tower of strength and of course, Commander Beresford.”
“Patience wrote to me of your engagement. I could hardly believe my ears, and then the rumors of your uncle were just horrible. I told Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Sullivan what Patience had writ. I hope I did well for you.
“You did,” Amelia agreed. “You were a great help to me even though you may not have known it.
“You have my congratulations on your engagement,” Charity said. “How soon will you marry?”
Although she was interested in Amelia’s wedding plans, Charity felt she had trapped herself in small talk. She had been full of purpose when she marched up to the knock upon the door, and now it was so difficult to say what she came to say.
“Less than a seenight now. It has been hard to wait, but of course, it would be the height of impropriety to marry sooner than a year. I would not so dishonor father’s memory.”
At the mention of Amelia’s father, Charity thought of her own and felt another pang of sadness. Amelia gave her a long look before she continued. “Still, I doubt you came to speak to me after all this time merely to congratulate me on my engagement.”
Amelia had the truth of the matter.
“No,” Charity admitted gathering her courage. “That is not the only reason. I came to apologize and if I am able, mend the friendship we once held between us. I misjudged you, Amelia. I spoke out of turn and now those words cannot be swallowed again. I seem to do that quite often.” She finished, thinking of Lord Wentwell and the disparaging words she had thrown at him.
“Oh, I know,” Amelia said with a sad smile.
“You know?”
“I do not fault you for it,” Amelia said. “You are just quick to anger, but you are also kind and generous to a fault.”
“I am sorry, Amelia. I did not think.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Amelia laughed. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, but that is why I love you so. You are bright bit of sunshine, surprising a dull day.”
“It is surely not dull,” Charity said, but she understood. Amelia was still wearing mourning. All the days had lost some of their brightness.
The footman brought the tea, and Amelia addressed him. “Please take the servi
ce to the garden,” she said, and the footman bowed slightly with the tea set. “We’ve decided to enjoy the weather.”
“Right away, my lady,” he said, and left them to their privacy.
“Let us take our tea in the garden,” Amelia said. “We may not have many more clear days in the summer. We should enjoy the sunshine while we can.”
“I do not want to dredge up old hurts,” Charity said as they walked from the house. “But I must. I think I was jealous. You had the love of the Ton and were so effortlessly beautiful.”
“Effortless? You jest,” Amelia protested, but Charity continued undaunted.
“Mostly,” Charity whispered, “You had your father, and mine was…” she swallowed heavily, the words catching in her throat. “My father is dying bit by bit.”
Amelia said nothing. She just turned and hugged her friend. They stood that way for a long moment in the archway of roses which led to Ebba’s spectacular garden. “I am so sorry, Amelia,” Charity said.
“All is forgiven, Charity. Long ago forgiven,” Amelia said. The girls walked along the garden path behind the townhouse, and it was as it once was when they were younger. All of the anger between them fell away. Charity confided to Amelia about losing her father at the concert and of Lord Wentwell gallantly returning him to her.
“At least you have found him again, Charity. Perhaps with care he will recover.”
Charity shook her head. “You know these thing do not get better. They get worse. You lost your father quickly. I am losing mine slowly. Every day he slips farther away,” Charity whispered. “I cannot bear it.” Soon tears were streaming down both of their faces.
The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel Page 18