The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel

by Isabella Thorne

  “You will bear it because you must,” Amelia said. “Though it hurts just the same.” Both girls walked along the path and sniffed, patting corner of their eyes with matching handkerchiefs. “But remember, your friends are here for you: me and Patience most especially.”

  “Are you truly?”

  “I am,” Amelia promised.

  “But you are the only one of my closest friends still unmarried and not for very much longer. You have chosen Command Beresford…” Charity said, forcibly squashing the pang of jealously that rose in her breast.

  She and Amelia sat the garden table, and Amelia reached for the teapot to pour. “I suppose I did choose him,” Amelia said with a faraway look, “but he is nothing that I thought I would have chosen. He has no title, no money to speak of, and he is not polished or suave, but in the end I found I was in love with him, and that has made all the difference.”

  “I never would have thought of him, Amelia. He always appeared to be such a …scoundrel,” Charity finished with a wan smile. She put her attention on her tea, stirring in the cream and sugar.

  “Perhaps he is,” Amelia said unoffended, “but perhaps he is my scoundrel, and I love him nonetheless.” Charity could see the sincerity in her friend’s face. She did indeed love the commander. Charity turned away, suddenly filled with sorrow. How would she ever find her own love?

  Amelia who was ever more perceptive than others thought, caught Charity’s hand across the table. “Oh, Charity, you will find your true love. I know you will. Do not fret,”

  “No. You know me too well, Amelia I have myself in a state.”

  Amelia passed a plate of cinnamon cakes and Charity took one.

  “Over Michael Poppy?” Amelia asked.

  Charity nodded. “I have refused him.” She sat poking her cinnamon cake with a fork until it was quite demolished. “Oh Amelia, my mother threatens that if I don’t marry soon, I will be a spinster. I am not cut out to be a spinster.”

  “Of course you aren’t,” Amelia said.

  Charity continued to worry the cinnamon cake. “I do not want to be an old maid, but I cannot see my way clear. I do not want to be alone, and I fear I have led Michael on.” She paused and looked up at Amelia. “I supposed, the Poppys are much what I thought I would have with The Duke of Ely.”

  “However so?” Amelia asked tipping her nose just a bit into the air, at having her Father compared to the Poppys.

  Charity put the fork aside and picked up her tea. She sipped it thoughtfully. “I mean the Poppys are not wealthy and have no titles, but they have a wonderful family that I would love to be a part of, much like I once hoped to be a part of your family, Amelia. We could have been like sisters if things had been different.”

  “If things had been different,” Amelia agreed. “Truly, but you will always be my friend, Charity. We cannot choose our family but our friends are always our choice.”

  “You say you are my friend, and I believe you, but it is so different now. Now that everyone is married, except you, Amelia, and you will soon be married. Oh what am I to do? I cannot be alone, Amelia. It terrifies me. I cannot be the maiden aunt. I have no brothers or sisters. I will be the poor relation in my cousin’s household and I cannot be a governess. I t would not suit me at all. You know my mother and I barely ever see eye to eye. Can you imagine us sharing an apartment in my cousin’s house?

  “Then it is important that you marry,” Amelia said softly.

  Charity shook her head.

  “I know it is hard,” Amelia said. “Believe me. I know, but a woman alone in the world, even a daughter of a peer, is still a woman alone.”

  “There is no one,” Charity said.

  “What of the Lord Wentwell. You mentioned he aided you at the concert. He is rich, titled…You always said you would not marry a pauper. He certainly is not.”

  “He is a rogue,” Charity said with disparity. She picked up the fork again, and put it down.

  “So I have heard,” Amelia said. “But a handsome rogue, if a bit slight for my tastes, and somewhat of a dandy if I understand.”

  “He is not a dandy,” Charity interrupted. “And not everyone judges a man by how many stone he weighs nor how strong he is. Just because Samuel Beresford is a behemoth does not mean everyone thinks such a large man is handsome.”

  “So you do think Wentwell is handsome,” Amelia said.

  “I admitted no such thing,” Charity said. “He is a cad and a reprobate. Despite her harsh words, Wentwell knew the truth of her father’s illness and had kept his own council. Disregarding their quarrel, he had come to her aid at the concert. He had not even accepted thanks for the deed. Instead, her mother had further reprimanded him. Charity reminded herself that despite his kind action the man could not be a gentleman and have thrown over Miss Danbury.

  “Lord Wentwell has ruined Miss Danbury,” Charity said, her anger at the man reigniting. “Then once he achieved his ends, he cast her aside.”

  “Those are heavy claims to lay at his feet.”

  “All the Ton knows it,” Charity said as she sipped her tea.

  “As they knew the truth of my father?” Amelia asked.

  That gave Charity pause.

  Amelia sighed. “Ruined or no, why are you so distressed over the state of Miss Danbury? It is regrettable yes, but you seem to take Lord Wentwell’s supposed involvement as a personal affront. My dear Charity, one might think you were jealous of the man’s attentions.”

  “Jealous!” Charity scoffed. “Hardly. I am relieved at any distance I can manage,” she said more for herself than Amelia. “I am merely angered at his audacity.”

  Amelia gave her a slow, pointed look and Charity quailed under her friend’s knowing gaze and she picked up her now empty cup to hold because it gave her something to do.

  “Perhaps I have developed a poor habit,” Charity admitted with a shamed expression. “But it is not what you might think.”

  “Oh?” Amelia replied.

  ”I only meant that I should not allow his misdeeds to plague me so, or allow myself to wish that he might be better.”

  “Do you wish him better?’ Lady Amelia did not seem surprised by her friend’s words.

  Charity hoped that Amelia might mistake her blush for the effect of the heat of the day. If Lord Wentwell had been a different sort of character, then he had every other attribute that would draw Charity to him. However, his flaws could not be overlooked and so she would try not to imagine a different, more respectable version of the man.

  “I always wish the best of everybody, Amelia,” she replied “For his own sake, and Miss Danbury’s at the very least.” Charity sat her cup on the table with an unladylike clink in her saucer. “If Lord Wentwell had any gentlemanly feeling, he would right the wrong and offer for Miss Danbury.” The words dropped into Charity’s heart like blocks of ice.

  “But then he would be lost to you,” Amelia said softly.

  Charity balled the napkin up in her lap. And there was the rub. Charity realized with a start that she was jealous of Miss Danbury, not of her position, obviously, but of the idea of her as first in Lord Wentwell’s affections. That another woman may have enjoyed the full effect of his wit, his smile, his burning green gaze, his kisses, his touch wounded her deeply. The kiss that Charity had so longed to take back in the streets of Bath taunted her, and she fairly burned in her seat, whether from anger or desire, she did not know.

  “It matters not. I am looking for an honest man, and a kind one. I do not think Lord Wentwell is either.”

  Amelia took a sip of tea and eyed Charity over the cup. “I must admit, I barely know Lord Wentwell, but I remember Father said both he and his brother were in the war, as Wentwell’s own father before him. I know he has been The Earl of Wentwell since he was eight, and a peer has little censure. If he was going to sire a bastard, he would have had ample opportunity to do so, but as far as I know, as far as anyone knows, he has not. In fact despite his reputation before this business
with Miss Danbury, there was little that was said of him that would have caused true scandal, except that he was once engaged.” Amelia broke off with a frown.

  “Engaged,” Charity repeated wide eyed. “Did he breech the promise?”

  “I do not know the details, only that the wedding did not occur.” Amelia sat her cup in its saucer and paused thoughtfully. “Still, he is also good friends with Lord Barton. I think that speaks to his character.”

  “But if he is a rake,” Charity protested. “After what happened last year with Julia…”

  “Oh pish posh,” Amelia interrupted. “You are not Julia. You are not a shy little miss. You never were. So if you want Neville Collington, then you shall have him, rake or no.”

  The thought that she could have Lord Wentwell as her own made her heart soar, but the idea that he could love another broke that selfsame heart. That he could cast off her love without a thought, brought a pain that was sharper still, leaving Charity both envious and indignant on the lady’s behalf. That is if Miss Danbury truly was his lover, a small voice reminded her and Charity felt a flicker of hope.

  “How do you know me so well, Amelia? How did you know it was Lord Wentwell all along?”

  “Because James has always been more like a brother than a suitor, to you, and Michael would bore you to tears, and because I too know what it is to fight ardently against what is in your heart, when your heart already knows what it wants. You have been searching for the man you love, Charity. That man is right in front of you. It is Neville Collington.”

  Charity’s heart swelled in her chest. Amelia was right. She felt she may have loved Lord Wentwell from the first time she danced with him, without knowing it. She had been a fool. She desired honesty from a man, but she had not even been honest with herself. Instead, she realized she had jumped to conclusions again.

  “I have become used to judging him, and that is my error,” Charity admitted. “I am too quick to search for flaws and allow them to ruffle me. It is neither the practice of a lady nor of a charitable heart.”

  Oh, but if the rumors are false… Charity thought. “But Wentwell must hate me. He will never forgive me. I said such awful things, Amelia.”

  “I do not believe that is the case,” Amelia said, smiling at Charity. “It is easier than you think to forgive someone you care for deeply, no matter what may have been said.”

  “First,” Charity said, “I have to apologize to Lord Wentwell. Oh but how can I? Mother threw him out of the house, and forbade me to even speak to him.”

  “There is always a way,” Amelia said firmly. “I promise you we shall find it.”

  ~.~

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lord Wentwell had been uncharacteristically withdrawn for days. Reginald had warned him. The word was that Michael Poppy was going to make an offer for Lady Charity Abernathy’s hand. The pair had often been seen together, each time causing Neville a strange burst of jealousy that he could not contain and so he kept his distance.

  Why would she not marry Michael Poppy? He was respectable, smart, and the Poppy holdings had nearly doubled in the last ten years, thanks to their son’s effort. There was some talk about the Poppys now engaging in business, but there was no actual proof of it.

  Michael was on the fringe of the Ton, and of course, he was wanting in one way which a daughter of an earl would surely notice. He had no title. However, Lady Charity did not seem as upset by the lack of that feature as many of the other ladies that Lord Wentwell had encountered. Perhaps it was because she was in possession of her own wealth. Perhaps she loved the dull lout? Whatever it was, she spent quite a lot of time with Michael over the last few weeks.

  Reg said that even her mother approved, in all her prickly plotting. Save the formalities, it had seemed settled. The thought sent Neville into a fit of melancholy. It was true that as an earl and a gentleman, he had no need to hurry into matrimony, but the same was not true for ladies. If Lady Charity indeed married the Poppy sap, she would be lost to him. He tried to tell himself that it made no difference; that one woman was just the same as the next, but his heart would not agree.

  A knock on the door of his office brought Reg to visit. Neville signed the last of his notes and placed them on the corner of his desk for the servants to take out to post.

  “To what do I owe this visit?” he greeted his friend with a clap on the shoulder. “What mischief have you and your sister done?”

  Reginald laughed. “This is not about me,” he informed his friend.

  “Oh, heavens,” Neville groaned, “What have I done now? Tell me the new rumor.”

  “I still do not understand how you stomach it,” Reg shook his head. “Why do you allow the gossips to carry on so. You should just make it known that you are innocent of all their ridiculous claims.”

  Neville shrugged. He cared not what anyone thought of him save those in his closest circle. They knew the worth of his mettle. Nothing else mattered.

  “There are no rumors about you to report this day,” Reginald informed him.

  “Whom do the gossipmongers aim to destroy?” Neville asked.

  “Not destroy,” Reginald continued in his vague fashion. “I can also confirm from the source that it is no rumor, but truth.”

  “Out with it,” Neville said. “I have no use for your guessing games.”

  “I have news from my sister…”Reginald began. “Patience says…”

  Neville felt his heart stop. “I do not wish to hear it,” he replied.

  Reginald was aware that Lord Wentwell harbored some feeling for Lady Charity. Still Reg looked all too pleased with himself and Neville wondered why he would boast of Michael’s union when he knew it would bring his friend nothing but pain.

  “You shall hear it,” Reginald continued.

  Neville waited with his hands pressed flat against the writing desk. He had been preparing for this moment for several days now, yet he still did not feel ready to hear the words that it was official.

  “She refused him.” Reg stood rocking on his feet, his lapels held tight in his hands. A grin was on his face.

  Neville did not even hear for he was too lost in his own thought.

  “I assumed she would, Michael is a fine gentleman and will make an honorable husband,” Neville replied.

  “Are you daft?” Reg laughed. “Did you not hear my words? She refused him!” It was all that Neville could do to wait in silence for the explanation. “They parted on good terms. Both agreed that there was no depth of feeling there, and Charity was adamant that she should marry for love. She does not love Michael Poppy.”

  Lord Wentwell wanted to shout for joy, but he just shook his head. He had not expected such news and had no idea how to make sense of it. She had refused him? Why? He could not help but allow hope to bloom in his heart. If Lady Charity did not love Michael Poppy then perhaps she might have some feeling for him. Or, if not, then there might at least be a chance for him to convince her that he was worth her consideration.

  He swore in a low tone.

  “Are you not happy with the news?” Reginald asked.

  “Of course I am,” he replied. “It is only that I have spent so much time allowing myself to be spoken of as the type of man that the Lady Charity would never consider. Now I fear that I will be unable to prove myself worthy of her affections.”

  “You had best get to work then,” Reg said. “Charity will have many after her heart. There are many men, with better reputations than you, who will attempt to woo her.”

  “But not with a title, nor more coin,” Lord Wentwell said.

  “She cares nothing for money. She has never felt the loss of it, and I do not think she even cares for a title.”

  “Then what does she want?”

  “Love,” Reginald said. “She spoke long and with much depth on the subject to Lady Amelia Atherton, about her relationship with Samuel Beresford. And when she knew she loved him.”

  “Patience told you all this?” Neville ask
ed. It seemed a strange conversation for a brother and a sister, but he did not really know of such things. He only had a brother, and neither he nor Edmund were like to share feelings like a couple of women.

  “No, not Patience. Samuel,” Reginald confessed.

  “Samuel Beresford!” Neville was surprised.

  “Amelia told him that Charity had come to see her, and she asked Samuel if you had an entendre for her,” Reginald said.

  “And Beresford told her, yes?”

  “Why yes, of course He did.”

  “He had no right.”

  “Good God, Neville, you are the only one still in denial. Follow your own advice why don’t you?”

  “What advice?”

  “The advice you gave Shalace. Go and talk to the woman.”

  “I cannot,” Wentwell said.

  “Oh, Poppycock,” Reginald said.

  Neville laughed aloud.

  After a moment Reginald realized they had been speaking of Michael Poppy, and he laughed with his friend at the unintentional joke, which soon degenerated into further jokes about Michael Poppy’s anatomy.

  I shall only hope the lady looks upon my suit with charity,” Neville said wiping tears of mirth from his face.

  “I hope that you will soon be able to tell me that all your conversations with the lady went well,” Reginald quipped.

  “I shall truly hope that she will favor me,” Wentwell said, sobering a bit, “despite my reputation.

  “Wentwell, I am sure she will have you. Just go and speak to the lady. If she loves you, she will have you bedraggled or no, and at least you have your shoes.”

  “That I do,” Wentwell agreed.

  ~.~

  Later the next afternoon, Patience arrived for a visit with Charity. The ladies were to ready themselves for afternoon tea at Aunt Ebba’s home.

  “It will be just like old times,” Patience promised. “You and me and Amelia…”