"I think you cruel for lying to me," Ethel replied, sounding more upset than angry, "You pretended that we were going to Miss Havisham's, when really you had another plan. Now, I don't know what it was that you needed to see Mr Bridge about, but if it upset the duke so much, then it must not have been anything good. I could lose my position, Miss Drew, if your grandmother was to find out about this."
"She won't find out," Charlotte assured her, now addled with guilt for upsetting Ethel.
"We'll be lucky if she doesn't," Ethel replied with a sniff, "For you and His Grace made quite the sight, arguing as you were in the middle of the road."
"I am sorry, Ethel," Charlotte offered, but the maid was not to be cajoled into forgiving Charlotte so easily.
"You like to talk about the suffering of the poor, but you gave no thought to how I might suffer if your grandmother dismissed me from service without a letter of recommendation."
With that final statement, Ethel reached into her basket and extracted a crochet piece, which she diligently worked on until they returned home.
Once back in Ashfield House, the lady's maid quickly disappeared, leaving Charlotte alone and wracked with guilt for her actions. She traipsed up the stairs to her bedchamber, where she tried to console herself by counting the coin that Mr Bridge had given her for her necklace. There was more money within the coin-purse than she had ever received for any of the other baubles she had pawned.
Give thanks for small mercies, Charlotte told herself; if she was careful with the coin, she might not have to visit with Mr Bridge for a very long time. She did feel somewhat shameful for bartering away her father's gifts, but she had many fine jewels already and the money she raised was for a good cause.
Charlotte counted out what she needed from the purse and transferred it into another purse, which she then carefully wrapped up in a dress which needed altering.
"Can you please bring this to Mrs Thatchery's on Barbour Street, it's rather urgent," she said, to Thomas, the young under-footman, when she had found him.
The lad gave a nod and took the package with a grateful smile; he had been moving furniture in the music-room and was evidently pleased for an excuse to abandon his task.
"Of course, Miss Drew," Thomas said, taking the package from Charlotte's hands and near sprinting from the room. Once the door had shut behind him, Charlotte sat down at the pianoforte and idly pressed a few of the ivory keys. She did not have Bianca's musical talents, but she was adept enough to play some easier songs, and she found the act of playing soothing to her frayed nerves.
Unfortunately, the balm of music was not to last, for Bianca burst into the room just a few minutes later.
"What did you do?"
Charlotte's hands slipped on the keys, as her sister's shrill cry filled the room. She turned and found Bianca—her face red and streaked with tears—standing in the doorway.
"Ethel told me that you tricked her into accompanying you on some nefarious mission to Rundell and Bridge, and if that wasn't bad enough, you then engaged in a shouting match with Penrith in the middle of the road. Oh, Cat, what on earth were you about?"
"I'm sorry," Charlotte replied, her guilt giving her words a depth of sincerity, "I was not thinking."
"That's the problem, Cat," Bianca replied, as she levelled a disappointed gaze upon her sister, "You never think on how your actions affect others. Now Penrith will stop courting you and I may never get to make my come-out. Not to mention that poor Ethel might be dismissed if anyone finds out that she escorted you on your escapade to do lud-knows-what. You are completely, utterly, and totally selfish and if you were not my sister, I would wash my hands of you completely."
With that final, scathing remark, Bianca stormed from the room, slamming the door with an impressive force for one so petite.
Lud.
Charlotte heaved a sigh of despair and gazed out the window. Outside the sky had turned grey and rain was beginning to lash against the window panes. What had begun as a sunny, hopeful morning was now threatening to turn into a dismal afternoon—just like Charlotte's mood.
She had lost Bianca's respect, Ethel's trust, and Penrith's esteem all in the space of a few hours.
Quite the accomplishment for someone who is considered unaccomplished, Charlotte thought dourly, as she began to play another tune.
This song was dark and sombre, with deep notes of despair which filled the room and gave voice to Charlotte's feelings.
All was lost, she thought miserably, slightly surprised at how the idea that she might never see Penrith again was the thing which made her saddest of all.
Chapter Eight
After his altercation with Miss Drew on Ludgate Hill, Hugh spent the rest of the day in a state of high irritability.
What on earth had the chit been pawning her jewels for, Hugh wondered, as he sat at his desk attending to correspondence from his various estate stewards.
He dashed off a line of instruction to his man in Kent, but the force with which he pressed his quill was so hard that the nib tore through the page, rendering it useless. Hugh growled with frustration, crumpled up the sheaf of paper and threw it into the fireplace, before taking another fresh page to begin again.
His mind wandered as he wrote, and Hugh found himself rehashing his argument with Miss Drew. If that carriage had not drawn up at that exact moment, Hugh was certain that Charlotte would have told him to stick his hoof up his rear-end.
His lips, of their own volition, quirked with amusement; no one had ever dared to speak to him in such a colourful manner. No one would ever dare, except, it seemed, Miss Drew.
But he could not allow himself to be amused by her verbosity, Hugh scolded himself, as he dipped his quill into the ink-pot. Again, his movements were clumsy, causing droplets of ink to splash out onto the rosewood desk.
Without thinking, Hugh removed his favourite silk handkerchief from his pocket to mop up the mess he had created, only to realise too late that the ink would be impossible to remove.
Dash it, he thought with sigh, throwing the ruined cloth onto the table. His valet, Purcell, would make a grand attempt to remove the stain, but even the diligent gentleman's gentleman would find it difficult to repair.
Hugh leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs; it was impossible to attend to any other business, he decided, when his mind was so distracted.
Thoughts of Charlotte had plagued him since he had departed from Ludgate Hill—though only after having a stern word with Mr Bridge about the discretion of his shop-boy. Why did a girl, whose father was one of the wealthiest men in England, need to pawn anything? Hugh had not forgotten Charlotte's attendance at that meeting of Republicans, and while he knew that she was no radical, he feared that she might have been persuaded by some unsavoury sort to lend money to their cause.
Protests of innocence would not work if she were ever to be discovered, and fear stabbed Hugh's gut as he imagined Charlotte being sentenced to swing from Tyburn's Tree for treason.
He needed to discover exactly what the impertinent Miss Drew was up to, though the only problem was that Hugh was not entirely certain Miss Drew would receive him after their earlier altercation.
As if to compound his fear, a knock came upon the door to the library, and the butler entered with Dubarry in tow.
"Gentle cousin." Hugh drawled in greeting, as the butler discreetly withdrew.
"Not so gentle today, I'm afraid," Dubarry replied, his voice shaking slightly with suppressed emotion, "I have just returned from a lesson with Miss Bianca, where I found her in a great state of distress. She reports that you were near brawling with Miss Drew outside Rundell and Bridge—what on earth were you doing, Penrith?"
Hugh was unaccustomed to his cousin speaking to him in such a forthright manner; Dubarry was usually deferential to his elder cousin, for he held Hugh in the highest of regard.
"I chanced upon Miss Drew making some silly mischief," Hugh replied, his tone defensive, "I merely upbraided h
er for risking any damage to her reputation."
"Upbraided, you say?" Dubarry ran a frustrated hand through his mop of blonde curls, "Translated from duke-speak that means that you must have torn through the girl in your usual high-handed manner."
"I did no such thing," Hugh protested, though deep-down he knew that he had.
"Of course you didn't," Dubarry's voice dripped with sarcasm, his eyes full of reproach, "I love you dearly, Penrith, but the way you deal with people can be overbearing. And worse, you will never admit to it."
A heavy silence filled the room as Dubarry finished saying his piece. Hugh felt a prickle of shame as he realised that his cousin was not only referencing his dealings with Miss Drew, he was referring to Leo too.
Shamefaced, Hugh cleared his throat—which had become remarkably dry—before he spoke again. "I admit that I was a tad high-handed earlier," he conceded slowly, the words a struggle for a man who was loath to admit any wrong, "I shall make an attempt to repair relations with Miss Drew, at once."
"My thanks," Dubarry replied, then he paused again.
Hugh could tell that his cousin was thinking hard upon what he might say next, and for a minute Hugh—a six-foot duke who owned half the land—felt momentarily frightened. Would Dubarry press further, and tell him to make repairs to his relationship with Leo?
Luckily, the young man did not give voice to Hugh's fears, perhaps realising that he had already stretched himself beyond his usual limits. He was a proud man, who could only be pushed so far.
"Well," Dubarry gave a nod, as he gathered himself together, "I'd best leave you to plan your apologies. Good-day, Penrith."
Hugh waited for his cousin to leave, before he poured himself a large glass of brandy. This he drank quickly, like a man who had been given water after weeks wandering the desert.
The fiery liquid calmed the turmoil within his belly, and Hugh felt himself relax. Any time that he thought upon what had transpired between himself and Leo, he was left with this queer feeling in his stomach that he could not identify. Which was why he tried not to think of it.
Glad for a distraction, Hugh began to ponder how he might convince Miss Drew to forgive him. Upon his desk lay the morning's paper and an advertisement for The Theatre Royal caught his eye.
Of course! Hugh grinned as he pulled the paper toward him and scanned the details; Miss Drew had already consented to attend the next showing of the Shakespeare season with him—she could hardly renege on the agreement. Not when there were witnesses to their verbal social contract.
With a lighter heart, Hugh dashed off an invitation to Charlotte, requesting her company for that evening's performance. As he sealed the letter with his wax stamp, doubt began to creep in.
Would she accept his peace offering? Hugh recalled the furious green eyes which had glared at him earlier and proudly told him to focus his attentions on another...
It was highly doubtful that Miss Drew would agree to go anywhere with him, he realised. So, just to be certain of her company, Hugh quickly wrote out another invitation, addressed to Brandon Drew.
You're being high-handed, a voice in his head warned, but Hugh ignored it. He was not being bossy, he was being practical, he just hoped that Miss Drew would see it that way...
To the ton, the theatre was not just a place to view plays, but a place for oneself to be viewed. As Hugh pushed his way through the foyer of the opulent Theatre Royal, his senses were assailed by the colour, sound, and smell of the heaving crowd.
Bejewelled ladies in feathered turbans laughed gaily to each other, while dark-suited men, stinking of musk-oil, competed with each other to see who could be the loudest.
Hugh stifled a sigh; he detested a show, especially when—despite his reluctance—he was one of the stars. Heads turned in his direction, some discreet, some not, while whispers followed his every step. The curiosity was natural; given his title coupled with his status as a bachelor, Hugh was oft an object of interest. Tonight however, it grated, for Hugh was feeling rather vulnerable; what if Miss Drew was to reject his advances with an outward show of disinterest? Public humiliation was not something he sought, but more than that, he realised that he was nervous of losing Miss Drew.
Which was preposterous, Hugh reminded himself, for this was supposed to be a temporary courtship. One could not lose what one did not want...
Setting his mouth into a grim line, in an attempt to emulate one of Orsino's fearsome faces, Hugh pushed his way through the crowd toward the staircase, where a reluctant-looking Miss Drew and her father were waiting. His own mother, who had insisted on accompanying him, gave a loud cry of delight as they finally reached the pair.
Dozens of heads turned in their direction and Hugh stifled another sigh; if Miss Drew wished to publicly humiliate him, his mother had obliged her with an audience.
Wishing to escape the curious gazes as soon as was possible, Hugh made a hasty introduction, before ushering everyone up the staircase to where they might find a little more privacy in his box.
"Thank you for accepting my invitation," Hugh said stiffly to Miss Drew, as they traipsed up the carpeted runners.
"I wasn't really given a choice," came the tart reply.
"Yes. Well," Hugh cleared his throat, cursing his pride which made forming the words of an apology so difficult, "I wished to ensure that you came so that you might hear my apology."
Miss Drew remained silent beside him and Hugh glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her auburn tresses were piled high upon her head, revealing an elegant swan-like neck, and her high-boned face was turned resolutely forward, so that he could not read her expression.
"Well?" he queried impatiently.
"Well...?" Charlotte innocently replied, "You have told me that you wish to apologise, your Grace, but you have not actually said that you are sorry."
Impertinent chit! Hugh's first reaction to this scathing assessment was one of ire, but he held his tongue momentarily, and after a pause realised that Miss Drew was quite correct.
"I am sorry," he offered, hoping his words did not sound too grudging, "For speaking to you so rudely."
"And for insinuating that I was not good enough to be seen in your company?"
"Did I say that?" Hugh queried, feeling genuinely sorry now for being such an unfeeling boor.
"You implied it."
"Well, on bended knee, I will beg your forgiveness, Miss Drew," Hugh answered and looked down to find a pair of sparkling green eyes glancing up at him.
"No need to ruin your trousers, your Grace. What would Mr Weston say?" Charlotte replied, barrelling on before Hugh could commend her knowledge of Bond Street tailors, "I also wish to apologise. I know that you were only thinking of my reputation—and it's lucky that someone is, for I have been accused of forgetting it more than once. And I also..."
Miss Drew trailed off and Hugh saw that her face had turned beet red.
"I should not have told you that you should take your hoof and—"
"That's quite alright," Hugh interjected, before she had a chance to finish. He did not wish to hear that particular sentence uttered ever again.
Still, Miss Drew seemed sincere in her apologies, and Hugh at last relaxed. They had overcome their first disagreement, he thought cheerfully, as he led the way into his private box.
Naturally, Hugh rented one of the theatre's best boxes and Miss Drew gave an audible gasp of admiration as she caught sight of their view of the stage.
"Lud, we could reach out and touch the actors if we so wished," she cried happily, as she plonked herself upon a seat.
"Yes, well, try and restrain yourself if you can," Hugh replied, with a grin, "I'm told that the actors don't like it when people do that."
A sound that Hugh had not heard before, greeted his impulsive jest; Charlotte's laughter. A mild sense of pride stirred within Hugh as he witnessed his companion throw back her head and laugh—a proper chuckle and not that tittering lark that so many women employed to humour men.
/> "I do believe His Grace deigned to make a joke," Charlotte whispered with a smile, as Hugh slipped into the seat beside her.
"I enjoy a good laugh, like the next man," Hugh replied, his stirring pride rapidly depleting at her tease.
"Ah, but you have previously suggested that you are no mere mortal, but a duke through and through."
"Did I?" Hugh frowned; Lud but he could be pompous, "Well, tonight please think of me as just a man, and not as the Duke of Penrith."
"Might I call you Shug?" Miss Drew waggled her eyebrows mischievously, to show that she knew she was crossing a line.
"You might not," Hugh promptly answered, enjoying playing the part of the toplofty aristocrat.
In fact, he was enjoying himself so much that he had not noticed that his mother and Brandon Drew had taken their seats beside him, or that the play was about to begin. It was only when the gas-lights began to flicker and the roar of the crowd died to a distant hum, that Hugh remembered where he was.
Seated in full view of the ton, making doe-eyes at a young woman.
He quickly wiped the silly grin that he had been wearing from his face, as he became aware of dozens of pairs of quizzing-glasses glinting in his direction. It would make the papers no doubt, though Hugh rather liked the idea of his name entwined in ink with that of Miss Drew. It appealed to the masculine sense of possession he felt toward her, a feeling which was remarkable, given that he had never felt possessive of any woman in all his thirty years.
On stage the play began to unfold, though it held little interest for Hugh. He abhorred Shakespeare, having been forced to learn it by rote in Eton, and The Taming of the Shrew was his least favourite of the Bard's works.
"Is His Grace not enjoying himself?" Charlotte whispered, after Hugh had crossed and uncrossed his legs for the umpteenth time.
"It's not one of my favourites," he admitted in a quiet whisper.
"Nor mine. I can't say that I find a work about punishing a woman for having opinions enthralling. Though I'm certain that my grandmother would see it as somewhat educational."
Tamed by a Duke (Wilful Wallflowers Book 1) Page 9