by Susanne Lord
“You hate to be distracted from work—I will practice the piano at inopportune moments. I shall learn your favorite foods and never have them prepared. Your neckties will be starchy.”
“So you plan to torture me?”
“Mildly, yes.”
Their eyes locked for one warm, divine moment, then he turned to return to Wally. He stopped at the threshold as if remembering something, walked back to take her hand, and pulled her back into the room. She sighed from the sensation. A lovely gesture. The man had never taken her hand before.
Oh no. There was no falling out of love with Will Repton.
Her brother rose from his chair as they entered, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“Wallace, your solicitor can prepare the marriage contract,” Will said.
“All is settled, then?” Wally asked uncertainly, catching her eye.
“Evidently,” Will mumbled. “I’ll not be able to arrange a special license. Can we have the banns read in the parish church?”
A sudden bubble of joy rose in her chest. “The banns.” Charlotte interrupted the men’s negotiations. “Oh, please. I should like the banns to be called. Tomorrow is Sunday.” Her name read aloud in Highthorpe, linked with William Repton, the man nearest to perfection, assembled in her daydreams.
Her husband, if only for a short time. But what was life without living?
The men nodded, evidently caring little for the romantic frivolities, and she just managed to keep from bouncing on her toes.
“And Wallace.” Will plowed his free hand through his disheveled hair. “Charlotte and I will not sleep apart. I will respect the terms of this temporary union to the letter, we’ll not consummate this marriage, but it is our wish—mine and Charlotte’s—not to be separated.”
At Will’s proclamation, she bit her lip against a squeal. It was his promise, his vow. For three months, he was hers.
Wally’s eyes arrowed to hers. “I think that a mistake.”
“Yes,” Will said grimly.
She would not dwell on the fact that Will was, in fact, agreeing.
“I ought to return to London tomorrow…settle some matters,” Will said.
Her happiness dipped a fraction. “Tomorrow?”
He released her hand. “I should inform my parents.” Will started for the door, then paused. “I hope they might stay and enjoy Windmere a time longer?”
Charlotte clutched her hands together at her bosom. “Oh! Might they stay through the wedding? It is only three weeks more.”
“Don’t you wish to be married in London?” Will asked.
She held her breath. “If you do not object, I have always dreamed of marrying in the chapel here at Windmere.”
“But not to me. You might save the chapel for—”
Will must have seen the disappointment in her face, for he stopped and frowned. In another lovely, heart-wrenching gesture, he hurried to her and squeezed her hand.
“Whatever you want, Charlotte. It is our only wedding day, after all.”
Thirteen
“Now that we’ve launched our London gossipmongers, there will be no stopping the rumors,” Wally said as the last coach rolled from Windmere onto the drive.
Charlotte exhaled a sigh of relief she did not know she had held. The last of the guests—gone. All finally gone, except for John and Liz, who waited with a sort of bemused anticipation of their son’s upcoming nuptials.
“People will be kind, I think,” she said. “And why would they not? They left content and with stories to tell—and not only of me. They witnessed nothing of you, Lucy, and Ben that was not good and respectable.”
“The party was a success, but there is no telling if the reports will be met by friendly ears.”
She said nothing. After the trial, her brother had been hurt terribly by the rejection of the ton, as had Ben and Lucy. Their bitterness ran far deeper than hers—but her hope that Society would embrace her family was undiminished.
After all, the years spent in London’s finest private seminaries, cloistered with the daughters of Britain’s loftiest aristocrats, had taught her the workings of the ton, for good or ill.
She would marry the beautiful, heroic Will Repton. And he would leave her.
And she knew exactly what her acquaintance would do then.
They would sigh publicly, and plot ways to cheer her, and send invitations to prove their compassion. And the former Mrs. William Repton would attend every assembly with Lucy and Ben and even Wally until, like a war of attrition, their presence was tolerated. And hopefully welcomed.
That was the only way forward now.
She would wear her broken heart like a crown.
Rather than continue into the house, Wally sat upon the sun-warmed stone rail. “With the wedding a week away, we’ll be far too busy to attend to the tittle-tattle spreading through London anyway.”
The look of sad concern in his eyes was hard to ignore. She must not allow her family to worry over her. “The worst they will call me is capricious. And most will sympathize knowing the heart cannot be controlled.” She smiled. “Especially those who have seen my fiancé in the flesh.”
Before Wally could dwell, she jumped to her feet. “Let us call the carriage. I would like to search for new gloves for my gown, and later you will help me write the invitations for the wedding breakfast.”
There were errands to run and letters to compose and visits to the parson, and she was grateful for every one of those distractions.
She shared with no one how she truly missed Will. Each day stretched long and colorless without the hope of seeing him bent over his papers or rubbing his temple the way he did when he was concentrating, or standing against the wall to read because he could never sit still for long. Tomorrow, finally, he had promised to return.
But the day came and went without him. And then the next. And only on the next was a letter delivered to her—a brief, horrid little note from Will saying he had been delayed and not to expect him until the day before the wedding. The innocent sheet of paper had been tossed into the fireplace a second later.
It was foolish to get upset over his cavalier attitude. He was not in love—he was not an eager groom, she was not his beloved bride.
But she had reached the limits of her tolerance by eight o’clock the night before the ceremony when there was still no sign of Will.
“He knows better than to upset his mother like this,” Liz Repton muttered to her husband in the drawing room after dinner. “Fourteen hours before the wedding…I might expect this sort of thing from you, John, but not Will.”
No one contradicted the irate mother.
“Excuse me.” Charlotte stood and wrapped her shawl about her shoulders. “I think I’ll take a bit of air. Will should arrive any moment.”
No one contradicted her, either.
She descended the terrace stairs and commenced pacing amid the fireflies on the south lawn of Windmere.
Should they send riders out to search for him? Was he possibly hurt? Or ill? Or—
A movement from the corner of her eye made her turn.
Will! Thank God.
He lumbered toward her over the grass, his limp deep and lurching. His coat was creased and his necktie slack. The fatigue etched on his face warred with the keen light in his eyes that never once slipped from hers.
“You’re here.” Her voice broke.
“I was delayed.” His gaze was unreadable in the dark.
Will studied her, waiting for her to speak, and she stared back, both annoyed and relieved at the sight of him. I was delayed, indeed! No explanation. No apology.
“Well!” she cried. “Are you well?”
He blinked. “Yes,” he murmured. “Are you?”
“Perfectly well.” She tried to calm the blood from climbing her neck and cheeks, but failed. To distract from the sight, she turned brusquely back toward the house. “Well. Shall we go in? We must get you settled and fed and warm in your room.”
; Charlotte ignored Will’s sleepy grin and started her march to the house. His treatment of her was abominable. One slim letter in three weeks and he arrives hours before the wedding.
And he’d deprived her of his company all this time.
“It is late. I might have been asleep and not seen you,” Charlotte said as lightly as she could manage.
“The roads were wet. It slowed the horses.”
Tears slipped down her throat and her aching heart complained at his nearness. They walked without a word until Will caught her wrist, his fingers right on the telltale pulse. Annoying man.
“Could we speak a moment before you have me tucked in bed with a glass of warm milk?”
She stopped and pulled her wrist out of his hold in a play of adjusting her skirts.
“I…well, we’re marrying tomorrow.”
“I had not forgotten.” Her tone was churlish but she couldn’t help it. “Did you accomplish much? Your associates must have been all astonishment at your wedding announcement.”
“Yes, but they know better than to delve into my affairs, especially when they have no bearing on the expedition.”
She nearly gasped aloud. No bearing…she glared at an innocent hedge. Let the man speak if he wished to talk so much.
“We’ve both been busy, I think,” Will began cautiously.
A noncommittal sound was her answer.
He rubbed his jaw. “I did wish to return days ago but, um…” He broke off at her lowered lids, her lack of response, and cleared his throat. “There was one errand in preparation for tomorrow I managed.”
“Did you?” Another word and she would hit the stupid man. She had entertained a houseful of guests, modified her gown, written countless letters, and was expecting the entire village at a celebratory breakfast she’d planned, all in a house with a newborn that cried on the hour—and he’d managed one errand.
“Perhaps you’re as tired as I feel, so I won’t…I’ve something for you. I confess, I didn’t think of it on my own. I was meeting with a supplier and his wife heard of our marriage and she mentioned it. A detail I’d overlooked completely and I don’t overlook details, but you ought to have it, despite the nature of our arrangement. Perhaps you’ll think it unnecessary—”
“The hour is rather late.”
“Right.” Will hesitated, then fumbled in his trousers pocket and came out with a small velvet pouch that he pressed into her hand. “Right.” He cleared his throat. “That’s yours.” He pointed needlessly at the bag and kept his eyes upon it rather than on her.
She loosened the drawstring and retrieved a ring, a flawless pearl encircled with fiery diamonds. What was—? She gasped. A betrothal ring! For her. From him!
“You prefer a center diamond? Or a gemstone?”
“No.” Her fingers tightened possessively on the ring. “No, it is extraordinary.”
He looked at her, his eyes hopeful. “You like it?”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile too hugely or weep too shamelessly. “I love it. Oh, Will!” She hugged him tight, aiming her kisses at his lips—and one or two may have landed—but she was too excited to bother with accuracy. “I do, I love it.”
She had never seen Will blush before, or that adorably crooked grin on his lips.
“I, uh…I bought several pearls in Shanghai and I thought this was the finest. The jeweler agreed with me.” He paused. “Do you want to see if it fits?”
She nodded, too overcome to speak. She held out the ring and he clumsily slid it onto her finger. How beautifully it caught the moonlight. And how perfectly the ring fit. As if made for her…
But…had it been?
The smile slid from her lips.
“It suits you,” Will said.
Her heart twisted in her breast. “It’s lovely.” The ring blurred behind tears that she quickly blinked away. “I will take good care of it until—” Her throat choked off the words.
Will looked at her. “Until?”
“The annulment. You will want it back, surely. For your next—your real wife.” She flashed a false smile. “I must not get too attached or my heart will break when I say good-bye.”
Will was quiet and staring, but she could not bring herself to look at him.
“It’s yours, Charlotte,” he said quietly.
“But—”
“I’ll never have it back, so fall in love with it all you wish.”
He stepped close and took up her hand, flattening it against the hard plane of his chest. “I was thinking only of you when I made this ring and the one you’ll receive tomorrow. Never speak again of returning either to me.”
Speechless, she could only stare at him. And past the fatigue in his eyes, and the bruises shadowing his lids, there was the look she had dreamed of. Warm and gentle and brimming with affection.
Her dream man…
He released her and, with a duck of his head, turned and left.
Fourteen
Will had mistaken the private chapel at Windmere as another decorative folly on the grounds. The miniature church was positioned at the end of a long, sunlit lane of lush green grass, hemmed in by a double row of ash trees and set before a massive planting of blooming fuchsia. No wonder Charlotte wished to be married here. Even he was struck by the overwhelming romance of the place.
He and his parents were greeted by a giddy, cherub-faced pastor and told Charlotte and her family were to follow. He’d not had a chance to see her since his presentation of her ring.
He smiled at the memory. She’d kissed his face, unleashed tears of happiness, squealed with delight over a gift. A gift intended for her alone. And then said she’d return it.
No, the woman never behaved as he expected.
At first, he’d thought a gemstone to match her eyes, but nothing had come close. Sapphires were too dark, aquamarine too light, diamonds too cold. Nothing could rival those eyes.
But the pearl reminded him of her skin. It even fit her perfectly, looking more magnificent on her finger than he could have imagined.
Thank God she liked it. She’d been so vexed with him for arriving late.
Well, a couple days were all she’d have to endure with him before he returned to London. Alone.
It was for the best. He’d say something to upset her, snap at her, have one of his nightmares and frighten her. Like Ben said, she’d lived gently. Best she stay here and never truly know him.
“Go take your place, Son,” his father said.
His place? The pastor was waiting at the altar. Will passed the three empty pews on each side of the aisle. His mother beamed from her seat in the first row and he raised an ironic brow back at her.
Excited voices approached from beyond the open doors and a laughing Jacob ran in to climb onto a seat, followed by Ben holding Abby, and Lucy with baby Edward. Patty and her husband followed and sat in the back pew.
From the cool, dark interior, his eyes watered and burned with fatigue looking out at the brilliant colors coming from beyond the door. He wouldn’t look his best for his own wedding. The nightmares had woken him at two and he’d sat the rest of the night in a chair. They’d not spare him even one night, it seemed.
But in the hermitage with Charlotte, he’d slept through the night. His only dream had been of her.
“She’s here, Mr. Repton.” Jacob had not yet mastered the whisper, and Will jerked his head up in attention.
There she was. Charlotte. Framed in the door. Glowing in her white gown.
Come closer.
He couldn’t see beneath the gauzy veil.
Come closer, Charlotte.
And then she did. The magic blue of her eyes emerged, the pink of her lips, her little uptilted nose. The swish of her gown and, finally, the scent of…jasmine?
Wallace said something but he didn’t hear, barely registering the man had entered beside her. A moment later, Charlotte was beside him and a guiding hand was turning him to the pastor—but his head swiveled back to the bride.
How was he marrying Charlotte Baker? How was anyone allowing this happy woman to join her life to his?
Beneath the veil, she returned his study, a small smile on her lips he was too dazed to return. He could never hold her stare—she was overwhelming to look at—and looked instead at her dress. It was familiar. Her angel dress. The dress she’d worn when they’d danced.
“William? Do you—”
Another coaxing prod to his back.
“I do,” Will blurted. Good—the pastor smiled. He’d answered correctly.
Charlotte’s eyes were wet with tears under the veil. She hadn’t wanted this, not like this. Not with him.
God, had he done this to her? Had he made this happen?
“I do,” Charlotte said.
“…presenting of the ring…” the pastor was saying.
Charlotte removed her glove and at the sight of the pearl ring, he retrieved the wedding band from his pocket. He slid the simple band onto her finger and kept hold of her. One of them was trembling.
“…pronounce you husband and wife.” The pastor beamed. “On this happy day, with family and God as witness, I do not believe anyone would object to you kissing your bride.”
He stared dumbly at the cheeky pastor. Kiss her? In front of everyone?
But Charlotte waited, still as a statue. A small sound, a sigh or a giggle, rose from under her veil and he jolted to action. He gathered the veil over her head, the fabric feeling as if it would disintegrate between his fingers.
There was jasmine in her hair and her eyes were bright, but not with tears. Not now. He turned his back to their audience. This moment was theirs alone. He cupped her soft cheek and bent to press his lips to hers.
Married…he had a wife…a curious, heartbreaking, brain-scrambling wife.
The most beautiful wife in the world…
He deepened the kiss, and it wasn’t an apology. Not now.
Time slowed. There was only the sound of their lips clinging, only their breath stirred the air, only her in his arms. God, the way she fit him. The way she kissed with her whole heart—
Stop…they’ll see. He lifted his mouth from hers and Charlotte blinked her eyes open and smiled. The sight stabbed him. She’d dreamed of a wedding here, in her little chapel, with a man who could pass all her tests.