So that is what it looked like. She’d never not said something she wanted to say before because she’d thought better of it. She was renowned, in fact, for saying what she wanted to say when she wanted to say it.
Except for right now. And that she wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t pouring her heart out to him about stupid Charles and his ridiculous threats meant that she had learned to value something beyond her own questions.
A shame it took so long. It was likely too late.
And, another shame, she had totally and absolutely fallen in love with him. A realization she’d finally come to just when she was on the brink of ruin.
She had terrible timing.
When the dance was over—far too soon for Charlotte’s liking—they walked back to where Anne stood, talking with Mr. Smeldley. He really was a pleasant-looking man; she wondered if Anne found him pleasant as well.
She nodded at David before tugging on Anne’s sleeve. “We need to find the retiring room. Will you excuse us for a minute?”
Anne was quick to pick up on Charlotte’s less-than-subtle hint. “Yes, excuse us.”
“You’ll save the fourth dance for me, Lady Anne?” Mr. Smeldley said, his cheeks tinged with pink. He was almost cute, in his earnest way.
“Of course,” Anne replied.
The two ladies walked toward the hallway, where Charlotte knew the ladies’ retiring room was. “What is going on?” Anne asked as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone. Charlotte didn’t answer; she spotted the room and pushed the door, pulling Anne in with her.
The retiring room was thankfully empty except for one wan-looking debutante who was fussing with the bodice of her gown. She started guiltily, then scurried out, but not before pulling the gown down just that much lower.
Charlotte sat down on the small settee in the outer room, and Anne did the same.
“Your brother knows about the column.”
Anne’s eyes went wide. “He does? But how?” she began, but then clamped her hand over her mouth. “It was me, somehow, wasn’t it?” she said, but the words were muffled.
Charlotte nodded. “It doesn’t matter how he knows, just that he knows. And you know what else?” she asked, but continued before Anne could respond. “He told me that unless I agree to marry him, he will tell everyone it is me writing it. Given my reputation, that will cause quite a scandal.”
Anne drew her hand away, her eyes still wide. “You’re not going to, are you?”
“Are you joking? Of course not! I mean, the only advantage is that we would be sisters-in-law, but that wouldn’t make up for the fact that I would be completely miserable. No offense to you.”
“None taken! I would be miserable knowing you were miserable. So what are you going to do?”
Charlotte shrugged. “There’s not much I can do. He will talk about it, Society will then talk about it, my mother will shriek and cry, and I will lose my chance of making a reputable marriage. With anyone who knows anyone who knows me, that is. I wonder if I can locate a charming hermit somewhere,” she mused.
Anne poked her in the arm. “This is serious! What will Lord David say? I read that one column that was so clearly about him; how do you think he will react?”
Probably not well, she thought sadly. She had responded strongly—albeit with reason—when she discovered he was initially only paying attention to her because her uncle had asked. What would happen when he discovered she was likewise using him for something?
“Uh … I don’t know. If I had to guess, I would say he would be angry.” She felt her face getting warm as she recalled just how she had been able to actually see him naked, not just wish to see him so.
She also wished she hadn’t written that particular column. But once again, her words had run away from her before she could think, so it was her own fault.
Was she on the brink of the end of her life as she knew it?
That was both terrifying and exciting.
Not that she had been given a choice, precisely, but she would be able to do what she wanted. No Mr. Goddard, no Lord Charles, no being mocked by Society for her taste in clothing. She was bound to be mocked no matter what world she lived in, but at least it would be a new and different type of mocking.
She was very much looking forward to the adventure.
Anne poked her again. “Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?”
Charlotte jumped, and shook her head. “No, sorry. What did you say?”
“I was telling you that I will do my best to rebut anything anyone says about you. It is simply not fair that my brother is … is such an ass,” she said, her last words coming out in a rush.
Charlotte leaned over and patted Anne’s hand. “I appreciate it. You are a good friend. Even if your brother is an arse.”
The two ladies sat silent next to each other for a moment. Charlotte sighed. “Let us return. Your brother might have already started dropping hints, and I want to be there in case my mother faints or something.”
She rose, feeling another great, welling sigh furl up out of her lungs. It was going to be difficult for the immediate future, but then … her heart felt almost light at the prospect of finally, finally making her own decisions.
She just wished she could have made more decisions with him. Very bad, but deliciously fun, decisions.
That was probably the biggest regret she had at the moment.
***
The whispering began all around him, in a great rolling wave of inference and gossip. He didn’t pay attention at first; he was too preoccupied with how she had seemed. Distant, and a little sad. Was she regretting what had happened between them? Would she decline his offer when he made it?
He was definitely not used to feeling hesitant and uncertain when it came to women. Or when it came to getting his way in anything, actually. He had been lucky to be blessed with his face; it made certain things a lot easier, even though—as he’d explained to her—it also complicated matters.
But there it was, the rustle of words floating around the room, nearly tangible as the gossip was spread from cluster to cluster.
“Did you hear?” Louise had a particularly malicious look on her face, and he felt his chest tighten. It had to be about—
“Lady Charlotte is the author of that fashion column, of all things. ‘What Not to Bare.’ I’ve just heard.”
She kept her gaze fixed on him, no doubt to gauge his reaction. Thankfully he’d gotten good enough at his job not to let anything change his expression. Unless someone asked him for other words for his cock, but that did not come up that often.
“I hadn’t heard. And how was this discovered?”
Louise lowered her eyes, but not before he caught the spark of delight in them. She really was an awful person. “I am not sure, only I have it on the best authority, the lady’s friend’s brother.”
“Lord Charles.”
This time, he would not have been able to resist punching the man, if he were here. To spread rumors about Charlotte, and a fashion column, after he’d bestowed that nickname on her. It was despicable.
And Louise was still speaking. “It would not have been noticed, or remarked upon, except she dresses as she does, and one of her columns … Well, she intimated that she would very much like to see you unclothed.” She had a smug smile on her face, no doubt meant to remind him that she had, in fact, seen David naked.
He’d forgotten that column. The immediate concern that gossip was being spread about her was replaced with an immediate fury. It was her, wasn’t it? And that was why she had been asking so many questions, and seeking his advice on fashionable matters, and asking about his smallclothes, of all things, and …
Had she just begun this whole adventure in pursuit of information for her writing? Had he been used?
His expression must have darkened, proof that indeed, she could unsettle him, because Louise gave a start. “Goodness, you look as though you wish to murder someone. Someone, perhaps, who wishes to take liberties with yo
ur person?” she added with a titter.
He felt his lips curl up in disgust and walked past her without saying another word.
And ran right into her.
Her expression brightened when she saw him, but her smile wasn’t the full, happy one she usually had.
“You’ve heard.”
He stood so close to her he was nearly on top of her, and he felt, rather than saw, the entire room turn to stare at them. He retreated a few inches. “Yes. I have heard.”
“And you’re upset.”
“Yes. I am upset.” He didn’t dare to speak more than a few words, he so wanted to shout at her, about how irresponsible she had been, and how used he felt, and that he loved her anyway, but damn it, why did she have to let her words—this time her written words—get her into trouble so often?
“I wish you wouldn’t be.” She spoke so matter-of-factly, as though he could just turn his anger on and off when he felt it coursing through him like he’d been struck by lightning. Struck by Charlotte.
And then the solution came to him, so easy and obvious he was surprised it hadn’t walked up and introduced itself. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I will fix this,” he said, and spun on his heel before she could reply.
***
What in the world was he going to do? There was nothing, as far as she could tell, that he could do. That wouldn’t involve violence of some sort, anyway, and that would cause far worse a scandal than her penning something about wishing to see him naked.
And she knew he could not afford scandal, which is why she felt so awful and why he had been so angry. Even though he shouldn’t have been; he must know that nearly anyone would want to see him naked, even if not all of them wrote about it. At least not in a public newspaper. She couldn’t speak for anyone’s personal journal.
She kept watching as he strode across the dance floor to where Charles stood with a group of other young gentlemen. He wasn’t going to—
But he stopped and spoke to Charles, and did not hit him, as she’d half-expected. Instead, it seemed as though he were explaining something, and at one point, everyone looked at her, and she felt a bit queasy, as though something was happening that was entirely out of her control.
She did not like it.
At last, right when she was about to march over there herself and demand to know what was going on, David walked back to her with a knowing look in his eye.
“Whatever you do,” he said as he took her arm and began to walk, almost dragging her behind him, “do not act surprised.”
Well. That was the most ridiculous instruction she’d ever been given, because how could she not act surprised when something was definitely surprising? Unless he was about to announce that she was, indeed, the author of the column, which everyone, including her, knew already.
And what else could it be about?
“I have just shared the news of our betrothal.”
What Not to Bare
Dear Ladies:
If you are at a loss for what to wear,
Do not lose yourself and pull your hair,
For all is not lost if just you find,
That you wear whatever best suits your frame of mind.
For they are best who remain true to themselves,
Even if into their wardrobe you do not wish to delve,
Because of all the things we say and do,
The most truest one of all is To Thine Own Self Be True.
The Fashionable Foible
Chapter 25
I’ve just shared the news of our betrothal.
Why had he done it? What could possibly have made him do such a thing, a thing that would mean the end of his usefulness?
And how would he react when she arrived on his doorstep in the middle of the night?
Well, that question she knew the answer to, at least. And it would not be a pleasant answer. She tried not to think too hard about that as she told Sarah that no, she would not be undressing after the ball, but that they would be sneaking out of the house.
Her maid did not ask why; Charlotte’s face must have revealed some of her worry, her confusion, her anger at being manipulated. Hopefully her love did not show itself.
Sarah knew how to catch a hackney cab, another reason Charlotte wanted her company, in addition to the fact that while it was unsafe for two ladies to go out late at night, it was absolutely dangerous for one lady, especially one as sheltered as Charlotte normally was.
When he’d said it, one part of her had wanted to jump up and down in glee, at getting what she knew was her greatest wish: David, forever, and for always.
But she’d resolved not to settle, and she wouldn’t let the man she loved settle either. Not if it meant he’d lose everything he cared about, even if he did care somewhat for her.
“And when we get there, you let me knock first and explain things to Mr. Gotam.” Sarah sounded excited to be in on the adventure. Charlotte had done well in finding such a plucky lady’s maid. One who also seemed to like men with decidedly un-English headwear.
“I’ll wait in the cab?” Now that she was about to do this, she had a flutter in her stomach, as though many butterflies had taken up residence there.
“Don’t get skittish now,” Sarah said in a warning tone. “If whatever you have to say to him was so important you had to leave the house in the middle of the night to do it, then it’s important.”
Charlotte nodded. “You are right.” Even though no matter what happened, one of them would be unhappy.
“That’s what I thought,” Sarah replied, patting Charlotte’s hand.
After only a few more minutes, they arrived at David’s house, and Sarah clambered quickly out of the carriage, spoke a few words to the driver, and trotted quickly up the steps. She knocked on the door, and it opened after only a few minutes, revealing Gotam.
Who looked completely taken aback to see Sarah. They spoke for a moment, Gotam making some very grand gestures, until finally Sarah turned and beckoned Charlotte out of the carriage. Sarah slipped inside the house. Upstairs, a slim glimmer of light showed where a door was just slightly ajar.
She was just finishing ascending the steps when the door swung open, and David clamped a hand on her arm, pulling her inside and against his chest. His naked chest.
Oh, that chest. Goodness.
“What in God’s name are you doing here? At this time of night? Do you wish there to be more gossip about you?”
She swatted his hand away from her arm and drew off her cloak. “You know why I’m here. You cannot be that obtuse. Are you going to let me in?”
He slid his hand through his hair and muttered something under her breath. “Of course, come in.” He sounded very grumpy; perhaps his flaw was that he did not like being startled out of sleep?
Of course, nobody liked that, so that was hardly a flaw. Merely a character trait.
She lost all thought of traits and habits and flaws when she realized he had on a black silk dressing gown under which it appeared he wore nothing. Oh.
Well. So now she had that information. One more item to tick off her list.
He shut the door behind them and leaned on it. “So what is it?”
She had to concentrate, not get distracted with thoughts of his chest, and his hands, and his mouth, and those eyes … Damn it, Charlotte. Focus!
Right. Why he’d done what he had.
And just like that, all her earlier frustration returned. Her questions, which he’d better have some answers for. She strode forward and stuck her index finger right in the middle of his chest. “Why? Why did you say what you did?”
He took hold of her finger and smiled. “Your index finger is very powerful. You should never play cards, you know that? Because every single one of your thoughts is written on your face.” He let go of her finger and rubbed his chest where she’d poked him. “And written on my chest.”
She felt herself scowl. He would not dodge the question by being clever. “You have not answered
my question.” Her voice was low and almost shaking. “Why?”
He reached forward and clasped her arms. The silk dressing gown gapped open, revealing more David. “I did it for you. I wanted to save your reputation.” He swallowed and looked over her head. The seconds pulsed between them until he met her gaze again. “I love you.”
He did not just say that. He did not. Did he?
Judging by his expression, he had.
She spoke without thinking. Did it matter that it was a response borne out of her own hurt at being so used in the situation? “You love me? Ha! You wanted to save my reputation, you said it yourself. Do not insult me by claiming love.”
Inside, she was trembling, exhilarated by the thought that it could possibly be true, that he did love her. Only … what then? He would stay here, and be with her, and she would be the thing to replace all of his hopes and dreams of being useful, of being more than a handsome face? That was not enough for him. For them.
Was she so selfish as to wish that for him? To take away the one thing that defined him, just for her, and what they’d shared over the past few weeks?
She wished she could be that selfish. Staring at him, her eyes drinking in every aspect of his features, knowing how his crooked, eye-crinkling smile came out just for her, she wished she could be like that. But he deserved better than that from her, especially since he was willing, apparently, to throw it all away because of her.
Was that another oxymoron? Her brain was too jumbled to even think about it.
But he still hadn’t spoken. He wasn’t looking at her anymore, either. He had one hand in his hair, pre-rake, and his mouth was drawn tight.
Not the face of a man in love, that was for certain. More like the face of a man who had seen his fate and was working on accepting it.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might not want my reputation saved?” She answered her own question, for once. “No, it didn’t. And why would you assume I would prefer to marry you, rather than have to face some scandal? Not that you’re not preferable to Mr. Goddard.”
“Thank you for that,” he replied dryly.
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