“I don’t see why not.” Wakefield’s hand smoothed over the fine leather. “You sat every mount before like a burr stuck to the horse’s back. Secure your legs with these straps, and I imagine you still will.”
“Miles, I don’t know what to say. Is it your design?”
Wakefield dropped into the chair facing the desk, stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “I had nothing to do with it.”
David looked up from his study of the saddle. “You didn’t?”
“Lady Haliday gets the credit. I saw her yesterday and apologized for shouting at her and sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. As requested.”
The saddle was from Charlotte? David rested his hand on the cantle. “How was she?”
Wakefield grimaced. “Rather distant but gracious. She asked if I’d deliver the saddle to you. There’s a letter goes with it.”
Still sprawled in the chair, Wakefield pulled an envelope from his inside coat pocket and held it up. David stared.
His friend leaned forward, dropping the missive within David’s reach. David scooped it up, opened it, and withdrew the letter before second thoughts could stop him. Charlotte’s elegant script covered half the page. The paper shook, and David realized his quivering hand caused the movement. Which was odd. He wasn’t a man who trembled. Ever.
Once he started reading and realized the letter had an impersonal, business-like tone, he relaxed. She hoped he’d accept the saddle and ride again. She thought he might mount the horse much like he entered his carriage.
“She was afraid you’d reject it if she had a servant deliver it to you. She thought, if you were angry, I could calm you down and convince you to accept it. You’re not going to return it, are you?”
David shook his head. Just the thought of getting on a horse again… Of all the things his injury had stolen, this was the one he most longed for. He imagined Charlotte for a moment, conversing with an unknown saddlemaker, the air redolent with the smell of leather. She’d have been excited and impatient at the wait until she could give it to him.
Today she was probably relieved Wakefield was presenting it rather than her. The moment was bittersweet for him, too.
“We can give it a try tomorrow morning. Have you a mount for me?”
“You’ve seen the bay, haven’t you? He’s a goer.”
David folded the letter. Looked at Wakefield. Breathed in. Had to ask. “How did she look?”
“Not as bad as you.”
“Christ.” He shouldn’t have asked.
“Have you looked in the mirror?”
His appetite had deserted him, and try as he might he couldn’t sleep. He looked like a man subjected to nonstop cannon fire for days on end—completely drained. But, enough. “We’re not talking about this.”
Wakefield slowly gathered himself and stood. He put his hands on the desk and leaned forward until he was inches from David’s face. “Don’t let her go.”
He’d told Miles that when he proposed she refused and in addition ended their affair. He’d been so disturbed that it poured out of him, but he hadn’t shared anything after that. Wakefield didn’t know Charlotte had tried to repair their rift, and that David had rebuffed her. He could barely manage his own anger and hurt; he couldn’t deal with Wakefield’s too.
He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn Wakefield! He had no intention of telling Miles anything more.
He sighed and let his hand fall. “Drop it. Please.”
Wakefield straightened, and his mouth took on an exasperated slant. “Is she completely finished at the Fund?”
“No.”
Wakefield’s look of annoyance turned to one of surprise. He slid his hands into his pockets and rocked forward and back. “No? She told me she wasn’t going to the office any more. She knew it would be uncomfortable if she did, so she asked me to bring the saddle.”
David clamped his back teeth together. “She’s coming back next week for one last appointment. With Edith Carroll. Unless she’s changed her mind.”
Wakefield dropped back into his chair. “Edith Carroll is coming here? What for?”
“She wants to make a donation. I asked Charlotte weeks ago if she’d see her for me. The meeting kept getting put off.”
Wakefield’s gaze drifted away and then homed back in upon David. “Will you see her?”
“I don’t want to. I don’t want to drag that pain up for either of us. That’s why I asked Charlotte to see her.” Peter’s image rose up before him. Those proud shoulders. That wide grin. He’d been a leader, a man who inspired others. In no small part, Peter’s ghost had been responsible for David rejoining the living after his injury.
He gave Wakefield a look. “But I think Peter would want me to see her.”
Miles nodded. Quiet settled in upon them for a minute.
Wakefield stood. “I can be here if you like. He was my friend, too.”
But it was David’s promise Peter had asked for. David had vowed to look after Edith if Peter fell, but Edith hadn’t let him keep his promise. And so he’d all but given up.
He sighed. “Not necessary, but thank you.”
“You remember the stable I use? I’ll see you there tomorrow? Early.”
David looked at the saddle. “I’ll be there.”
Wakefield turned at the door. “She wouldn’t have given you the saddle if she didn’t still care. Go see her. Thank her for the saddle. Talk to her.”
The quiet camaraderie of moments ago vanished. The choking mass of doubts that had tortured David since his dismissal of Charlotte rose and filled his chest. The failure of his broken promise to Peter swirled into the miasma. The best way he knew to get rid of the pressure was to spew it at Wakefield. He was certainly finished with Wakefield’s well-intentioned advice.
“We did talk,” he bit out. “She changed her mind and revoked her refusal. I told her I’d changed my mind as well.”
Wakefield’s eyes went wide. “What in hell were you thinking?”
The patience David had used to hold himself together evaporated. “That’s not your concern. I’m done with your mothering and coddling. I’m done listening to your opinionated courtship advice.” He felt a bit wild, out of control, and the shock on Miles’s face confirmed that he was. “Go. Get out.”
But Wakefield, damn him, wasn’t going. His mouth curved into a satisfied smirk, as if he were pleased he’d gotten a rise, and all David’s pent-up fury turned his arms to piston rods as he pushed his chair wheels as fast and hard as he could around his desk toward his friend. His exhausted brain could barely think. Only his resolve had kept him going, and he didn’t know how much longer he could last, constantly re-examining his decision. Maybe razing Wakefield like a skittle pin would help.
Evidently, his former comrade-in-arms didn’t expect David to actually hit him, because he waited until the last second to jump aside. David missed him by a hair’s-breadth. One more word, David vowed, and he wouldn’t miss.
“I told you,” he growled, “I don’t want to talk about her.”
Wakefield reentered the office, and again he dropped into his chair. David started to say more, but his friend’s stare arrested him. The man’s eyes were dark with compassion and sadness.
David closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. The tension drained out of him. “She doesn’t trust me. And I don’t think I could bear it if we married and she still didn’t. How can we commit ourselves if she can’t trust me? How can anyone commit like that?”
“I’m sorry,” Miles said, “but you’d better not give up. I’ve never yet seen you do so, and you’d better not start with Charlotte.”
He’d never given up? Was that right? David did try to face things head-on. As an officer he’d certainly never turned away from his duty, even when it meant facing nearly insurmountable odds. It had taken him some time to accept that he’d spend the rest of his life in this chair, but once he had, he’d risen up against the multitude of challenges his in
jury brought. So, could he find a way out of this? The goal was certainly worthy, only how could he convince Charlotte to trust him?
He looked at Wakefield. Nodded. “All right.”
“Is there any way I can help?” his friend asked.
“Make sure I don’t do something foolhardy tomorrow on your bay.”
He was only half joking.
“And just how do you expect me to stop you? If I managed to quash your injudicious deeds that somehow masquerade as derring-do, it would be a first.”
Good. They were back on familiar footing. Any additional soul-searching he would rather accomplish in private. “Well, being as we’re in London, you needn’t worry overmuch. An early gallop is all I intend.”
He did plan to set a good pace.
“I’ve already got a pulley and rope waiting at the stable,” Wakefield said.
“Pretty confident I’d accept the saddle?”
Wakefield grinned. “Never any question.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The day of Edith Carroll’s appointment dawned with dark skies and a downpour of rain. Charlotte asked herself if she was being wise to follow through on her promise. She supposed there was no other option where she maintained her honor.
David’s door was closed when she arrived, but somehow she knew he was there. She knew.
She left her umbrella in the umbrella stand in the outer office and focused on Chetney, whose expression seemed to offer both sympathy and welcome. His eyes swept down her, and his smile grew bright. Judging by his reaction, she’d been right to combat the gray day and her morose state of mind by wearing something new and pretty. It wasn’t the kind of dress she’d normally wear to the Patriotic Fund offices, being as she’d ordered it with Rose Cottage in mind. Beribboned bouquets of red roses danced upon a cream-colored skirt. A robin’s egg–blue jacket, trimmed with matching rose fabric and crocheted lace, topped the flouncy skirt. It was a dress made for laughing and kissing, and she hoped David got a look at her in it. It would serve him right.
As a kind of rebellion, she left her office door open. She wanted to see him even though the possibility made her belly somersault. He’d been horrid the last time she saw him. Unfair, angry, even cruel. He’d broken her heart.
He wanted her to say she trusted him completely and without reservation? The way he’d acted had only proved she couldn’t trust him. Hadn’t it?
The inside of her chest was actually sore—a constant reminder of his rejection. She knew she’d hurt him as well. First when he proposed and she refused him, and then again when she’d professed her love but not her trust.
After Wakefield took the saddle to him, she couldn’t help but hope David would contact her. She hadn’t even received a note. That disappointment heaped an additional measure of despair on her, and another round of wretched sobs commenced.
But that had been the last of her waterworks. The past few days she’d spent thinking about Haliday and her father. About Vivian, who’d completely disappeared. And about Jane, still at Friar’s Gate. Yesterday’s letter from her friend had delivered a bright shaft of joy. Jane had taken her advice and shared her feelings with Phillip. The two were finally talking honestly and repairing their marriage.
All will be well, Jane had written. Thank God for that.
Charlotte removed her bonnet and considered her desk. Chetney had left enough work to keep her busy until midmorning, at which time Mrs. Carroll was expected.
She had a hard time concentrating, straining her ears each time Chetney opened David’s door. Until their rift, David had rarely shut his door. Now, rather than calling out to Chetney when he needed him, David rang a bell that was easily heard through the wood. Whenever the bell jingled, Charlotte’s head jerked up as if she’d been trained to respond to its peal. Knowing he’d sequestered himself in his office to avoid seeing her made her chest ache, and she willed Mrs. Carroll to arrive before the tension became intolerable.
By the time Chetney announced her, Charlotte was more than ready to get their business done. Edith Carroll appeared attractive and composed, with glossy auburn hair, a fine figure, and aloof green eyes. Once past their introductions, she didn’t waste any time.
“I believe you’re aware I’m an army widow,” Mrs. Carroll said. “Peter was a captain in the Eleventh Hussars. He fell at Alma.”
“My condolences, Mrs. Carroll.” From what David had told her, this woman had dearly loved her husband. “It’s very kind of you to consider a donation to the Royal Patriotic Fund. The Patriotic Fund coffers can’t ease the loss of a husband or father, but they help alleviate the strain of lost financial support.”
“This is a worthy cause, and Peter would have wanted to contribute. Some of your recipients might have been family to men under Peter’s command.”
“So many families are struggling,” Charlotte replied. “Your gift will be appreciated.”
“You get money from the Treasury, I believe?”
“We do, but we need donations, too. We’ve made a great difference in many lives.”
Mrs. Carroll nodded. “I want to be part of that.” She opened her bag. “A bank cheque is acceptable?”
It took only a minute. Once she’d handed the cheque to Charlotte, the lady made ready to leave.
“I appreciate your cooperation,” Mrs. Carroll said. “Regarding my desire to avoid Mr. Scott, I mean.”
Charlotte clamped her lips together. She shouldn’t comment. David certainly wouldn’t want her to. He wouldn’t welcome her interference. But what was wrong with Edith Carroll? When David told Charlotte about the destruction of his friendship with his old friend Peter’s wife, his hurt had been palpable.
“You were good friends once, weren’t you?”
Mrs. Carroll waited so long to answer, Charlotte wasn’t sure she was going to. The widow linked her fingers in her lap and gazed down as her thumbs rubbed against each other. “Yes. They were three best friends in the same regiment. Peter, Major Scott, and Major Lord Wakefield. Scott and Lord Wakefield often joined Peter and myself at home. I considered both of them my friends, too.”
She took a large breath, her shoulders rising and falling. “That is, I thought Scott was a friend.” Her hands stilled. She raised her head and looked at Charlotte. “But he’s the reason Peter’s dead.” Her words drifted, soft and easy like blossom petals falling. “Peter intended to sell his commission but Scott convinced him to stay.”
Charlotte nodded. Big, slow nods. “Mr. Scott told me your husband was a good officer. And he loved the army.”
Mrs. Carroll blinked like she was throwing off the last traces of a dream. “Scott made Peter feel guilty for wanting to leave.” The soft quality of her voice altered, becoming firm with an underlying nuance that sounded like agitation. “Peter wouldn’t have died if not for Scott. And it’s not as though Scott didn’t know the risk. He knew.” Mouth tight, the woman paused for a deep breath. “I know my husband wouldn’t have liked it, but I can’t forgive Scott.”
Cold wafted through Charlotte. She shivered and fisted her chilled hands, but she said nothing.
Mrs. Carroll stood, ready to leave. Charlotte hurried over to Edith and got close. Close as an intimate friend. She covered Edith’s clenched hand with her palm and said, “I know Mr. Scott. He’s fiercely loyal. The finest man I’ve ever known. The kindest, the most principled. He wouldn’t have tried to sway Peter for his own gain. Nor even for the good of the army. I know he listened to your husband and advised him. Advised him to follow his heart.”
She squeezed Edith Carroll’s hand, and the woman’s lips rolled inward. The widow closed her eyes and dropped her head. Sniffed.
Nodded.
When Edith’s head came up and their eyes met, Charlotte’s throat grew tight.
“He would have been alive and happy enough,” Edith whispered. “Sometimes I think it’s God’s justice that Scott was crippled.”
“Sometimes I think so, too,” David said. He sat a few feet beyo
nd the doorway.
Edith gasped and whirled to face him.
Charlotte hadn’t known David was there, and her hungry eyes absorbed the man before her. Her David, with shoulders back, head up, forthright and ready to face whatever came. His hands gripped his chair wheels, knuckles white.
“We should talk, Edith. It’s what Peter would want.”
Thank God, Edith nodded and followed David into his office.
#
Two hours later, David waited in Charlotte’s drawing room, blind to its agreeable accoutrements. In response to the overwhelming urge to pace, he tapped the arms of his chair.
He’d spent the days since Wakefield’s visit considering how to belay Charlotte’s fears. The only answer he’d come up with was time. In time she’d come to trust her belief in him, and he was going to be patient if it killed him. He was going to crush his stupid pride, which had been offended that Charlotte didn’t see him as the one man above all others she could trust. What crazy madness had made him spout that ultimatum? It had been pure, angry nonsense, saying he couldn’t accept her love without immediate and whole-hearted trust. Arrogant nonsense, built on resentment and overwhelming his common sense. When she couldn’t offer her whole, unrestricted heart, he’d lashed out.
A week of missing her had righted his thinking. Humbled him. He had no choice but to be patient. And he would be. For as long as it took.
What better way to build her trust than loving her, actually? By living with her, showing her every day the man he was. The restrictions that hobbled her would drop away in time. He trusted that would happen.
He’d never been so proud as when Charlotte described him to Edith. The finest man I’ve ever known. That gave him hope their rift could be repaired. Without knowing any details of his and Peter’s friendship, Charlotte had believed David wanted only for Peter to be satisfied and happy, which was the truth. Her defense had shown she trusted the man he was today and the man he’d been in the past. One day she’d trust his future self as much as she loved him now.
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