"Damnit, Fines, have some bloody sense—" Nicholas began.
"I do. And you're right—I am a feckless fool." He paused at the door, his lips twisting. "Damn me for thinking I could ever be more than that."
SIX
"You cannot be serious. You're not truly considering marrying a man you don't love!"
"Please lower your voice, Percy. I don't wish for everyone at the picnic to know my private affairs," Charity said.
Casting a glance about, she was relieved to note that none of the other guests were looking in their direction. She and Percy had excused themselves to take a stroll around the perimeter of the garden. Finally alone with her friend, Charity had shared the news of her soon-to-be arranged nuptials.
"But this is madness. You don't even know this man," Percy said in a furious whisper.
"Mr. Garrity is my father's business associate. He's come to the shop on several occasions." Three, to be exact. "Father likes him very much."
Percy narrowed her eyes. "And what do you think of him?"
Charity bit her lip. Mr. Garrity was a tall, dark, and elegant gentleman in his thirties. Many would consider him handsome. Yet there was something about his eyes—cold and dark as onyx—that stirred her unease. As she'd gone about her duties, he'd watched her the way a predator might watch its small, furry supper.
"I think that he will be a boon to Sparkler's," she said truthfully.
"Then Mr. Sparkler should take him on as a business partner, not a son-in-law!"
"You know how Papa is about the shop. He doesn't trust anyone but family."
"Well, that's easy enough for him to say. He doesn't have to marry ... oh God." Percy stopped in her tracks, pained horror spreading across her face.
"What's the matter?" Charity said with instant alarm. "Is it the babe? Are you—"
"I'm fine. But, Lord, it just occurred to me. If you wed this man, you'd be ..."—Percy's blue eyes widened—"Charity Garrity."
An awkward name, admittedly.
Charity cleared her throat. "Marriage is about more than a name."
"Exactly. It ought to be about love and passion." Percy's skirts swished against the carpet of grass, her pace in rhythm with the rapid-fire cadence of her words. "Marriage should be about the mating of two souls—not the joining of business interests."
Charity smiled wryly at her friend's incurable optimism. "Most marriages are based on practical considerations. Yours is the outlier, dear."
"Better to be an outlier than the unhappy norm," Percy said decisively.
"We can't all be outliers, can we?" Charity said in reasonable tones. "Besides, I would be content knowing that I'm doing my duty. Father is getting older, and his constitution is frail."
A chill crept over her. Over the past few months, her papa had become increasingly grey and tired. He'd had several spells; the physician had diagnosed him with a weakening heart. Yet neither the good doctor nor she could dissuade her father from working his grueling hours.
"Between us, sales have fallen. Papa needs someone to help turn things around," she said tightly. "He can't do everything by himself any longer."
"Why doesn't he let you take over the shop? Lord knows you could run the place if you put your mind to it." The cornflowers on Percy's hat fluttered as she said with emphasis, "You know Sparkler's inside and out, and you're the most organized, efficient person I know."
Percy's words stirred a dangerous accord in Charity. That secret, wayward part of her that believed that she could run Sparkler's—if Father would entrust her with responsibilities beyond what he deemed proper for a young woman. It wasn't that she minded keeping the shop tidy or helping customers when needed; it was that she suspected that she could do far more.
When she'd gathered the courage to suggest this to her father, he'd given her an incredulous look. A girl—managing a business like Sparkler's? Don't be ridiculous. Get back to your duties, Charity, and don't waste any more time on this nonsense.
A hot feeling flared beneath Charity's breast bone; she tamped it down, told herself it was immodest to assume that she could run the shop. Such vanity would only anger Father, and he might bar her from the shop entirely. Then where would she be? She couldn't risk losing her role at Sparkler's; she'd earned her place there.
All her life, she'd worked hard for the privilege of accompanying her papa to work. For it was there that she could share a few moments alone with him, just the two of them. After the store closed for the night, she'd help him unpack the new inventory, and he'd take the time to show her the beauty of each piece.
Look at this pearl. It isn't flashy like a diamond, but its value is in its purity and substance. His grey eyes would focus on her. Be wise, my girl, and don't be fooled by glitter.
She felt a pang. She couldn't bear to disappoint her father.
Clearing her throat, she said, "Whoever heard of a woman running a business as large as Sparkler's? It simply isn't done."
"You could be the first," her friend replied stoutly. "Remember all those late nights we spent talking about our deepest, most innermost dreams? You said you wanted to have your own shop—and now you have the opportunity."
"Dreams aren't the same as reality."
"You've always supported me in my dreams." Percy's blond curls tipped to the side. "Now I'm married to Mr. Hunt and writing novels. If I can find the ultimate happiness, why can't you?"
Because Percy was pretty and spirited, deserving of everything good. Whilst Charity was ... Never gild a lily or a weed. Keep your head down. Do as you're told. She chased a rock away with the tip of her kid boot.
"Picture a new sign on the storefront." Percy waved her hands with dramatic flair, as if unveiling a grand masterpiece. "Sparkler & Sparkler: Purveyors of the Extraordinary. It has a ring to it, don't you agree?"
"Only because you've a way with fiction." Tucking away her longing, Charity said, "The reality is I have suggested it before, and Father wouldn't even hear of it. Marriage to Mr. Garrity is the only way to help the business and make my papa happy."
"But what about your happiness?"
"I'll be happy knowing that I've acted prudently and in the best interests of everyone."
They walked on in uncharacteristic silence. Charity was struck by unease, justified when her friend said, "What about ... Paul?"
The sounds of the garden melded into a loud buzz. Charity's heart raced; her skin tingled. All at the mere mention of his name.
"I know you have feelings for my brother," Percy said quietly, "and if he weren't such a numskull, he'd recognize it too. But I think he is finally ready for love, Charity. And if you'd let me tell him what you did for him—"
"No." Charity clutched her friend's arm. "You promised, Percy. You gave me your word on our friendship that you would never disclose my visit to Spitalfields."
"I know I did, which is why I haven't breathed a word of it to anyone. But, Charity," Percy said with obvious frustration, "don't you think my bacon-brained brother ought to know the truth? You risked your reputation, your very life, to nurse him when I couldn't do so. You were as brave as any heroine, and I wish you'd let me tell him so."
Charity shook her head, in desperation and ... guilt. For she'd kept the truth of what had transpired between her and Mr. Fines a secret, even from her best friend. The humiliation of being kissed by mistake was already too much: she couldn't bear Mr. Fines finding out and offering for her out of obligation. Pity, for God's sake.
Embers smoldered in her chest. She could endure many things—but never that.
"What would that accomplish?" Charity said as calmly as she could, "The truth is I count it a blessing that Mr. Fines was too inebriated to take note of my presence. Going to him was an act of folly rather than heroism, and as for my feelings for him ..."—mentally, she crossed her fingers—"they were naught but a passing infatuation. I've grown up, Percy, and I'm quite done with that foolishness."
"But that was only nine months ago. And you're the most const
ant person I know."
"Done," Charity repeated.
"I just think that if Paul had any inkling—"
"If you divulge my actions now, you'll only ruin my reputation and my chances of marrying Mr. Garrity. He will help Papa and save the business. Ergo, he is the man I must wed."
This was exactly the sort of sensible, practical argument she ought to be making. Yet the words felt as dry as sawdust in Charity's mouth.
"My brother might not seem to possess business savvy, but I assure you he can do anything he puts his mind to." Her expression troubled, Percy said, "In retrospect, I think Papa erred in trying to browbeat Paul into working at Fines & Co. My brother is as stubborn as a mule: the more you push him, the harder he plants his heels. He and my father had endless rows over it."
Charity recalled some of these arguments. Several times, when she'd been over visiting with Percy, she'd overheard the raised voices coming from Jeremiah Fines' study. Words like "irresponsible" and "reckless" had seeped through the walls.
Empathy had filled her. Living up to a parent's expectations was never easy. She'd tried to please her father all her life.
Mr. Fines, on the other hand, had seemed inclined to employ the opposite strategy.
"My brother is a capable fellow, however," Percy went on, "and when he decides upon a thing, he's utterly dedicated. Look at his success at boxing. And he's loyal too: even at his lowest point last year, he risked life and limb to defend my honor." Her eyes shimmered. "I've always looked up to him."
"I know," Charity said gently. "But the fact remains that Mr. Fines would have no interest in Sparkler's. Or, more importantly, me. I'm not the sort of girl your brother fancies."
I'm no Rosalind Drummond.
"You are an absolute gem, and my brother would be lucky to have you." Percy chewed on her lower lip. "Oh, I just wish he would grow up!"
"Keep your promise to me. You'll say nothing to your brother—to anyone—about my trip to Spitalfields. Swear it, Percy."
Charity held out her gloved pinkie. Her friend hesitated before doing the same. Their fingers caught and held in the most solemn of vows.
"For a girl who's supposedly quiet and reserved, you argue like a bloody barrister, you know," Percy grumbled.
*****
A half hour later, Charity parted with Percy, who was ready for a nap after all. Not wanting to waste the lovely afternoon, Charity continued the walk alone. She saw Sarah in the distance chatting with the other maids and decided not to disturb their conversation. In truth, she wished for time alone with her thoughts. Spying a path in the woods that bordered the gardens, she made her way over, letting out a sigh of pleasure as the cool, leafy shade enveloped her.
Here, her worries abated. The country idyll was a rare escape from the bustling, smoke-choked bosom of London. Here, she took in buzzing dragonflies and chirping birds rather than clattering carriage wheels and raucous street mongers pitching their wares. Even the splendors of Hyde Park paled in comparison to this verdant, untamed paradise.
Surrounded by towering oaks, overgrown bushes, and glittering streams of sunlight, Charity felt removed from the troubles of the world. There was only the spongy squish of her kid boots against the forest floor and the humid air bathing her senses. A pair of squirrels darted across her path, their bushy grey tails swishing as their game of chase took them high into the leafy boughs. Through perforations in the forest canopy, she spied birds winging through the sky.
What would it be like to be so … free?
She wasn't accustomed to such idle thoughts. Her ordinary life was organized around gainful activity: an unending list of tasks to be completed at the shop and another list when she returned home. She enjoyed keeping busy. It prevented her from the devil's work—from thinking too much. And from futile … longing.
For the attention of her father, who already had too many burdens upon his shoulders. For the care of her mother, who she wished she might have known. And for …
A love that can't be mine.
She caught herself. Solitude was making for a poor companion indeed, if it encouraged her to indulge in such foolish thoughts.
"What is the matter with you, Charity Sparkler?" she said aloud. "You're carrying on like the heroine of a maudlin opera. Next thing you know, the violins will start playing and you'll be tossing yourself over a bridge."
Regaining her practical senses, she took another step—and lost her footing. Her boot encountered a hole hidden beneath the carpet of moss, and she yelped as her ankle went over. She lost her balance, tumbling into the shallow gully next to the path.
Lying on her back, breathing rapidly, she blinked up at the leaves and glittering patches of light. She became aware of an odd buzzing noise and thought, at first, that her ears were ringing because of the fall. But the sound grew louder and darkness swarmed her vision, obliterating leaves and light, covering all a vortex of black, swirling frenzy.
Wasps. Thousands of them.
Panicked, she scrambled to get up, but her skirts were caught in the brambles. She yanked at them as the insects roared. She managed to stumble to her feet, only to fall with a cry as her wrenched ankle gave out. The wasps descended in a humming shroud. She curled into a ball, shielding her head with her arms, her heart hammering with helpless fear.
The ground shook beneath her. The rhythmic vibration jolted her to her senses. The pounding of hooves, a horse ...?
She cried out, "Help! Over here, help me, please!"
Heartbeats passed. Powerful arms reached through the veil of death and swept her up.
SEVEN
Just beyond the woods, Paul drew his horse to a stop at the folly. It was the closest place he could think to go. He lifted Charity Sparkler into his arms, ignoring her protests, and carried her through the gothic arches into the gazebo. With care, he placed her down on a stone bench, surprised to realize that his heart was pounding.
"Are you hurt?" he said tersely.
"I didn't get stung." She peered up at him with worried eyes. "What about you?"
"I'm fine." He exhaled. "We'll have to wait here until the blasted things clear from the path."
He thought it was a miracle that she'd escaped unscathed. With the exception of the dirt smudged on the tip of her little retroussé nose and the leafy bits clinging to her gown, she appeared much as she usually did. Most ladies he knew turned into watering pots in the presence of one buzzing insect, never mind thousands. But not Charity Sparkler. Her expression was as composed as a sonata.
His mouth twitched as he noted that although she'd lost her bonnet, only a single lock of hair had escaped her topknot. The strand had an unexpected wave and clung with gentle sensuality to her cheekbone. She brushed it away, and, as she did so, the tendril caught the light. The burnished glimmer made him blink.
Frowning, he scrutinized her coiffure. Whatever she used on her hair—some sort of waxy substance?—obscured its natural brilliance. Up close he glimpsed hints of shimmering gold and bronze twined with rich hazelnut. Why would she hide such an asset with pomade and pins? His palms prickled with a sudden memory of silken waves, grasping them as he plundered the softest, sweetest mouth—
He rubbed his hands over his thighs, shaking off the queer sensations. Where the devil had that come from? Was he hallucinating now? The aftermath of danger must have unbalanced him. Or mayhap her hair reminded him of a past lover's, some spontaneous and inexplicable association … yes, that must be it.
Yet he couldn't recall bedding anyone who resembled Miss Sparkler. He made it a point to stay away prim and proper types. Not to mention virgins.
"Thank you … for saving my life," she said softly.
It had been a long while since anyone had looked at him this way. As if he were wearing a coronet of stars. His chest expanded, even as he replied with his usual wit.
"Happy to oblige. I know you adventurous types thrive on risk," he drawled, "but in the future I must remind you of that old adage: never stir a hornet's nest
."
"I didn't do it on purpose, sir. And I'm not adventurous—not at all."
She sounded so appalled that he almost chuckled. What an earnest little mouse she was. He couldn't resist teasing her a little more.
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks." He tapped his chin. "As I recall, the last time we met you were marauding in the parlor at midnight. Now you're wandering about the woods alone."
Pink spilled over Miss Sparkler's cheekbones, emphasizing their unique slant and the fey shape of her little face. "I know I ought to have summoned my maid. But I …"—she hesitated and then her shoulders hitched in a rather forlorn movement—"I wished for some solitude."
"Tired of the company, are you? House parties are a dreadful bore."
"Oh no, it's not that. Everyone has been most kind. And it is an honor to be invited at all. It's just that … well, I'm not sure I can explain."
"Try," he said.
Because he was curious. Why had the little chit hailed off on her own? Given the rarefied guest list, any middling class miss worth her salt would be angling to make the best matrimonial catch.
Her gaze on her lap, Miss Sparkler said, "I suppose being surrounded by people made me feel more alone." She fiddled with the beige folds of her skirt. "Sounds silly, doesn't it?"
Actually ... it didn't.
"It's the happy ones in particular," he said with feeling, "that really make one miserable. And we two seem to be surrounded by a surfeit of lovey-dovey couples, don't we? It's like a disease, and it's spreading."
"I wouldn't worry for your health, sir. I'm certain the condition is not contagious."
There it was again: that sly wit of hers. He hadn't imagined it last night. Her mouth tipped up at the corners, and it was a charming expression for her.
"You misunderstand, I'm not worried about me," he said. "We hardened rakes have a natural immunity against the softer sentiments. 'Tis young innocents such as you who had better have a care. From what I hear, quite a few eligible bachelors at the party are looking to get leg-shackled."
Her Prodigal Passion Page 5