Some part of him acknowledged this was exactly how he had wanted their relationship to be: cold, distant, impersonal. And perhaps with another woman, with another wife, he would have been grateful for it. But not with Charlotte. Never with Charlotte.
“You said you would go with me.” Cheeks flushed, jaw clenched, she glared daggers at him. “I was not the only one who agreed to this marriage. I did not propose to myself. You can’t change your mind,” she decided. “We are nearly there and I will not let you.”
His second eyebrow rose to join the first. “You will not let me?”
“No. If you want, I will go with you to tell your mother, but you agreed to go with me to tell mine first, and that is precisely what we are doing.”
The smile that had crept into the corners of his mouth vanished in an instant. “My mother is dead,” he said flatly.
Charlotte’s mouth fell open. “I… Gavin, I am sorry. I did not know. How… When did she die?”
“When I was a boy. She was sick, and we did not have enough money to buy her medicine.” He felt suddenly, inexplicably cold. The warm feelings that had filled his body and heart mere moments ago were evaporating, like mist off a lake.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk loving Charlotte, knowing one day he might lose her, just like he’d lost his mother. Lost her because he wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t rich enough. He wasn’t smart enough. He felt a faint pressure on his arm, and glanced down to see Charlotte’s long, delicate fingers encircling his wrist.
“That must have been horrible for you,” she whispered.
Gavin shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
“Doesn’t it?” Charlotte said cryptically.
He did not answer, and they rode the rest of the way in familiar silence.
If Charlotte had any hope of her mother coming to terms with the marriage, it dissolved the very second she stepped into the parlor.
Dressed in a dark gray gown with her hair pulled into a severe bun and her eyes hard and unforgiving, Bettina waited for them in the middle of the room.
Candles had been lit in preparation of their arrival and light flickered up the walls, casting shadows in the corners and giving the parlor an uneasy appearance that caused shivers to race down Charlotte’s spine even though she had spent hundreds upon hundreds of hours curled up in the same velvet upholstered chair that she sank into now. Gavin sat beside her, and even though his long, relaxed body gave the implication of casualness, she knew he was tense by the whiteness of his knuckles as he placed his hands on the armrests of his chair.
When Bettina said nothing, Charlotte cleared her throat and did her best to break the ice. “Mother, I would like to introduce you to my husband, Gavin Gray—”
“I do not care what his name is.” Bettina’s voice cracked through the room like a whip, and Charlotte flinched at the hardness of it. Beside her Gavin did not stir, although he kept his eyes trained on Bettina as a hawk would a snake in the grass.
Do not lose your temper, Charlotte reminded herself. Yelling would get her no where. “I am sorry you feel that way, Mother,” she said evenly. “And I am sorry I left without a word. I know it must have upset you.”
With the gracefulness of a queen Bettina slowly lowered herself onto an ivory settee. She painstakingly arranged her skirts, crossed her hands on her lap, and fixed her only daughter with a stare that could have easily shattered stone.
“The maid putting two spoonfuls of sugar in my tea instead of one upsets me, Charlotte. The driver being a few minutes late upsets me. My daughter, whom I have loved and cherished since her birth, lying and deceiving me in order to run off and marry a commoner?” Her mouth twisted. “That is not upsetting, it is unacceptable.”
“I did not come here to argue.”
“By all means” – Bettina gave an elegant wave of her left hand – “enlighten me.”
“I came…” Charlotte faltered, and, even though she hated herself for it, broke Bettina’s gaze to stare down at the floor. How was it, she wondered, that at twenty one years of age she could still sit before her mother and feel as though she was once again a little girl being chastised for something so foolish as forgetting to wash up before dinner?
She felt a second pair of eyes upon her and glanced sideways to see Gavin watching her. He gave the slightest of nods, a silent gesture for her to continue, and even though they had just been arguing she took comfort from his presence and unspoken support.
“I came to see you, first and foremost,” she said, reciting the words she had been practicing since Dianna left. “I wanted to make sure you are well.”
“How could I possibly be well? You have brought shame upon me, Charlotte, and shame upon the family name. Your father is no doubt rolling in his grave and you have brought me ten years closer to mine. How could you?”
Seeing a suspicious glimmer in her mother’s eyes, Charlotte felt an unexpected pang of guilt. “Mother, I—”
“And to dare bring this… this man into my house. You have no place here,” Bettina snapped, speaking directly to Gavin for the first time. “Leave now, or I shall have you tossed out like the trash you are.”
“Mother,” Charlotte gasped. “Gavin, please excuse her—”
“Do not speak for me,” Bettina snapped. A bloom of color appeared high on her cheeks, revealing how upset she truly was. Adopting a chilled smile that fell far, far short of her eyes, she said, “You are still my daughter and this is still my house. I will admit who I want when I want, and I do not recall seeing that man’s name on the calling card.”
There was simply no talking to the woman. Hissing out a frustrated breath, Charlotte peeked sideways at her husband, expecting to see him red with anger. To her surprise, he did not appear angry at all. If anything, he looked amused.
Stretching his legs out in front of him, he crossed his arms over his chest and drawled, “With all due respect, Lady Vanderley, I go where my wife goes. If she wishes for me to go, I will do so. Otherwise, I am staying right here.”
Charlotte could have kissed him. Bettina did not seem to be of a like mind.
Her face turning florid, she stood up so abruptly the settee was pushed back a good half yard, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. “Are you going to allow him to speak to me like that?” she hissed.
“I said did not come here to fight with you.” Feeling suddenly, inexplicably weary Charlotte slumped in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Long dark shadows darted across the white plaster and trickled down the walls. “Even though it seems that is all I do now,” she muttered to herself. Was it her? Was she the one at fault? First her mother, now her husband. Could she keep no one happy?
“Why did you come, then?” Bettina demanded.
“I came to see you, and to apologize for running off like I did. I am sorry if it embarrassed you, but surely you must know the ton has accepted our marriage.”
“Perhaps the ton has, but the duke has not.”
Stiffening at the mere mention of Crane, Charlotte reached blindly to the side and grasped Gavin’s hand. She did not know where this innate fear of the duke came from, but whenever she thought of him it felt as though a shard of ice was piercing her chest. When she and Gavin first began to attend balls and parties she looked for him everywhere, but after the sixth function had passed and he still had yet to appear she assumed he had, at long last, let her go.
“You are still speaking to him?” she asked her mother now, incredulity written over every inch of her face.
“Of course,” Bettina said, staring down her nose. “He is, naturally, very disappointed in you, but he is willing to overlook your poor judgment pending an annulment. There cannot be a wedding like the one we had planned, but a quiet ceremony in one of the smaller churches should suffice.”
Charlotte’s jaw dropped. Gavin’s fingers tightened around hers, holding her in place when she would have otherwise leapt to her feet. “Mother,” she cried, aghast, �
��I am not getting an annulment and I am not marrying the duke!”
Bettina’s face went white. “You stupid, impetuous child! I gave up everything for you, and this is how you repay me? No. No, I will not have it, do you hear me?”
Before Charlotte could think to defend herself Bettina was across the room in three quick strides. She raised her right hand and brought it crashing down across her daughter’s cheek, whipping Charlotte’s head to the side. Her mouth curling is disgust, Bettina lifted her arm again, but before she could lash out Gavin was on his feet and had her by the shoulders.
“I have never hit a woman,” he growled, his eyes as hard as steel in the flickering candlelight, “but you sorely tempt me, Lady Vanderley. Touch my wife again and you shall know the full consequences of your actions.”
“Your wife,” Bettina sneered, although once Gavin released her she did keep her distance after casting one last, searing glare at Charlotte. Going to the far wall where a silver tray was set up on a long legged table she poured herself a cup of tea and took a sip. When she turned around she was coolly composed, the anger that had overtaken her once again contained and buried beneath a veneer of politeness. “She will not be your wife once this farce of a marriage is annulled,” she said in a tone that was eerily pleasant. “Charlotte, dear, go to your room.”
Hearing her name spoken was enough to snap Charlotte out of the daze she had momentarily succumbed to. Shaking her head to clear it, she rose to her feet and stood beside Gavin, cupping her burning cheek with one hand and using the other to steady herself against his side. “You hit me,” she said dumbly.
It was a stunning realization for any child to discover their parent was capable of such violence, but even more so for Charlotte because it indicated a depth of passion in her mother she thought had simply not existed.
For as long as she could remember Bettina had always been coldly detached. No matter what Charlotte did, not matter how well she behaved, she could never achieve more than a faint glimmer of approval in her mother’s eyes. Because of that, she had always believed – had made herself believe – that her mother was incapable of feeling true emotion. But there was emotion in Bettina now.
It simmered in every part of her body, spilling off her in waves no matter how composed her countenance. Finally, Bettina truly felt something for her daughter.
Hate.
“I cannot go to my room,” she said softly. “I no longer live here, Mother. I live with my husband now.”
“Where? Under a bridge?” Bettina’s laugh was short and mean. Setting her cup aside with an uncharacteristic clatter, she turned her full attention to Gavin. “I blame you for this, you know.”
“I know,” he said indifferently.
“You swooped in like a vulture after a poor, witless rabbit and charmed it with your looks and smooth tongue. Well, soon enough my daughter will realize what you truly are: a money hungry womanizer with nothing more than a pretty face and empty lies!”
Enough, Charlotte thought wearily as Gavin and Bettina exchanged glares of mutual dislike. This has gone on long enough.
There was nothing to be had by continuing the conversation. Nothing to be gained. In truth, she probably never should have come. She was expecting something of Bettina that she could not give: love, acceptance, happiness. She might as well ask the sky to turn purple or the grass to bleed blue. “There is no money to be had, Mother.”
“There is your dowry, which would be more than enough to lure the likes of him,” Bettina argued.
“There is no dowry, and even if there were Gavin would not need it. You do not know what you are speaking about, and your ignorance is showing.”
“I suppose he has told you he has money?”
“An embarrassing amount, really,” Gavin said.
“He is lying,” Bettina said, but there was a faint hesitation in her voice and – far worse than that, to Charlotte’s mind – a sudden spark of interest in her eyes. “How much wealth could an untitled man of your unfortunate background have accumulated?”
“Enough to pay off whatever debts you owe to the duke and allow you to live in comfort for the rest of your life.” Charlotte stepped forward and took her mother’s hand. Bettina’s fingers were cold and lifeless. “I knew you would be angry, but I had hoped for once you would be able to see past your constant disappointment in me and realize that I am happy with my decision. But you will never be able to do that, will you?”
“You are no longer a daughter of mine.”
Charlotte thought she could not be more hurt than she already was, but her mother’s words cut through her like a knife, thrusting through flesh and bone to pierce her heart in one horrible thrust. “Mother, please…” Her voice broke. She felt a gentle pressure on her shoulders. Gavin circled his arms around her and drew her against him, holding her protectively against his chest.
“That is enough,” he murmured into her ear. “There is nothing else you can do. Let’s go home now.”
“Yes,” she said, blinking furiously against the tears that threatened to fall. She wanted to say more, to reach out towards her mother one last time, but one glance at Bettina’s cold, unforgiving face told her everything she needed to know. Clinging to Gavin’s arm, she followed him out the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Charlotte burst into tears the moment they stepped inside the waiting phaeton. Gavin watched her helplessly, not knowing what words to offer that would ease her suffering. He may have lost his mother at an early age, but she had never spoken to him with anything other than love and kindness until her dying day. He did not understand how a parent could be so cruel to their child, especially when that child was Charlotte.
His wife may have been stubborn and hard headed, but she was also gentle, sweet, and giving. A person, Gavin thought, should not be judged by how they treated their betters, but by how they treated those beneath them, and he had never seen Charlotte be anything but kind to her maid and any other servant she came across.
How was it that someone so selfless could be born of someone so selfish? If he was honest with himself Gavin would admit he had already made up his mind where Bettina was concerned before he ever met the woman. Upon leaving, his negative opinion of her was confirmed a hundred times over.
Dark settled around them as the carriage plodded forward at a methodic pace, slowed by the evening swell of traffic. Still Charlotte cried, her tears shimmering on her face like diamonds under the street lamps. Feeling as though he should do something, even though he was not sure what that something was, Gavin wrap his arm awkwardly around her hunched shoulders. She went still, so still he feared she may have stopped breathing, before she launched herself against him with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs.
She curled into his body, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and blew her nose. “I am s-s-sorry,” she choked out, “but I forgot my handkerchief and my n-nose will not stop r-running. Dianna was right,” she said, and for some reason that made her cry all the harder.
Gavin rubbed her back in gentle circles, murmuring nonsense words meant to calm and soothe. Eventually he felt more so than heard her sobs subsiding, and she used this coat again, this time to dry her face.
“Feel better?” he inquired gruffly.
“Yes,” she sighed.
He waited for her to stiffen and draw back, to return to her side of the carriage, but when she stayed nestled in the crook of his arm it only felt natural to keep her there.
By the time they reached Shire House the hour was quite late, and Charlotte was sound asleep. As Gavin stared down at her upturned face, he smoothed a curl from her cheek and softly kissed her temple. The moment his lips touched her ivory skin he felt something shift deep inside of him, like a chord being struck. Brow furrowed in thought, he carefully lifted her up and carried her all the way up to her bedroom.
She stirred when he laid her gently across the mattress, and woke when he began to untie the laces on her boots.
“G
avin?” Her voice was drowsy. Disoriented. Leaning against the wooden headboard she sat up and blinked owlishly at him. “What are you doing? What time is it?”
“After ten and I am undressing you.” Concentrating on his task he remained crouched at the side of the bed and, once one boot was loosened, pulled it gently off and set it down on the floor beside him before going to work on the other.
“But… Where is Tabitha?”
“I sent her away.”
“You sent her away?”
The second boot joined the first and he began to unroll her stockings, taking care not to rip the delicate fabric. “Do you know these don’t match?”
Charlotte sat up straighter and drew her legs to her chest. She frowned at him over the top of her knees, her countenance vaguely suspicious in the flickering light afforded them by the two candles sitting on her dresser and the silvery glow of the moon beaming in from an open window. “Are you being nice to me because I cried? Because I do not want your pity.”
“And you do not have it.” Pushing to his feet, Gavin walked around the massive four poster bed and closed the window halfway, mindful of the strong winds that had been whistling through the city in the early hours of the morning. “I wanted to see you settled in your bed. Now that you are, I will take my leave.”
Her felt her eyes upon him as he traced his steps back to the door and just as he lifted his foot to step over the threshold she called for him to wait. “Yes?” he asked, turning in a slow half circle.
The light from the full moon trickled through Charlotte’s auburn hair, bathing her face in a silvery glow that only served to make her all the more enchanting. She looked like a wood nymph or a fairy princess, her eyes heavy lidded with sleep and her mouth curved faintly in bemusement. “Could you stay with me?” she asked hesitantly. “Just… Just for a little while.”
Gavin nodded, although he did not trust himself to sit beside her on the bed. Selecting a chair he turned it to face her and settled into it, kicking off his own boots before propping his feet on the end of the mattress. How odd it felt, he reflected, to be in his wife’s bedchambers. Odd, and yet strangely comforting. As he shrugged out of his coat and untied his cravat he could not help but think this was how it could always be between them. And for the very first time there was no pang of fear to accompany such an intimate thought.
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