Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for MarriageThe Wedding PartyUnlaced (Lester Family)

by Stephanie Laurens

  Magdalene knew this was her fault. She swallowed back the need to vomit. Few had the patience to love Charles for what he was. Everyone saw his constant sketching, during Parliament proceedings, church and the dinner table alike, as a sign of flip oddity, superiority and disrespect. What no one knew was that those sketches in his bound book were a part of his soul and an internal expression of private images he shared with no one. Not even her.

  It was a world she had unknowingly introduced him to. Whenever she had locked them both away for long periods of time to avoid his father, she would thrust pieces of parchment into his small hands and insist that he draw the world, not for what it was, but what he wanted it to be and that, one day, it would be.

  He’d been doing it ever since.

  Only he wouldn’t be able to sketch his way out of this one. Though she had tried and tried to immerse Charles in countless social settings after the death of her husband to assist him in overcoming his distrust of the world, in the end, she hadn’t done enough. He had turned that distrust toward his own understanding of women. And her.

  She could either be a good mother and do right by what her son clearly wanted for himself but was too afraid to step forth and grab, or she could turn away from everything her son was in the name of superficial societal mores, rules and rank. Those superficial societal mores, rules and rank hadn’t saved her from beatings. In fact, they had added to her agony. Which was why she was going to save her son from this beating. Because he deserved more. Because he was more.

  She had always wanted him to step outside the solitary world of his sketching. It was a knee-bending blessing to know that he finally had. “Miss Vance.”

  The young woman folded her hands and set her chin in a distinguished manner as if fully accepting of whatever punishment Magdalene had in mind. A loose tendril of blond hair fell across that cheek. She tossed her head to the side, sending the hair away, and locked her gaze with Magdalene’s.

  Magdalene let out a calming breath, submitting gallantly to what she was about to do. “Given that Lord Kent is my son, I ask that you answer all of my questions in earnest so we might resolve this without having to involve the authorities.”

  Her tone softened. “I will do my best.”

  “Good. How old are you?”

  “Twenty, my lady.”

  “Twenty. Certainly old enough to know that trespassing and setting fire to the estate of an aristocratic peer of the realm is equivalent of suicide. Whatever the reason.”

  She said nothing.

  “Are you known for trouble?” Magdalene pressed.

  “I’ve never set fire to a house before, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

  Magdalene bit back a smile. She liked this girl. She had a quick mind, which Charles needed. “Have you ever been arrested?”

  “No,” she replied in agitation, now holding her gaze. “Prior to meeting Lord Kent, I considered myself to be a respectable citizen. I paid my taxes, even when I couldn’t afford to, and showed respect to my king by following the laws of the land.” She smoothed her gown against her hips again. “Sadly, my lady, the laws of the heart are a bit more involved. Though I have nothing to my name, I don’t deserve to be disrespected. Not by anyone and most certainly not by a man who had actually claimed to love me.”

  Well, at least the girl appeared to have her bricks in a row despite a momentary lapse of judgment. For, yes, the heart had a tendency to lead even the best astray.

  Magdalene should know.

  It had been her greatest downfall as a woman knowing she had ever loved a man like Adam at all, because he had never loved her. He had only ever truly lusted for her. “My son is a good man, Miss Vance. Know that.”

  Miss Vance tartly observed her. “Oh, yes. When he isn’t collecting nude sketches and pretending to be something that he isn’t.”

  Magdalene inwardly winced. “What do you know about him? Separate from this mess?”

  She glanced away. “I don’t know where his deception began or where it ended. So I can’t say.”

  “I see.” The girl deserved as much of the truth as possible. “Not to give him any excuses, but he had a most tragic upbringing, having had to watch his own mother beaten at the hands of his father. Sad though it is, he has always felt trapped between wanting to know happiness yet fearing it doesn’t exist. Sketching is a big part of his life. It is who he is and who he has always been. If you think he is the sort of man who lures unsuspecting women for his own gain, Miss Vance, in that you are wrong. He doesn’t really associate with women. If at all. In fact, and pardon my being so forward, you may be the first…nude he has ever drawn.”

  Miss Vance glanced toward her, her lips parting. “What?”

  “’Tis true. I should probably also add, and by no means do I wish to disrespect you by saying this, but men of his status don’t associate with women like you. I imagine that had a lot to do with his deception. It would seem he feared disappointing me and the rest of our society, although I never would have believed that of him before now. I imagine he also feared disappointing you once the deception had been cast.”

  Miss Vance blinked rapidly. “Had he told me the truth, I wouldn’t have rejected him. ’Tis I who is well below his station,” she uttered in the most heartbreaking way. “I love him. Despite everything, I still do.”

  Magdalene’s chest tightened. Love. Sweet love. Did it, in fact, still exist? That anguished, pretty young face whispered that it not only did but that nothing had changed since she herself was a woman of twenty. The only good in this was that Charles was a dear, dear angel worthy of being loved by someone other than his mother. It was obvious this girl still yearned for him. And Charles’s apparent fears of marrying below his station should not stand in their way. “Is there anything you wanted to know, Miss Vance? Anything that might change your view on this and him? For I wish to assure you that he, of all men, is deserving of your love.”

  Miss Vance pinched the fabric of her gown above her knee, and after a moment of silence asked, “Is he as endearing as he had made me believe?”

  Magdalene smiled at all the memories that suddenly flooded her of her dear Charles over the years. “Endearing doesn’t even begin to define him. If you ever wanted a star, he will not only draw it for you, but he will ensure that the ceiling is removed so you might never be wanting of a star again.”

  A muffled laugh escaped the young woman as she continued pinching and playing with the fabric of her gown, watching her own fingers. “I suppose a part of me wants to believe that our moments spent together were real, is all.”

  Magdalene leaned in, searching that pretty face, and tapped her cheek. “Then I would venture to say, yes. Yes, they were real. No one knows him more than I. He is ever loving, he is ever protective and above all, he is ever genuine.”

  Much like…Thornton.

  Magdalene swallowed and lowered her hand, knowing she had openly rejected him with a smack similar to the ones she had received throughout the years. It was unforgivable. Especially when all she had ever wanted to do, if she were honest with herself, was love him for everything he was in the best way she could. But the old way wasn’t best anymore, was it? He and she were well beyond that best.

  Miss Vance glanced toward Magdalene, tears welling within those large eyes. “What am I to do? Given that I am with child?”

  This was a wedding waiting to happen.

  Everyone in her circle was going to hang the last of her, that much she knew. But after the supposedly respectable marriage she had endured, they could all hang themselves. At worst, there was always Germany or France. “I ask that you wait downstairs in the servants’ quarters, Miss Vance,” she eventually offered, gesturing toward the corridor behind them. “I would like to speak to my son. Rest assured, you and he will be settling this on your own. It
will be whatever you both decide, though I genuinely hope your love for him and his love for you will prevail. Especially with there being a child. My grandchild.”

  Miss Vance blinked.

  “Now go,” Magdalene prodded, hoping the girl didn’t start blubbing on her, lest she make her blub knowing she was going to be a forty-year-old grandmother.

  “Thank you, my lady. Thank you for being so… Thank you.” Miss Vance nodded in what appeared to be a half daze and hurried past, disappearing around the corner, her skirts dancing about her slippered feet. Those quick, eager feet thudded down, down the corridor until they faded, leaving Magdalene to realize that everyone’s path to a happily-ever-after wasn’t always the same. Nor could it ever be personified or defined by the realm of the ton.

  Thank God.

  There was something profoundly touching about that moment. It made her realize that facing life for what it was and opening one’s self to one’s true heart as opposed to one’s fear gave way to unexpected and beautiful things. It was a lesson she had needed to relearn.

  It would seem her own stupid, stubborn fears had been as equally unfounded as her son’s, given Thornton’s unexpected admission of love for her. It hadn’t been mere lust or a fancy that had compelled him to kiss her. It had been love. It was a love she had yet to fully grasp and kiss and cradle. Because Thornton, her dear beloved Thornton, deserved more of a chance than she’d been willing to give him. The man had already won her heart long ago. He just didn’t know she’d been squirreling it away, burying it should everything go to hell, as she was accustomed to. In truth…she now knew there were worse things than hell.

  Such as living without Thornton for the rest of her life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  BLOWING OUT A RAGGED breath in an effort to remain focused, Mark strode out onto the eerie, lonely stillness of the verandah, long emptied of the crowds that had earlier swarmed in frenzy. Moonlight blanketed the sweeping stone stairwell leading out into the shadows of the provincial garden.

  He paused. There, sitting on the stairs, was none other than Charles himself, his dark head resting on a forlorn hand. His leather-bound sketchbook had been tossed beside him, pages and pages ripped out, scenes of drawn London life rebelliously strewn everywhere.

  And Mark thought he had problems.

  He strode over and sat beside Charles. Setting his forearm on his knee, he eventually offered, “Know that I’m not going anywhere.”

  Charles glanced toward him, those soulful dark eyes hauntingly reminding him of Magdalene. He looked away. Shifting against the stair they sat on, he fingered a graphite stick. “Ever since I could remember,” Charles confided, “I only ever wanted to sketch the goddamn moon and make it my own. Even knowing it could never fit on any page, let alone in my mind or my life. And now, because of it, this is my life. This. A mess beyond anything I can fix.”

  Oh, to be young again and full of that much spirit to even bother with the moon. Sadly, Mark hadn’t made use of his youth all that well, either. He should have rebelled against his status more, and married a woman of his own choice, as opposed to a titled beauty who made his inherited estate look good. He had spent seven miserable years married to a duke’s daughter who, as it turned out, had fallen in love with another man of a lesser station, but whose parents had denied the union to insist upon him. And devil take them all, he hadn’t known about it until after the wedding.

  Though he never doubted Anne’s loyalty, he sensed that secretly, she hated him and blamed him for the happiness her parents had denied her. Despite repeated attempts to connect with her, she always put him at a distance. Their conversations were one-sided, and the sex was at times awkward. She kept her eyes closed, more often than not, as if envisioning someone else. He simply couldn’t compete with a love she had already given to another and eventually…he just stopped trying. The only good to have come of the union were his three girls. He’d been monstrously bitter about Anne and women and his lot until…Magdalene. Damn her.

  Both he and Charles sat in grudging silence.

  Mark knew better than to say anything or push the boy into saying more. Charles didn’t like being rushed into talking. In that way, they were alike.

  Charles puffed out a breath. “Are women really as complicated as they seem?”

  Mark muttered, “Yes. They like to think we are the only ones complicating everything, but in truth, it is an infinite circle of mutual offenses. Sadly, no one ever wins until both sides admit defeat. Which is rare.”

  Charles rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “This is where I will admit that I did something rather…fatuus.”

  Charles and his Latin. “English, please.”

  “Stupid,” he obliged. “I did something stupid.”

  “Welcome to my world.” He eyed the boy. “What did you do?”

  Charles lowered his dark gaze and winced, that one-and-twenty-year-old face taking on the guise of a thousand-year-old sinner. He eventually leaned in. “I fell in love with a woman I shouldn’t have. A woman so far below my station, I can’t even see the bottom.” He half nodded. “And that isn’t the worst part.” He was quiet for a moment. “I got her pregnant.”

  Mark sighed. There wouldn’t be any paper grandchildren for Magdalene. She was getting the real thing whether she wanted it or not. “Ah. So this woman who ventured into the parlor and accidentally—”

  “Yes. I don’t know any other women. I never wanted to know any other women prior to her.”

  “Ah.” It was about all he could say in that moment.

  Charles scrubbed his hair and groaned. “God, am I ever an ass. An ass who… I just…I don’t know what to do. I want to marry her and do what is right by the way I feel, but in doing so I would be ostracizing my mother and everything she wants for me. I already disappoint her at every turn.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I do. As an artist, I see it all. I see things for what they are. Sadly, sometimes seeing is a curse. Because you wait for things to happen that never do. Like you and my mother. You should have been married to one another by now.”

  Mark froze. “She and I aren’t—”

  Charles snorted. “Aren’t what? ’Tis obvious you are both madly in love with each other, yet neither of you is willing to step beyond your gilded little frames to admit to it. You both prefer watching as opposed to doing.”

  Mark swallowed. “It would seem the artist has painted us well.” He set a hand on Charles’s back. “You need to talk to your mother about all of this. Not to me. I mean…you can always talk to me…what I meant to say is that I want you to tell your mother everything you just told me about yourself and this girl.”

  Charles shook his head and kept shaking it. “She and every last person in London with half a name will shred me and Emma apart.”

  “Hey, hey.” He elbowed him hard to let him know he was serious. “All of London I will agree with, Charles, yes, but not this nonsense about your mother. She loves you. Trust in that. She will always put you before all else. That is what a good mother does.”

  His shadowed features remained somber. “Do you honestly think she would even support my pursuit of matrimony to a girl well below my station? Given her experience in matrimony and all that she has endured?”

  Mark shifted his jaw. “I suppose you have a mild point. She can’t even swallow the word without spitting.”

  The rustling of a gown behind them made him pause. “It would seem neither of you know me as well as you should,” Magdalene’s voice penetrated the silence. “And it saddens me.”

  Both he and Charles scrambled up in astonishment toward her lingering frame in the shifting shadows of the terrace. Dread soaked every last inch of his body as those dark eyes met his. As if she didn’t hate him enough.

  She trai
led a calculating gaze to Charles.

  Charles set his shoulders. “Mother.” Striding toward her with what appeared to be newfound confidence, he announced in a strained tone, “There is something I must tell you.”

  “I already know. I spoke to Miss Vance.”

  Charles froze and met her gaze.

  She lifted a chiding brow. “Collecting nude sketches appears to be a relatively new interest for you, I would say.”

  Mark blinked. Nude sketches? Oh, now, bravo, Charles. That was real art.

  Magdalene sighed with the shake of her head. “You should have told me about her. You should have told me about this entire situation well before it escalated to this.”

  Charles hissed out a long breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, tapping his fingers rigidly against his forehead. “I knew nothing could ever come of it given who she was and given who I was, but I was so damn…desperate to step outside of everything relating to the ton that I—” He reopened his eyes and dropped his hand to his side. He stoically stood there, looking anguished and lost and without hope.

  If it had been anyone else in the ton that boy was pleading to, his cause would have been lost with the lop of a guillotine. But Magdalene, sweet Magdalene—damn her—grabbed her son’s chin gently and rattled it. “This is but the beginning of your journey known as life.” She released him. “Do right by this girl and the child she carries. Marry her. I thought her to be utterly deserving and charming.”

  Mark drew in a slow, astounded breath. She never ceased to amaze him. He knew she would have never turned against her own boy, but actually seeing it was as profound a moment as any.