The next couple days were uneventful as well. Charity was obviously a bit uncomfortable and likely embarrassed by her behavior. Rather than continue to cause her discomfort, Lachlan decided to leave her alone in the coach to sort out her thoughts while he rode along on one of the outrider’s horses. She seemed to have settled by the time they stopped for the night. They’d enjoyed a quiet dinner and then retired, again to separate rooms.
Today started out well enough. Charity was well rested, wide awake, and in astonishingly good humor. She’d remarked on the passing scenery for a bit and then fallen silent. Lachlan put on his spectacles and began reading. But after a while, he’d noticed she was fidgeting.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing,” she’d said with a bright smile, stilling herself.
Silence reigned again for a bit. He could feel her looking in his direction, but whenever he looked back at her, she turned away to stare out the window or down at her hands. Finally he removed his spectacles and set aside his reading material. “Charity, what has you so unsettled?”
She looked, for all the world, like a little girl who knew she’d done something wrong and was now trying to keep from getting caught. “Well, it’s just that . . .” she started to say, paused, and then began again. “I mean, we’re going to get married today, but I don’t really know anything about you.”
A very true statement. He didn’t know her particularly well, either. Lachlan considered a moment and then remarked, “But isn’t that the way marriages typically work in Society? The participants seldom know much about the other. Sometimes they haven’t even met before they marry.”
“I have never wanted a marriage like that,” Charity said. “My sisters don’t have that. Even Amity married for . . .” She stopped and bit her lip, wondering if Amity were already married and on her way back to London, if perhaps, they had even passed one another on their journey.
“For love?” He watched her closely.
Charity flushed uncomfortably and then nodded.
Lachlan contemplated that. While he had never really witnessed a loving relationship between a married couple, and had given no consideration to matters of the heart when he’d decided to take a wife, it was the only thing to which Charity was conditioned. Huntwick and Roth both adored their wives, and, although the Ackerly girls had been raised mostly motherless, he strongly suspected their household was governed with love and laughter. The contrast to his own upbringing was likely startling. Of course she would want love. And it was the one thing he wasn’t sure he could give her.
“Hmm. You make a very good point, kitten.”
Charmed by the nickname he’d begun using with increasing frequency, Charity tilted her head inquisitively to the side, a small smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. “Kitten?” she repeated.
Lachlan nodded. “Yes. You are very small and have sharp little claws. I’ve learned to keep that fact rather prominently in mind when dealing with you.”
He picked up his papers and spectacles from the seat beside him and slid them into the satchel he’d brought into the coach with him that morning. If his soon-to-be wife wanted to know about the man she was about to marry, it was a trifling wish, one he could easily grant. “Come over here. I’ll tell you anything you wish to know about me.”
For a few moments Charity looked at the hand he held out, but then she placed her own in it and allowed him to draw her to his side of the coach. “I’m not sure what to ask you,” she admitted as he settled her comfortably against his side, draped his arm around her shoulders and waited. She thought a few moments, and then hesitantly queried, “Were you a happy child?”
“Hmm.” Lachlan idly stroked her hair with one hand, his mind wandering back into a past he seldom visited. “I had happy moments. Mine was, I’d wager, very different from your childhood.”
She tilted her head back until she could see his face. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem angry, either. “Would you rather not talk about it?”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. There are things about me that I’d like for you to know from the outset.”
Things? That sounded mysterious and intriguing. Charity straightened and turned so she sat facing him, her legs curled beneath her on the seat, prepared to give him her complete and utter attention.
Lachlan smiled wryly at her expectant look, took a breath and decided to gamble on her trustworthiness, just as he was gambling on her suitability as a wife. His friends had married Ackerly girls and none seemed the worse for it. Then again, none of them were bastards who currently held titles rightfully belonging to a half brother
“It isn’t a pretty story, Charity,” he warned. “To begin with, I am not the legitimate heir of the Marquess of Asheburton. That honor actually belongs to my younger brother, and my mother is none too pleased about it.”
He watched her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction. Charity didn’t seem at all shocked by the fact he’d admitted to being a bastard. Quite the contrary. If anything, she looked even more fascinated.
“Sebastian Tremaine is actually my first cousin,” he continued, “my only cousin, to my knowledge. Our fathers were brothers cut off and disinherited by our grandfather, the previous Duke of Blackthorne, for a variety of sins, none of which truly bears repeating other than to note that they certainly had such a punishment coming. The old duke eventually had a change of heart, mainly because he wished to pass the title to a direct heir.
“He hired men to investigate what became of both of his sons. Sebastian’s father married, impregnated, and quickly deserted a girl in England, not far at all from Blackthorne Manor. Upon discovering the existence of his grandson, the duke wasn’t as focused on his search. Instead, he contacted Sebastian’s mother, revealed his identity, and made her an offer of financial support. The girl, young, frightened, and hurt by her husband’s disappearance, agreed only on the condition that Blackthorne not take Sebastian away from her. So my cousin received an education befitting a duke’s grandson, although he knew nothing of his lineage until a few years ago when Blackthorne became ill.
“My father, on the other hand, didn’t bother marrying my mother.” Lachlan’s face turned hard as he thought of his own lot. He glanced down, startled, when he felt Charity slip her small hand into his. His heart warmed at the little gesture. He gave her a smile, squeezed her hand in acknowledgment, and went on with his story. “By the time Blackthorne’s investigators found my father’s trail, my mother had married the Marquess of Asheburton, who agreed to claim me as his own.”
Lachlan’s voice was gruff with obvious affection when he spoke of his stepfather. “Andrew Kimball was an awkward, shy, unattractive man, but he was kind and generous to a fault. All he asked was that my mother keep her secret and bear him a son of his own, after which he would leave her alone. My mother vehemently denied any relationship with my father when Grandfather’s investigators came, but one of the men saw me and instantly noted my resemblance to members of the Tremaine family. And so, despite my mother’s protests, they sent word back that I was another grandson.”
He stopped and eyed Charity to assess her reaction. She seemed enthralled but not unhappy, and crowed, “I knew you and Blackthorne were closely related from the first time I saw the two of you together. At Faith’s wedding.”
Lachlan raised his eyebrows, a glimmer of humor filling him. “You did, hm? As I recall, you seemed rather focused on my teeth and whether or not I had warts. I’m surprised you even noticed the resemblance.”
She wrinkled her nose at him but smiled. “Go on, please. This is your lineage, not your childhood.”
“My grandfather’s investigators’ reports were thorough. They meticulously detailed everything about my existence for the duke, right down to the foods I ate and the childhood games I played. The debt was staggering, as it turned out, on the estate I would someday inherit. Asheburton Keep was not self-sustaining, and the rents from the village did not nearly compensate for the cost of the up
keep. The marquess, though kind, did not have a head for numbers, and the marriage between my mother and himself could best be described as estranged. As a result there were no tutors for me or my brother, and, since my mother fancied herself far above the villagers, she refused to send us to their rather primitive school.”
“But you’re incredibly bright, my lord,” said Charity. The loneliness he must have felt as a boy nearly broke her heart. “And you’re successful. Everyone says so.”
“Everyone?” His voice was teasing. “Before today, I was of the impression that you had no interest in hearing anything about me, Miss Ackerly. Perhaps even now you’re simply humoring me and don’t really want to hear the rest of the story.”
Charity didn’t answer the accusation. Instead, she leaned forward, braced a hand on his chest, and pressed a soft, shy little kiss to his cheek. “I’m sorry I was so wretched to you, my lord.” Her tone was contrite, and when she pulled back to look into his eyes, Lachlan saw twin pools of sincerity tinged with a shadow of regret.
“I know you are, kitten,” he said. “There’s no need to apologize. We were both rather wretched to one another.” He slipped a hand into the silky curls at the nape of her neck and pulled her close, taking her lips slowly, caressing them with his own until she sighed against his mouth.
“Where was I?” he asked.
“Kissing me,” she replied in a dreamy voice.
He chuckled. “You’d better turn back around before I am unable to stop kissing you. There’s a good deal more to tell, if you’re interested, and I can’t stay focused when you look at me like that.”
Surprised by his admission, Charity happily complied, turning so that she leaned back against him, nestled snugly into the curve of his arm. When she was comfortable, he resumed his tale.
“Upon learning of the fact that I was to be the next Marquess of Asheburton, the Duke of Blackthorne decided against coming forward to claim a relationship. He already had an heir in Sebastian, and, since it appeared everyone had long accepted me as Andrew Kimball’s son he turned his attention to finding a way to facilitate my education, since my mother refused to allow him to help in any way. Sending a professional tutor was impossible, given the circumstances, so he did the next best thing. He sent an old and trusted friend who at one time studied to become a member of the clergy.”
Charity scowled in confusion. “But how would that not also raise suspicion?”
“Gregory was an old man, and he took the time to integrate himself with the Scottish locals before he got to know me. He showed up one day when I was about five years old and asked my father if he could rent a cottage in the hills near the keep. Gregory kept mostly to himself, although I would occasionally see him when I was playing out that way. And then one day we came face to face, struck up a conversation, and that was that. I followed him back to his cottage and we talked for hours. I was almost ten by that time, and quite a lonely young boy. I had no playmates except my younger brother, and my mother often denied me even his company. Finding someone who would actually spend time with and talk to me was like finding a treasure, and I quite lost track of time. When night approached, he pointed it out and walked me back home.
“The following day I returned to his cabin, bright and early, for what was to become a daily visit. He was easily the most patient man I have ever encountered. He knew how to do everything, and took the time to teach me as well. He hunted only with quiet weapons, and with surprising success, despite his age. More than once I saw him catch small prey with his bare hands. His cottage was filled with books, and while I enjoyed the time we spent together outdoors, my favorite occupation was to sit and read and learn from those books. It completely escaped my notice that everything he taught would someday contribute to my ability to successfully run an estate or uphold the responsibilities of my title.”
Charity tilted her head back and looked at him, a troubled expression on her gamine face. “What is it, love?” he asked.
“I was just thinking about how difficult it must have been for the old Duke of Blackthorne to have not only lost his sons, but to be denied the opportunity to know his grandsons.”
“We all make choices, Charity. He chose to—understandably—disinherit his sons.”
“I know. It just makes me sad.”
Lachlan squeezed her shoulders. “If it makes you feel better, the fact that he placed Gregory in my life, and that he left Sebastian with his mother, were both unselfish choices that likely allowed us to grow up unencumbered by the material wealth that spoiled our fathers.”
She smiled. “Will I get to meet Gregory, my lord?”
He shook his head. “No. He fell ill when I was about fifteen. He told me good-bye, gave me all of his books, and returned to England to live out his final days there. Suddenly left with a great deal of time, I began noticing things around the estate that could be improved. I made some tentative suggestions to my father, which he then implemented. Before long we were working together, making investments with the profits from the improvements. The investments continued to pay off, and soon we were able to begin improving the village. For the first time since he became the Marquess of Asheburton, my father actually enjoyed a good relationship with the villagers—which did not please my mother at all.”
The bitterness in his voice did not escape Charity, especially in contrast to the warmth she heard when he spoke of his home, his stepfather and his brother. “You’ve barely mentioned your mother,” she said cautiously. “And when you do, your voice turns cold.”
Lachlan sighed. “I suppose it’s not very fair of me. My mother is a difficult topic. I have very few good things to say about her, and I’m reluctant to color your opinion before you meet her. My brother Lewiston adores her, but then she has always doted on him.
“I don’t mind so much that she ignored me for most of my childhood.” He paused for a long moment, and Charity waited, too, wondering at his silence but sensing he wasn’t having emotional difficulty. Rather, it seemed he was choosing his words carefully. Finally, he said, “What I will do is warn you that my mother will likely not welcome you with open arms, but that it has nothing to do with who you are. She does not wish for me or for any child that might come of my marriage to hold the title and lands.”
“Because you’re not a true Kimball?”
Lachlan shook his head. “I can’t imagine that part of it even matters to her. No, it is the way I look. Apparently, my resemblance to my real father is startling.”
“But that’s not your fault,” protested Charity. She pushed away from his chest and sat up straight, her arms crossed in indignation. “That’s horrible!”
Lachlan gave her a fond smile, charmed by her fierce loyalty and the fact that she was apparently prepared to do battle for the man she’d considered her foe only a few short days ago. “It’s all right, kitten. I’ve become accustomed to it. She’s the reason I traveled to London to find a wife. She sabotaged the only relationship I ever began at home, one with a pretty young girl from the village who certainly did not deserve the interference. My mother does not want me to marry, and she definitely does not want me to have a child. Especially not now.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when my father died, none of us were aware that he’d drawn up a new will. Everyone always knew that the title, the keep, and the entailed lands would go to me in the event of his death, but according to the will he’d executed when he married my mother, a large portion of his estate was to go to her. For some inexplicable reason, a very short time before he died, he changed it. He left everything, including control of my mother’s portion, to me.”
Charity sat silently chewing on her lower lip. Lachlan allowed her a few moments with her thoughts. When she finally looked up, her face was carefully blank. “Do you still love her?”
“My mother? Of course I love her. But I don’t like her very much.”
She fidgeted. “No,” she clarified. “I meant ‘the pretty young gir
l from the village.’ ”
A slow grin broke over Lachlan’s face. When she saw it, she scowled.
“Are you jealous?” he asked.
Charity colored. “No.”
He crooked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “You are. You’re jealous.”
She swatted his hand away. “I am not jealous!”
Lachlan laughed and scooped her up from the seat beside him, pulling her over and onto his lap. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, his warm breath stirring the tendrils of hair that curled there. “I think you’re adorable when you’re jealous, my lady.”
His voice crept deliciously through her mind, low and tender, and she quite forgot that she was annoyed with him. She nuzzled her face into his neck and kissed him there, breathing in his scent, reveling in the scratchiness of a growth of beard against her cheek. It took a moment for what he’d called her to register. With a start, she realized that in a very short time that’s what she would be: a lady.
Before she could fully process that reality, the coach pulled to a smooth stop. Charity lifted her head and looked around.
“We’re here,” said Lachlan. “Are you ready?”
Twenty-two
Charity?”
Lachlan’s voice came to her as if from a distance, and Charity reacted slowly. She felt numb and disconnected from reality. On some level, she knew what was happening around her; she was simply unable to cognitively participate.
When her eyes met his in a blank stare, Lachlan abruptly decided she’d had enough for one day. Instead of putting her back into the coach and continuing another hour to Asheburton Keep, he decided to take them a room in Gretna Green. Meeting his mother was the last thing he wished to thrust upon his wife now.
It had started when they first emerged from the coach into the late afternoon sunshine. The easy conversation they’d shared up to that point had abruptly evaporated, and he sensed her drawing away into herself. She followed him into the blacksmith’s shop and repeated her vows with his footmen as their witnesses, but her voice lacked its characteristic spirit and the life had drained from her cerulean eyes.
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