by Cheryl Bolen
Stevie looked up at her strained face. “Am I not escorting you properly?”
She squeezed his hand and looked down at him, her face lifting into a smile. “You're doing wonderfully. I am, indeed, the luckiest woman in the room.”
The smile stayed on her face. Despite her ruin and despite that the respectable people in the room likely scorned her, Carlotta believed what she had just told her son. Oddly, showing Stevie off to all of Bath filled her with the most glorious sensation, a sweeping pride like she had never before known.
As she and Stevie were taking their leave of the Pump Room, Carlotta's eyes met those of Miss Arbuckle, a most worthy young woman of gentle birth, and Carlotta nodded to her.
A wide smile brightened the plain Miss Arbuckle's face. “This must be your little boy!” Miss Arbuckle said, walking up the them. “I'd almost forgotten you were a mother.”
“Allow me to make you known to my son,” Carlotta said with pride before she made the introductions.
“I declare,” Miss Arbuckle said, looking at Stevie, “everyone is talking about what a fine boy you have there.”
“I'm most blessed,” Carlotta said in a low voice, her smile reaching her eyes as she took and held the hand of the generous Miss Arbuckle.
Of course Miss Arbuckle, being a maiden, had not heard of Carlotta's shame. Nevertheless, the young woman was virtuous and kind. “It's so very thoughtful of you to take notice of my little lamb,” Carlotta said, beaming down at her son. “And it has been a pleasure seeing you again.”
Her hand still in Carlotta's, Miss Arbuckle said, “You must call on us. It's been a great while since we've had a chat. I do hope you are better now. You look your former radiant self.”
“You're much too kind,” Carlotta answered in a soft voice, her lashes sweeping downward.
“And bring your boy. Mama's always had a preference for lads, which I daresay is a good thing, given that she had four sons and only one daughter.”
“Please extend to your mother my wishes for good health,” Carlotta said as she and Stevie left the chamber.
Carlotta felt feather light. She burst with pride over her beautiful child. She'd just conversed with a most respectable lady. The sun had broken through the clouds. All in all, 'twas a lovely day to be alive. And she owed all this pleasure to one small boy.
“You've been such a good escort,” she said to Stevie, “I'm going to take you to the sweet shop and allow you to buy a comfit.”
He, quite literally, smiled from ear to ear.
* * *
That Sunday she took Stevie to services at Bath Cathedral. Ever since she had allowed herself to be Gregory Blankenship's whore, she had quit going to church.
For the lad's sake, she had to start back.
He behaved well, appearing to listen to the priest. Even though the ceremony was tediously long, Stevie did not get too fidgety.
When they left the cathedral, she was prepared to receive the cut direct, but several persons of her acquaintance actually nodded at her. She smiled back and even managed to introduce some of the matrons to her son.
She began to feel less ashamed. Perhaps not all of Bath knew that she was ruined. After all, Gregory was not one to brag about his sexual conquests. He was, first and foremost, a gentleman. And, secondly, he had no need to ever boast. Women making fools of themselves over him was an everyday occurrence. Had been since he discarded leading strings.
Her thoughts flitted to the day he had told her he was marrying Glee Pembroke. It was as if he were cutting Carlotta's heart from her chest. Why not me? Carlotta had asked in anguish. He had mumbled something about it not being a real marriage—that he was only marrying Glee in order to receive his inheritance, that he wanted to keep Carlotta for his mistress.
At that moment Carlotta's disgust with herself pinnacled. For that is when she finally came to the realization she was nothing more than a whore.
Carlotta had known Gregory had at last fallen in love when his young wife became pregnant—after the marriage, of course, because Glee was the daughter of a viscount, a most respectable girl, to be sure. And nothing Carlotta had seen since could convince her otherwise. Gregory Blankenship had succumbed to a wisp of a girl. Who happened to be of noble birth.
This Sunday, despite that a chill hung in the air, Carlotta took Stevie to see the concert at Sydney Gardens. He remembered instantly this was where he came to ride his pony.
Looking up at his mother, he said, “I miss Bwownie. Almost as much as I miss Lord Wutledge.”
She set her hand on his tiny shoulders and spoke with sympathy. “I know, my darling. I miss him, too.”
Throughout the concert, Stevie sat mesmerized, watching the musicians with fascination.
When the concert was finished, Carlotta said, “I think Brownie needs exercising. Do you not agree?”
Stevie's face brightened. “Today?”
“Why not!” she said.
* * *
For the next few days, Carlotta's every thought and every move had but one purpose: to make Stevie happy. They went to the sweet shop each day. She read every children's story she had to him; then, she went to the booksellers and bought more. She took him to the Wednesday night musicale, though he was the only child in attendance. She marched him to the Pump Room every morning for his healthful water, and – best of all, she allowed him to ride his pony daily.
She made good, too, on her vow that he never be left alone again. She had Peggy begin sleeping in the boy's room every night and made sure he was never left alone in the nursery.
That she took him where no other children went did not cause her a moment's consternation. Let them say she was indulgent! As far as she could tell, he behaved with the greatest propriety for a small boy, and as long as he did, she would continue to indulge him. After all, he was rather special. Why, anyone could look at him and see that!
As she watched her son on his pony one afternoon, she had to admit Lord Rutledge's efforts to teach Stevie to ride had been quite successful. The boy sat confidently in his saddle, the sun catching his golden locks, his lips tightened with concentration. She now felt confident enough to allow him to ride without a groom running along beside him. She felt so confident, she had brought a volume of poetry she had borrowed from the lending library. She planned to sit on a bench and read while keeping an eye out for Stevie as he and his pony trotted around the perimeter of the park.
But she found herself unable to watch Stevie and to read. A nagging fear for Stevie's safety kept tugging at her, forcing her to watch him constantly. Tucking the book under her arm, she crossed the park and began to walk beside Stevie.
“You don't have to worry about me,” he told her. “Lord Wutledge taught me to handle a horse.”
She could not stifle her laugh. He tried to sound so grown up when he looked so very small—even on a small pony that in no way compared to a horse!
It was while she was smiling up at her son, her hand settled on the back of his saddle, she saw the shimmering eyes of Lord Rutledge watching her.
Chapter 9
“My lord, you're back!” Carlotta said to him. The smile on her lovely face convinced James his return did not displease her. He closed the gap between them and bowed before her, then took her hand to dutifully brush his lips across. It seemed to him she had grown even more beautiful during their absence. Not only that, but his Goddess of the Night looked almost virginal in the orchid muslin dress she wore.
Stevie brought Brownie to a stop and spoke excitedly. “See, Mama, I told you he'd come back!”
James looked up at the boy's happy face, and he felt strangely exhilarated by the enthusiastic welcome given him by Carlotta and her son. But he could not allow them to see his vulnerability. “I trust you've been exercising Brownie regularly?” he said to Stevie.
The boy's eyes darted to his mother, then back to James. “Now that the weather's turned nice, I have.”
James set a hand across the lad's thigh. “Good lad
.” Then he met Carlotta's gaze. “The weather was bad here as well after I left?”
He and Carlotta fell into step behind Stevie and the pony as they trotted around the park.
Carlotta laughed. “I declare, my lord, I was convinced you had taken the sun with you.”
Patting her hand, he tucked her arm into his. “Yarmouth was wretched.” Anywhere without Carlotta was wretched. Even after he had discovered she was an imperfect being, he still hungered for her. He'd grown to realize he needed her as the flowers need sunshine.
“May I hope you successfully concluded your business there?” she asked.
He nodded. “I see you and Stevie have prospered without me. My plan has worked.”
She whirled to face him. “What plan?”
“My plan to force you to take responsibility for your son.” He watched as the color drained from her face. He should not have been so mercilessly blunt.
Her lashes dropped. “Your plan worked,” she said softly. “A pity you know me so dreadfully well. A woman should like for a man not to know all her glaring faults.”
She had used the words man and woman in the same sentence. Could he hope that she was beginning to think of him as a man—not just as her benefactor, not just as Stevie's mentor, but as a flesh and blood man? If that were the case, then these past eleven days of misery without her had been worth it.
“I'm only joyful that in some small way I've been instrumental in bringing the two of you closer,” he said. “It's what's right, Carlotta.”
Her eyes flashed.
Good lord! He had called her Carlotta! How could he have dared take such a liberty?
“It's me that is most joyful, my lord,” she said humbly. “Now I realize how empty my life has been these past six years, how very much I have missed.” She stopped and gazed into his eyes. “I am immeasurably indebted to you for restoring my child to me.” Her voice cracked. “I deeply regret the years of his precious life I have not been a part of—years I can never recapture.”
“Life's too short to dwell on the past. Think only of the future, Carlotta.”
She sniffed and laughed alternately. “The best is yet to be.”
* * *
It was good to have his lordship back, Carlotta mused as she finished her last morsel of sweetmeat after the dinner. She watched him as he explained to Stevie how soldiers in the Peninsula had their meals served.
She had grown to enjoy having Stevie at the dinner table, despite that his table manners were considerably lacking. A pity he would one day have to return to taking his meals in the nursery. One simply did not foist messy children on one's dinner companions. Not that a woman as ruined as she would ever have any companion other than Lord Rutledge.
She had hoped Lord Rutledge would again address her by her Christian name tonight, but he did not. This afternoon's familiarity had oddly pleased her. The longer she thought about it, the more she realized he would never address her so in front of Stevie. Lord Rutledge was, after all, a gentleman. A true gentleman would never set an inappropriate example in front of a child.
As she watched them, she noticed Stevie yawning and saw that he kept rubbing his reddened eyes. Today had been exhausting for him. Too much sun. Too much excitement. Too much activity. Thanks to Lord Rutledge.
“Darling,” she said to Stevie, “you've worn yourself out today. I think you'll have to be early to bed. Peggy can tell you a story until you fall asleep.”
He shook his head. “I don't want to go to bed! I want to play soldiers with Uncle James.”
“Oh, we'll play soldiers,” the earl assured, “but only until eight of the clock. Then you need to go to bed. Your mother's right. You've had a long, tiring day, and you need to get some rest.”
After dinner they played soldiers on the carpeted floor of the drawing room. Stevie yawned frequently and continued to rub his eyes. Poor baby, Carlotta mused as she sat near the fire sewing on a linen shirt she was making for her son. In the weeks he had been in Bath, his mother had been forcefully apprised of how rough Stevie was on his clothing. She was forever mending his breeches or was assisting Peggy in trying to remove foodstuffs from his soiled shirts.
She kept a watch on the mantel's ormolu clock. At eight, she stood up and came to Stevie. “You must go upstairs now, love,” she said gently. “Peggy will get you ready for bed.”
“Be a good lad,” James said, “and I'll have a surprise for you in the morning.”
In mid-pout, Stevie's lips stretched into a smile.
Carlotta spread out her arms, and to her delight Stevie plunged into her embrace, his little arms closing around her. Her eyes grew misty. Three weeks ago her son would never have flung himself into her arms.
As she hugged him, she happened to glance at Lord Rutledge, who watched her with a satisfied, cocky smile on his handsome face.
With Stevie gone, Carlotta felt awkward. She was not used to being alone with the earl. Why did he not excuse himself? Normally, when he and Stevie finished their mock battles, Lord Rutledge took his leave. But not tonight.
Should she move to the settee to be closer to him? Sitting in her chair before the fire seemed somewhat sequestered from her guest. She watched him as he put up the soldiers then came to sit on the settee nearest her.
“Should you like a glass of brandy, my lord?”
He stood up and began to walk toward the far wall of the room. “I'll get my own, thank you. May I bring you a glass?”
“Yes, do.” It would at least give her something to do with her hands. She was unaccountably nervous at being left alone with his lordship.
From beneath hooded eyes, she watched as he poured the brandy into snifters then strolled toward her.
“I beg that you come sit by me, Mrs. Ennis.”
Her heart began to race as she stood and walked to the nearby settee. They sat down at the same time, their legs running parallel to one another. She noted that his legs were much longer than hers. She began to quiver on the inside. It had been a long time since she had been this close to a man.
“Stevie tells me you've been taking him to the Pump Room,” he began.
Why was the earl asking about the Pump Room? Did he know of her ostracism? Is that why he was questioning her? She nodded self-consciously.
“Did you not tell me the Pump Room held no allure for you?”
Her heart pounded. Was he trying to trace the source of her discomfort at Bath's chief attraction? Did he think to continue going there now with Stevie and her? That, she could not allow. She should die of mortification if the earl witnessed her being cut, thus learning of her shame. “I detest the Pump Room, but I was desperate to please Stevie. Your absence created a tremendous void in our daily routine. In fact . . .” She looked into his warm eyes. “We both missed you dreadfully.”
He did not respond, causing her to peer from her lap to his brooding face. Had she said something that upset him? Or had he become acquainted with her shame? “May I hope you managed to spare a thought for us during the separation?”
He laughed bitterly.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing's wrong.”
“Then why are you acting so peculiarly? Why did you not answer my question?”
He did not answer her for a moment. “'It's a sign of weakness in a man to admit he needs a woman and child.”
The thought of the earl needing her and Stevie sent waves of contentment over her. “It most certainly is not, my lord! A man who protects and serves a woman and child is utterly heroic.”
He did not respond. He sat quietly for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. “Tell me, why is it that a beautiful woman like you has never remarried?”
Then he does not know about Gregory, she thought with relief. It was as if a vise gripped her windpipe. Finally, she managed: “I've always thought to remarry. It's what I want, but no man has so honored me by asking for my hand.”
He gave her an incredulous look. “I find that difficult to believ
e.”
She shrugged. “I did not even persist in wearing black, as Felicity—the former Mrs. Harrison—did. She wore black for four years for Captain Harrison. But I always meant to remarry.”
“Because of your financial difficulties?”
She nodded guiltily. Better he think that than think her a slave to love, especially an illicit love like she lavished on Gregory.
“Then love is not necessarily a prerequisite to matrimony—in your eyes?”
“I know it sounds mercenary, but love is not necessary for marriage. However, I would have to admire the man, my lord.”
He nabbed her with a pensive stare as his hand closed over hers. “Do you admire me, Mrs. Ennis?”
Her pulse accelerated, and her voice trembled when she answered. “You know I do,” she said softly, unable to remove her gaze from his.
“Enough to marry me, Carlotta?”
He was serious! The intensity of his gaze told her he was. Her heart began to race. Surely she was dreaming. Surely the Earl of Rutledge had no desire to link his life to hers. He, of all people, knew how wicked she was. She had to be mistaken. Good fortune never smiled on her. The earl was kind and handsome and wealthy. He was everything she could ever hope for. Except, of course, he wasn't Gregory Blankenship.
“What are you saying, my lord?” she finally asked in a quivering voice.
“I want to know if you'll marry me, Carlotta.”
She could not find her voice to answer him. It was as if fireworks rocketed within her. Finally, she managed. “I would be honored to do so, my lord.”
Chapter 10
James had not meant to offer for Carlotta. Not once had he allowed himself to consciously consider asking for her hand. Not even during those eleven wretched days when every thought of her had tormented him. Not even when she had bestowed her most sincere smile upon him when he returned from Yarmouth Hall. Not even when he had eagerly accepted her dinner invitation that first night back in Bath.
Nevertheless, the moment he found himself alone with her he had blurted out the proposal.