by Wolf, Bree
Christina doubted it.
After a long while, she lifted her head and allowed her gaze to sweep over his features in a new way, trying to see him without the prejudices that always clouded her sight. Who was he?
“I should not have said what I did,” Mr. Sharpe remarked, a bitter tone in his voice as he fought to banish the look of disappointment from his face. “None of what I spoke of is your fault in any way. After all, you yourself are trapped in a world where decisions are made for you with little regard for your own wishes.”
His words instantly conjured the night Aunt Francine had come to Whickerton Grove. The night Christina had learned that sacrifices were demanded of women who wished for something beyond marriage and motherhood. “My father would never force my hand,” Christina insisted, remembering equally well how her parents had aided her aunt in her decision.
An approving smile came to Mr. Sharpe’s face. “That I know. Indeed, your father made it unmistakably clear that the only reason he would accept me as his son-in-law was because…” His gaze held hers as he took a step closer. “I am your choice.”
Your choice.
The words echoed in Christina’s head as she stared up at him. In a way, they were true; however, Christina had never once thought of it that way. Yes, it was true that she could have refused marrying him. As she herself had said only a moment ago, her father would never have forced her hand. Even now, she was free to change her mind. If she did not choose to, she would not have to marry him.
So, in an odd way, he was her choice. Still, Christina had always expected her choice to feel…different. She had always expected…more. Some elated feeling. A feeling of triumph or victory even to have discovered something her heart genuinely wanted. Was he what her heart truly wanted?
Or could he be…one day?
“Have I done it now?” Mr. Sharpe teased as he regarded her carefully, curiously, the dark clouds that had lingered above his head only moments ago suddenly gone as though they had never existed. “Have I convinced you to change your mind and refuse me? You look doubtful, stunned even.” He frowned, and his eyes narrowed. “What is going on in that head of yours? I admit I dearly wish to know, for it must be something quite captivating.”
Christina shook off the thoughts that lingered, calling herself back to the here and now. “To be frank, I was marveling at the notion of you being my choice. It doesn’t quite seem…”
“Appropriate?” he suggested, the grin upon his face widening as he watched her.
Christina nodded. “Yes. I admit I always thought choosing a husband would feel…” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The look upon his face sobered slightly, and she could see his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “Is it true then? Have you changed your mind?”
Christina could not help but think that he was all but holding his breath as he waited for an answer. Yes, he dreaded her answer because he feared that she would confirm his suspicions.
A breath-stealing tingle danced down Christina’s spine at the thought that he genuinely wanted to marry her, that he wanted to be her husband and that he wanted her to be his wife. She wished she could dwell upon that feeling and rein in her thoughts, keep them from straying to musings that would cause doubt and regret. Still, her thoughts could not be reined in. She had never been able to do so. They were free spirits, going where they pleased.
The truth was that, yes, he wanted her to be his wife but not because of who she was. Not because he wanted her. It was only her family’s connections that appealed to him. He would just as easily have married Sarah had she, Christina, not come along, representing a more influential trophy to place upon his mantle.
Focusing her gaze, Christina looked up at him, into his emerald eyes, eyes that sparked with mischief and daring. She saw the slight quirk of his lips, proof of his innate playfulness despite the hardships he had suffered. He had not grown sullen and depressed. Instead, he had risen to the challenge and found a way to overcome every obstacle placed in his way. And he had done so without losing that childlike part of him, that part that still saw joy and had hope despite everything to the contrary.
It was a gift, was it not? To be able to see the world and enjoy it after everything that he knew, that he had seen?
It was humbling.
“No,” Christina finally said. “I have not changed my mind.” Oddly enough, she could not imagine not marrying him. Although only a few days had passed since the night in the library, the future now slowly taking shape in front of her was one she did not want to turn away from. She could not quite say why, but she knew that on some level at least she wanted it.
Perhaps she even wanted him.
In answer, that devilishly charming smile once again stretched across his face. He leaned closer, too close for propriety’s sake, and all but whispered, “Are you certain? Are you not afraid that I am a heartless ogre, determined to carry you off to my black castle up in the North, to lock you up in a tower and keep you there for all the days ahead?”
Shaking her head at him, Christina laughed, loving the way his carefree words seemed to be able to chase away her rather dark and gloomy thoughts. He had a way of looking at the world that made it seem better than it truly was. How did he do it? “You are unbelievable!”
“Thank you!” He all but puffed out his chest.
“It was not meant as a compliment.”
Mr. Sharpe shrugged. “Meant or not, I choose to see it that way.”
Christina paused, once more regarding him most curiously. “Is that your secret?” she mumbled more to herself than him, completely unaware that she had spoken aloud.
He frowned. “My secret? What do you mean?”
Taken aback, Christina felt heat rush to her cheeks. She quickly turned away and walked a few steps down the path. Still, when she heard his footsteps behind her, she could not deny that she was glad for it. She did not truly wish to escape him or this conversation. In truth, she wanted him to come after her.
His hand settled on her arm, gently but determinedly, and pulled her to a halt. “You’re not one to hide,” he stated as though he had known her all her life, his eyes searching her face. Although she kept her head averted, lowered, she could feel his gaze like a caress upon her skin. “Do not do so now. Tell me what you meant.”
Slowly, Christina lifted her chin, her eyes looking up into his, trying to determine whether or not he spoke truthfully. Still, thus far, everything he had said had been the truth, had it not? He was not one to use pretty words as a means to an end; at least, she hoped that he was not. “Despite everything…” She lifted her hands for a wide sweep that was to encompass everything he had told her. “You…You still smile and jest and…” Staring up at him, she shook her head. “How do you do it? What is your secret?”
The look upon his face sobered at her words, and for a moment, Christina felt regret for being the cause of it. “There is no secret,” he finally said, his voice somber. “It is a choice. The choice we all need to make. Perhaps we are not aware of it, but it is the truth. We can all choose not only the path we walk on, but also how we perceive it.” He heaved a deep sigh, and for a brief moment, lifted his face to the sky above. Then his gaze returned to meet hers as though he needed that connection to continue on. “There is darkness and pain and suffering everywhere, and yet there is also light and warmth and hope. We need to be aware of the first, but we need to believe in the second. How else are we to live? How else are we to know what is right and wrong? How else are we to find…happiness?”
It was in that very moment that Christina realized that everything she thought she knew about him was wrong. He was not the kind of man she had thought him to be. Yes, he was not a gentleman as far as society was concerned. Yet he possessed decency and kindness in a way she had rarely seen before. While he was not a selfless man, he had made the choice to fight for others. He was here, in London, because of it. At the same time, though, he had not allowed his thoughts to be c
onsumed by that fight. He still knew how to find joy.
“Is that what you seek?” Christina felt compelled to ask. “Happiness?”
He grinned at her. “Don’t we all?”
“In truth, I believe that very few people desire to find happiness. At least, I do not believe that they would state it in such a way. They all long for fortune and standing, for certain possessions and experiences, convinced that those things would bring them happiness. Nevertheless, I think very few people truly see happiness itself as their life’s goal, their desire and wish. And I think somewhere along the way, they often forget about the happiness they worked so hard to obtain something that ultimately makes them feel hollow.”
Christina blinked, surprised by the words that left her lips and found a set of dark green eyes looking down at her. A hint of confusion lingered upon his face as he watched her, no doubt equally surprised to hear her speak in such a way.
Willing a smile onto her face, Christina once more turned down the path. “Will you tell me a bit more about your life? If we are to marry, I suppose we should know a bit more about each other.”
A slight chuckle rumbled in his throat, but he did not comment upon her words. He did not explain what thoughts her words had conjured. “What is it you wish to know?” He fell into step beside her, and together, they strolled along the path, the sun shining warmly upon their heads as birds trilled in the trees nearby.
“How did you grow up? Where?”
Mr. Sharpe inhaled a deep breath as though preparing himself to launch into a story that would take all his strength to tell. “I grew up in Manchester. Truthfully, I remember very little about my early childhood. I remember being hungry and cold.” A wry smile came to his lips as he looked down at her and their eyes met. “Sometimes, I think I still dream of it although I cannot be certain. Dreams have a way of showing us things in a distorted fashion, do they not?”
Christina nodded, remembering the dream she had had every once in a while since the night Aunt Francine had come to Whickerton Grove all those years ago. In the dream, it was not Aunt Francine who had been forced to make a terrible choice between her own dreams and her family, but Christina instead. She had felt as though invisible forces were tugging on her arms, each pulling her in the opposite direction. She had felt torn and frightened and unable to move, to decide. It always strangely and sickeningly reminded her of people being drawn and quartered in the Middle Ages. Ripped apart by forces they had no control over.
“My mother died in childbirth when I was perhaps six or seven years old,” Mr. Sharpe continued, a slight frown resting upon his brows as he tried to remember. “The babe died as well. To this day, I am not certain how many brothers and sisters I once had. They were so incredibly young when they were lost. I remember one or two faces.” He turned to look at her, sadness visible in his eyes. Christina was surprised that he did not try to hide it but allowed her to see it so openly.
“I cannot imagine that,” she replied, feeling her heart constrict at the thought of losing her siblings. Of course, she had known them all her life. How would she have felt if she had lost them when she had been her younger self? Would she still remember their faces? Would those memories have been lost over the years?
“Perhaps it is better this way,” he continued on, his gaze once more directed ahead, his eyes focused on the past, on something deep inside. “Perhaps it is a way the mind protects itself, protects us from suffering too much. Pain needs to wane over time, or it will consume us. How are we supposed to go on if we feel it every moment of every day?”
Christina nodded. “Perhaps you’re right. It is simply hard to imagine. Did you not often find yourself wondering who they might have become…had they lived?”
“Every once in a while, yes,” he admitted, that wry smile once more upon his face, a testament to his determination to move forward, to not forget the past, but to focus on the future. “However, I must admit I had very little time for thinking about my childhood.”
Somewhat glad to see their conversation moved to a less painful topic, Christina looked at him, eager to learn more about the man she was to marry. “Will you tell me more?”
Smiling at her, he nodded. “Well, it might shock you to hear it, but the truth is that the first real money I ever earned was through boxing matches.”
Christina felt her eyes opening wide as she tried to imagine him in the ring facing an opponent. Of course, as a lady she had never even caught a glimpse of any such event. She knew that gentlemen occasionally sparred in such a way for fun and exercise. She had even heard that they would place bets on such a match. Still, standing here in her parents’ grand garden, a balmy breeze brushing across her skin, Christina could not imagine the man standing in front of her to engage in such an undoubtedly brutal pastime.
Still, for him, it had not been a pastime, had it?
Mr. Sharpe eyed her curiously; only when she did not portray the expected signs of utter shock, he continued on. “It was a good way to make money, but I knew that it was no way to live, to continue on indefinitely. I knew I needed something more permanent, something more reliable and so I started investing what little money I made boxing. I paid attention wherever I could, listened carefully, tried my best to understand the workings of the world in order to use this knowledge to my advantage.” A shadow danced over his face as he spoke, belying the rational-sounding words that left his lips. “I knew I needed to find a way out of living from day to day, never knowing if I would have food the next or not.” He turned to look at her. “It is a life far removed from your own, is it not?”
Christina did not know what to say. Of course, his words were true; yet admitting that it was so somehow made her feel…awful. She felt as though she had failed someone.
Meeting his eyes, she took a step back, then let her gaze sweep over his face, the way he stood before her, proud, and yet approachable, something men of the ton generally were not. “I thought you a scoundrel,” she told him honestly, deciding that if indeed she was going to move forward with this marriage, she would be honest from here on out. “I thought you a blackguard with no manners and no decency.”
Amusement resonated in the chuckle that left his lips as he smiled at her, and Christina realized that she was not at all surprised that he was not offended by her words. In truth, she had not expected him to be. “And I,” Mr. Sharpe stated, something daring once more lighting up his eyes, “thought all upper-class ladies to be simpering misses, empty-headed and with false smiles upon their faces.” Holding her gaze, he grinned at her. “Perhaps we were both wrong.”
Christina could not deny that a part of her still urged her to be cautious, to not place her trust in him and believe that he was the kind of man she wanted him to be. Still, laughter erupted from her throat, and she turned away to draw a deep breath. “Very well! I admit you are in all likelihood not as bad as I thought you to be.”
Mr. Sharpe stretched his arms up to the heavens in a gesture of utter triumph. “Yes!” He exclaimed. “The lady grants me a most rare compliment!”
Christina laughed. She did not want to, but she could not help it. “You are impossible, and quite frankly, sometimes I don’t quite know what to make of you.” Her gaze narrowed as she recalled the night in the library. Taking a step closer, she met his gaze. “That night, it was no mistake, was it? It was no accident. You knew what you were doing. You knew the rules. You knew that if we were discovered…”
“… you would be compelled to marry me,” he finished for her, holding her gaze, making it absolutely clear that, yes, he had sought her out that night on purpose.
Christina held his gaze, feeling her heart quickening in her chest. She knew she ought to remain quiet, but she could not. “You wanted me.” It was a statement, not a question because she already knew it to be true.
Despite the little scandals attached to her family as of late, her father’s reputation remained impeccable. The Whickertons were highly sought after, and even now with b
oth Louisa and Leonora causing a bit of a stir, the ton had not withdrawn from them. Yes, Mr. Sharpe had wanted her, instead of Sarah. Her family’s connections were far superior as Lord Hartmore was widely held in disdain for his inability to manage his family’s finances successfully. They were one step away from the poorhouse, and everyone knew it. Poor Sarah!
Perhaps Christina ought to reconsider after all, not for her own sake, but for Sarah’s. It turned out Mr. Sharpe was a decent man after all. At the very least, he was not a man her friend needed to fear, as far as Christina could tell. He would make a decent husband.
His hand settled on her arm, warm and tempting, and Christina blinked, her eyes once more focusing on his. “I wanted you,” he whispered, the air between them once again sizzling in that strange way as though a fire had been lit. Although Christina could not quite understand it, she knew that it drew her near, like the moth to a flame.
Yes, she ought to reconsider, but she would not.
She was being selfish!
Chapter Sixteen
A Mother’s Counsel
To her utter shame, Christina found herself looking forward to each and every visit of her betrothed. Although they did not know each other well, an odd honesty existed between them.
With gentlemen of the ton, Christina had always experienced somewhat strained conversations, as though both sides were constantly on their guard, considering every word well before speaking it. She had never been certain how much truth lingered in the other’s words, wondering even after weeks of conversations who the other person truly was.
Of course, Christina’s knowledge of Mr. Sharpe’s character as well as past was still severely limited; however, she could not help but feel as though she was slowly becoming acquainted with the man he was at heart…not the man he might be trying to portray. It was a thought that often calmed the rapid beating of her heart whenever Christina thought of her impending nuptials. Despite everything, she was marrying a complete stranger, a man from a world quite unlike her own. Yes, it worried her, and yet part of her was looking forward to this new life that had so unexpectedly opened up to her.