He rather doubted her comment, though, knowing that to see him now was not nearly as pleasant at it had been before the fire. He still had the strong jawline and a wider than normal nose for an aristocrat, and his features were balanced by broad cheekbones and a mouth that smiled easily. At least, it used to. With a leather mask covering most of the left half of his face and the side of his head to just beyond his ear, he looked as if he was about to attend a masked ball. If one looked closely, it became apparent that his left eyelid was pulled a bit, misshapen by the tight, scarred skin under the mask. “And you, Lady Charlotte,” he answered, his face brightening. He stepped forward and took her hand in his, lowering his lips and lightly brushing them over the knuckles. “I am honored that you have come.”
A shiver passed through Charlotte’s hand as she felt his warm lips actually touch her. To see him up and about, apparently in charge of ducal matters, was a huge relief. And to see that his scars were easily hidden by the mask he wore meant he was probably back to living a somewhat normal life. If she didn’t know that the entire left side of his torso and arm had at one time been engulfed in flames, she would not know it from looking at him now. He leaned a bit to the left, no doubt due to what the doctor had explained was a tightening of the skin when it healed. If he was following the regimen recommended by the doctor, though, eventually he would regain full use of his arm and body, perhaps even regain the feeling in the damaged skin.
Gates cleared his throat and Joshua tore his gaze from Charlotte for a moment. “Yes, Gates?” he prodded, wishing the butler would leave them alone. He then felt a bit of panic at the thought that he would be left alone with her.
“Your Grace, Cook is in need of a menu for this evening’s dinner,” he intoned, using a quiet voice and a manner that suggested he had made the query earlier and, now that they had a guest, dinner would need to be more than a casual affair.
Joshua closed his eyes for a moment, a small headache suddenly forming at the front of his head. He used his right hand to rub his temple. He’d forgotten to do menus for the week and then put off requesting anything in particular because, well, it was just Garrett and him eating in the dining room these days.
Charlotte noticed his discomfort. “If I may, Your Grace?” she offered quietly.
He opened his eyes, wondering at first what she meant, and then realized with a sense of immense relief that she might be about to save him. “Please do,” he replied, his voice an exaggerated plea despite his not knowing exactly what it was she was offering.
Turning to the butler, Charlotte thought for a moment. “Let us start with walnuts and coffee in the library. Then, at the table, let us do a beef broth soup followed by a plate of cheese and breads. Leg of lamb with mint sauce and herbed new potatoes, and whatever vegetable is ripened in that beautiful garden I saw as we drove up. For the fish course, sole in a light butter sauce, and for dessert,” she paused to regard Joshua for a moment, “Chocolate bread pudding with just a small dollop of vanilla crème.”
Eyes widening, Joshua listened to her recite the menu. My favorite meal, he thought, wondering how she could possibly remember – if, indeed, she ever knew. He nodded at Gates’ questioning glance in his direction. “What she said,” he spoke quickly. “And could you have Mrs. Gates bring tea, please?” As he hoped, the butler bowed and left the study.
“Thank you,” he said as he regarded Charlotte, a bemused expression on his face. “You have saved me from my cook’s wrath.”
The brilliant smile reappeared. “You are most welcome, Your Grace.”
Joshua nodded, suddenly ill at ease. “Have you just come from London?” he wondered, hoping there was more to her visit than just condolences for his departed family.
Charlotte nodded. “Indeed. I hope I have not caught you at an inopportune time,” she spoke quietly, and then glanced at a nearby settee as if to suggest they be seated.
“Please,” he said as he held out an arm. Once she had taken her place on the deep green velvet upholstered settee, he took the adjacent chair to her left, wanting to be sure the right side of his face was most visible to her. It wasn’t just vanity that had him sitting to her left. The hearing in his left ear was still somewhat lacking, although a nearby doctor had assured him it would probably return in time.
“If it would be more comfortable for you, please feel free to remove your mask,” Charlotte suggested, her hands folded loosely in her lap. The deep blue of her gown set off the creamy skin of her face and neck, and it’s snug fitting bodice showed off just a hint of décolletage. “Your scars do not offend me.”
Surprised by her suggestion and even more so by her statement, Joshua shook his head. “I could not,” he replied sternly. “Certainly not in the company of such a beautiful woman as yourself.”
Stunned by the comment, both by the compliment and by the realization that he seemed to have forgotten that she had already seen him in a much worse state, Charlotte stilled herself. Perhaps he doesn’t remember, she thought suddenly. “As I recall, Your Grace, you were in hospital for nearly a month,” she said quietly, not wanting the footman near the door to overhear her comment.
Joshua turned his head slightly, eyeing her with a bit of suspicion and wondering when a footman had come into the study. Or is he always there? he thought absently. Like he’s turned to stone and become part of the furniture. “Twenty-nine days,” he affirmed with a nod, his lips forming a straight line that suggested he was not the least bit pleased she knew anything about his time in hospital. To remember those days was to relive a kind of torture he couldn’t wish on his worst enemies. To remember those days meant he had to admit that, whenever he had been conscious, he had wished he could simply die. The pain had been excruciating. Death would have been a welcome respite. “And from whom did you learn this information?”
Charlotte lowered her gaze, wondering if she should admit her part in those first few hellish days of his hospitalization and the even worse days that followed. “I was … I visited, of course,” she said in a whisper, forcing Joshua to lean in closer. He caught the familiar scent of jasmine, and as much as he wanted to inhale deeply, he forced himself to remain still. “I was already volunteering in the children’s ward several days a week. Once you were brought in, I made it clear to your physician that you were to receive the very best care.”
Joshua’s brows knitted together, the implication of her statement slowly sinking into his brain. Christ, did she see me without the bandages? Had she seen every last gruesome burn and the raw wounds he sported for so many weeks after the fire? He thought not, for here she sat, as if he had only been in hospital recovering from a fever. “But, why?” he wondered aloud.
Lady Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “We were … we are betrothed now.”
Although he heard the words, Joshua didn’t immediately comprehend them.
“You had to survive. You are the sole heir to the duchy. I had to be sure you were treated well. Sometimes those with burns are …” Charlotte paused, not wanting to say, “Treated horribly,” but knowing that’s what she had witnessed while volunteering at hospital. “… Poorly,” she finally finished, trying to hide the awkwardness of her statement with a shrug.
Suddenly very self-conscious, Joshua shifted in his chair. “So, you are aware of the … extent of my injuries,” he countered in almost a question, his eyes not making contact with hers. Betrothed? Matrimony? Given the events of six months ago and the subsequent work he’d had to do to recover and then see to the recovery of the Chichester duchy, the very last thing he was considering was marriage.
I cannot allow this woman to think she must marry me!
It was Charlotte’s turn to furrow her brows, thinking at the time that Joshua had been spared from the truly gruesome burns that resulted in the deaths of three others and the debilitating injury and burns suffered by a groom who had lost an arm to amputation. “I am, but Your Grace ..,” she started to reply uncertainly, wondering why he made his
wounds sound worse than they were. He had lost no limbs, the burns were on the side of his chest and shoulder and the top of his hip and … his face. Can he be that vain?
“Then you know why I cannot take you as my wife,” he interrupted, the tone of his voice making it sound as if there was no need for her to make an apology and that she was spared of having to ask to be relieved of her duty to marry him.
Shaking her head, Charlotte regarded him. “Your Grace, I fail to see how your wounds would prevent you from marrying me,” she replied, trying hard to keep the growing panic she felt from coloring her voice.
If Joshua Wainwright refused her as his wife, Charlotte would have no where to go. She had spent the last six months claiming, quite publicly, that she would be married to him after her twenty-first birthday. The fact that she’d been betrothed for nearly eighteen years meant that there were no suitors for her hand, certainly none she knew of at that very moment. To be rejected by the duke would mean a stain on her character. The members of the ton would shun her.
Joshua reached out to grip her arm, a move he’d forgotten was forbidden with an unmarried woman. But Charlotte allowed him the impropriety and merely glanced at his hand as he held onto her gently. He leaned in and said, in a very quiet voice, “I have no intention of subjecting you, or any woman, for that matter, to a life with an abomination,” he countered, his impatience growing.
Despite her very best attempt at decorum, Charlotte gasped, her mouth open in an expression of shock. How can he think such a thing? Despite the mask he wore, he was still a handsome man. His wavy dark hair had grown a bit too long. His brown eyes, which at the moment looked nearly black, were framed with dark lashes and set upon broad cheekbones split by a wide nose. And that mouth. She had often thought of that mouth and how it would feel to have it pressed against her lips. She practically shivered at the thought of it. “And I have no intention of not fulfilling my obligation to this duchy,” she retorted in a hoarse whisper, suddenly angered at his stubborn attitude.
It was Joshua’s turn to be shocked. “I am giving you the opportunity to gracefully bow out of this arrangement!” he stated, his voice growing in volume.
“And I am refusing to take it!” Charlotte countered, her voice still a loud whisper.
At some point during their verbal volley, the footman had opened the door for the housekeeper. Mrs. Gates, carrying an ancient silver tray with a tea service, hurried to where Charlotte and Joshua sat. “Your Grace,” she said as she curtsied in his direction, well aware that she had interrupted a discussion that was becoming somewhat heated.
“Mrs. Gates,” Joshua acknowledged with a nod, his lips set in a thin line. How can Lady Charlotte continue to look so damned composed after that bit of disagreement? he wondered, unable to tear his gaze away from her perfect oval face, her lips – the bottom one plump and quite kissable –, her straight nose that ended quite prettily (not nearly as long and hooked as some of those other women of the ton, he thought), and her clear green eyes, in which he was getting quite lost at the moment.
The round, older woman, all dimples and grins, set the tray down on the tea table and began pouring for the suddenly quiet couple. She wore her gray hair in braids that had been wrapped around her head several times to form a silver coronet. A white apron, newly ironed, covered her long-sleeved black gown. Her happy grin was accompanied by a wink – a wink! – upon giving a cup of sugared tea to Charlotte. “Lady Charlotte! ’Tis so good to see you again!” she said in an excited voice.
The earl’s daughter felt a flush of color creep up her face at the gesture and the comment. Again? She’d only been to the estate one other time in her entire life. When I was three! And how much of their discussion had the woman overheard?
When Mrs. Gates turned to give a cup to Joshua, after she had added a lump of sugar and a bit of cream, she frowned at him as if he were some recalcitrant schoolboy. Aware he was being watched, Joshua tore his gaze from Charlotte to stare back at the housekeeper. He attempted to make his indignation apparent to her in the hopes she would leave. Instead, the older woman put a hand to her rather imposing hip and waved a finger toward his face. “What would your mother say?” she whispered in disgust before stepping away, bobbing a curtsy and then taking her leave, her skirts swishing about the legs of the furniture in her haste to leave.
Joshua turned to watch the housekeeper hurry away. When his attention returned to Charlotte, he found her with a hand in front of her mouth, attempting to hide an embarrassed grin. “She winked at me!” Charlotte said suddenly, her eyes bright.
The tense atmosphere that had grown between the two of them suddenly shattered as Joshua rolled his eyes and allowed his own grin. “She is a … formidable woman,” he explained finally, finding it easy to keep from laughing when reminded of his mother. Indeed, what would Grace Wainwright say if she discovered her son denying his betrothal? “I think Mrs. Gates has been here since the house was built,” he added before he sighed loudly. “I apologize for my … and her … behavior,” he said, barely able to get the words out before Charlotte smiled that brilliant smile that took his breath away.
“As do I, Your Grace,” Charlotte said, trying hard to school her features back to some semblance of seriousness. The housekeeper was obviously a long-time fixture of the estate; there could be no reason her familiar behavior would be tolerated otherwise. With there being no mother to chastise Joshua for his obviously angry outburst, Mrs. Gates had taken it upon herself to do so. And with her wink, she had obviously sided with Charlotte in the disagreement.
The light in Charlotte’s eyes seemed to dim, though, as she realized the other reason for her visit. “I am very sorry for your loss, Your Grace,” she finally spoke, chastising herself that she hadn’t mentioned it earlier. “Please accept my condolences.”
Joshua took a deep breath, the humor gone as quickly as it had come. “Thank you,” he replied with a nod. He wanted to scrub his face with his hand but forced himself to keep it on the arm of the chair. He might have mourned his family’s loss for six months, but the pain of their deaths was still fresh. “I think I miss my sister the most,” he said quietly. “I teased her mercilessly, but she would have had her coming out in a couple of years, and I was quite prepared to play the role of older, protective brother.”
Charlotte took a sip from her tea cup. “That, I can imagine you doing,” she said quietly. “But I understand she was already betrothed. To an earl, wasn’t it?”
Shifting in his chair, Joshua shook his head. “Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn,” he announced, apparently none too pleased with the choice.
Paling suddenly, Charlotte swallowed. She knew a Henry Forster from her youth, but he certainly wasn’t an earl. Nor was his father. A pleasant man, well dressed and obviously now educated, Mr. Forster had conversed with her at only a couple of society events in London. From the snippets she recalled, Charlotte thought his interests centered on farming and inventions. He was a gentleman, to be sure, but if he was a member of the aristocracy, he did not let on as he used no title when introducing himself. He had, in fact, insisted that she call him ‘Henry’, perhaps in the hopes that she would allow him to call her ‘Charlotte’. She had never given him permission to do so, but in her defense, she hadn’t had the chance since they were interrupted several times by others during the evening he made his request. As she thought about Mr. Forster, she realized she had never seen him at a society event during the past Season and wondered why.
As for the Earl of Gisborn, her father had mentioned that name – threatened her with it, actually. “Isn’t he quite … old?” she queried, thinking that perhaps Jennifer was better off having died in the fire. And then she chastised herself for thinking such a morbid thought.
“His uncle was nearly seventy when he died a month or so ago, so Forster has just come into his inheritance. Late twenties, maybe thirty, I think, but, yes, he would have been far too old for my sister by the time she was of an age
to marry,” he agreed with a sigh.
Charlotte considered the information, marveling at the thought of Henry Forster as an earl. Her father … well, she would have to think about him later. Joshua was regarding her with a look that suggested he might be changing his mind with respect to her future. She did her best to appear as if she were already his duchess even though she feared he would dismiss her.
Joshua took a drink of tea and considered their discussion from earlier. They had come to a bit of an impasse. Charlotte was quite willful, he decided, and was obviously stubborn about fulfilling her obligation. And he was just as certain that he did not wish to take a wife and subject her to … him, in his current state at least, even if he did require an heir. The duchy would survive as long as he did, and then it could pass to the nearest relative, whoever that was, and if there wasn’t one, it would go back to the Crown.
Certainly nothing would be decided this afternoon.
He could offer Charlotte hospitality indefinitely, of course, and would do so for no other reason than to have a female presence in the household. “Have you any … plans, other than matrimonial, in the foreseeable future?” he wondered aloud, setting his tea cup on the silver tray.
Charlotte followed suit with her tea cup as she considered the implication of his question. “I do not,” she finally answered, trying to hide her sudden nervousness. She was sure he was about to dismiss her. Where would I go? she wondered, knowing she could not return to London. One of her family’s country estates was in Oxfordshire, but she had no desire to go there, especially before summer.
“Then I would ask that you stay on here at Wisborough Oaks,” the duke offered, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “I believe you have a maid that could act as your … chaperone?” he suggested, knowing that offering hospitality to an unmarried woman could be construed by most in the ton as wholly inappropriate. But if she were seen as his hostess, available to receive callers and to act as if she might one day be his duchess, perhaps his own standing as a duke would be improved. He knew there were those who did not consider him suitable for the role of a duke. He had spent his life being the second son and a gambler and sometimes a rake, after all. But in the course of six months, Joshua had given up the life of a gambler, and his wounds had prevented him from even wanting to bed a woman. He felt his groin tighten now, though, as he realized Charlotte might actually agree to stay and oversee the household. Whatever am I thinking in asking her to stay? he wondered suddenly.
The Grace of a Duke Page 3