Gisborn inhaled sharply and let his breath out slowly, but there wasn’t a hint of anger in his face as Charlotte expected. “I had … responsibilities …” He let go of her hand and clasped both of his hands together, his forearms resting on muscular thighs that strained his breeches. “My uncle has been ill for many years. I have been in Oxfordshire overseeing his properties … my properties,” he corrected himself with a sigh. “I have never taken the time to spend an entire Season in London to seek a wife.”
Noting his manner of clasping his hands together, Charlotte did the same. “I apologize. Having spent …”
“I have a son,” he stated then, his eyes looking straight ahead. He was quiet for a long moment, but Charlotte could tell he wanted to say something more, so she did not speak. “Nathaniel is ten. Although his mother refused to marry me, I have seen to his every need since before he was born,” he finally added, exhaling as if he’s been holding his breath for several minutes.
Charlotte knew she should have been repulsed at the thought of Gisborn having an illegitimate child, but she found she could not be if the man was providing funds for his care. Suddenly questioning her first impressions of him, she caught her lower lip with a tooth. “May I ask why his mother would refuse you?” He had an affaire with a married woman, was her first thought.
Not expecting such a calm response, Gisborn turned his attention back to Charlotte. “She was not born to our class,” he stammered, his face so sad that Charlotte had to look away. When she did so, he added, “I fell in love, you see. I was just home from Eton, about to leave for Oxford, and Sarah and I … I’ve known her since we were in leading strings … despite everything my father had told me growing up, I thought it would be possible for the two of us to marry. But Sarah was far wiser than me. I have had to be satisfied with her being merely … my lover,” he said quietly, saying the words as if he had never spoken – perhaps never even thought – of Sarah in that regard before. “And, so I seek a wife. I need a legitimate heir.”
There was a long silence before Charlotte reached over to put a hand on his. He’d spoken of Sarah as if he still loved her. Perhaps he still did. She had borne him a son, and yet the boy could never take his place as the next Earl of Gisborn. “And why me?” she whispered. I am doomed to unrequited love, she realized suddenly. To Gisborn for certain and to Joshua … perhaps.
Gisborn sat up straight, surprised by the question. “Your father did not …?” At Charlotte’s shake of her head, he furrowed his brows and shook his own head in disbelief.
Charlotte leaned forward. “As you know, he had an accident and has been in a coma for over a week,” she whispered. “I believe he was trying to tell me of his arrangement with you when the accident happened.” No wonder Father was so angry. He’d signed over the deed to Ellsworth Park thinking I would marry Gisborn! Dismayed, Charlotte wondered at her father’s logic. He had no direct heirs, so Nicholas, her cousin, stood to inherit everything. Giving the unentailed land to Gisborn meant Nicholas would not have access to it – thus preventing him from selling it off for funds to pay gambling debts. Then my sons would benefit.
A brilliant scheme, now that she thought about it.
But her father hadn’t explained himself that day.
Or that night.
Gisborn leaned his elbows on his knees. “As you probably remember, my lands and your father’s are adjacent in Oxfordshire. I thought to unite them, make them of a size large enough to warrant the work that needs to be done.” At Charlotte’s questioning look, he added, “For irrigation, improved farming techniques, better forestry. I knew your father owned Ellsworth Park, so, when he summoned me to London last month, I thought it was his intent to sell me the property.”
An alarm was going off in Charlotte’s head, so loud she almost didn’t hear his next words.
“Imagine my surprise when he offered the lands as a dowry,” he said offhandedly.
“Imagine,” Charlotte repeated quietly. A thought struck her and she glanced up at Gisborn. “And, was that in addition to the … ten thousand pounds?” she asked quietly, suddenly having a difficult time breathing given the sob that was stuck deep in her throat. She knew the answer even before Gisborn gave her a look of even greater surprise than her own.
“There was no offer of money, Lady Charlotte. Just the land. I hardly think I could take the land and any money,” he reasoned, a hint of a grin making him look ever so handsome.
And you could not take money that was no longer there, she did not say aloud, a sense of dread settling over her. Oh, Father, what have you done? “If I were to accept your proposal, when … if there is one, Gisborn, could you .. do you suppose ..?” Charlotte sighed and looked away, her face flaming in embarrassment. Was it too much to ask that a man love her? she wondered, suddenly feeling ever the fool.
Gisborn’s hand had once again captured hers. “Although I love another, and I think I always will, I assure you that I will treat you with the kindness and respect you deserve. And I promise I will provide you with almost anything you want,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand as he made the vow. “I only ask that you allow me to bed you exclusively until you provide me with two sons. And then I shall not mind if you decide to take a lover.”
Charlotte took a deep breath and regarded the earl, stunned by his terms. His offer was generous, she knew. He would allow me to cuckold him! I could never! And he already had the lands. He could walk away right now and still own Ellsworth Park. “Might I give this some thought?” she asked then, not beginning to know what her answer would be.
“Of course. I must head back to Bampton soon, though,” he stated as he nodded his head, “But I feel it only fair to give you as much time as you need. I am … sorry that you did not know of your father’s intent. I would not have been so … rude in there,” he whispered, his manner suggesting he was embarrassed over his earlier behavior.
“I accept your apology, of course. And I give you one in return. My manner with you earlier was not very … ladylike,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.
Gisborn lifted a finger to her chin. “You are willful. Your father warned me. But it is part of your charm, I think.” He stared into her eyes for several moments, and then, quite unexpectedly, he leaned in and kissed her. The kiss lasted only a moment, but Charlotte found herself returning it in kind, a kiss to seal a contract, she thought as she felt his warm lips lock onto hers and press gently. And then it was over as quickly as it had begun when he pulled away. One of his arms had wrapped around her shoulder and was settling against her back when she realized what was happening and winced. She felt her stitches pull tight and inhaled breath through her teeth as she quickly leaned forward and away from his heavy arm.
“Have I hurt you?” Gisborn asked as he removed his arm and reached out to take one of her hands in his. Long fingers wrapped about her small hand, surrounding it with a warmth that Charlotte found comforting. When she looked into his eyes, she found genuine concern there.
“I … I have a wound that is still healing. I just have to be … careful, is all,” she answered, tempted to blame him for the gash between her shoulder blades.
Alarmed, Gisborn tensed and his hand squeezed hers almost too hard. “Did … Did Wainwright do something to hurt you?” he fumed, his anger so sudden that Charlotte had to lean away from him.
Charlotte shook her head. “No!” she insisted quickly. “My father … he was angry when I refused to consider our betrothal,” she tried to explain. “He’d been drinking, and he did not explain himself well that night and …”
“What did he do to you?” Gisborn’s voice was suddenly harsh, his lust for vengeance so close to the surface that Charlotte was reminded of Joshua’s reaction. So very much the same, these men.
“He … he whipped me,” she whispered, her eyes avoiding Gisborn’s intense stare. The words were out before she realized she’d said them, and it was too late to stem the tide of anger that washed over the earl.
His hands reached around to her shoulders and pulled her so that she faced him as he angled his own body.
“I’ll kill him!” Gisborn vowed, his hands grasping her shoulders so tightly she was sure she would be left with bruises.
“No,” she murmured, her head shaking from side to side. “You mustn’t. Besides, he may be dead already,” she whimpered. At that moment, all of her pent up anger at her father let loose, and unable to shout or scream or use her fists to beat on the man that sat next to her, tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Her sobs finally overcoming her, she allowed her head to fall against Gisborn’s shoulder. She cried, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she wept.
Gisborn let go her arms and made quick work of the buttons down her back. Once the bodice of her gown was undone, he spread the fabric apart and gently slipped his fingers under the layer of bandages across her back. Charlotte heard and felt his sudden intake of air as he looked at her wound from over her shoulder, felt through his body the sense of repulsion and horror as he took in the sight of the series of black stitches marching across her back. She felt the very lightest pressure of a fingertip as it trailed alongside the wound, the sensation sending a tickling shiver through her back.
Gisborn carefully replaced the bandage over the wound and wrapped his arm about her waist, hugging her to him as tightly as he could. “If he is not yet dead, I shall kill him,” he whispered hoarsely, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears. “I am so sorry, Lady Charlotte. It was not supposed to be like this,” he whispered, his lips taking purchase on her temple and forehead to leave hard, urgent kisses.
“Please, do not,” she managed between sobs. “I will heal,” she spoke softly, hiccuping as she said the words.
Gisborn held her for a very long time, until he no longer felt her labored breathing and was sure she had stopped crying. He carefully rebuttoned the back of her gown, his breath washing warmth over her shoulder as he did so. When she looked up to meet his gaze, he swallowed and looked away.
He did not expect she would ever love him, nor did he want her to, given his feelings for Sarah. But he felt affection for her now, and he had hoped they could at least share that someday. But every day she had that scar would be a day she remembered how it got there – and why. “I fear that if you are my wife, you shall hate me each and every day you see me, for the rest of my life, because of what your father has done to you,” he said quietly. “Because of me,” he added fiercely, his face a portrait of pain and his eyes bright with unshed tears.
Charlotte considered his words and knew that, to some degree, he was right. But she shook her head. “I do not think I could ever hate you, Henry,” she murmured, taking a breath and returning her eyes to meet his. She wasn’t even aware she had used his given name. “But ’tis true that I do not think I will ever forget.”
Gisborn let go his hold on her, once he was sure she could sit up on her own. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “I will see to it that Ellsworth Park is returned to your family,” he said, his eyes closed as if he was in pain.
“No!” Charlotte nearly shouted, shaking her head as she took the handkerchief and dabbed at her damp cheeks and lower lashes. “You must keep it out of my cousin’s hands. It will be lost, otherwise,” she stated, seeing the surprise in his furrowed brows and blue eyes. “Truly. He gambles, and not well.” She continued to dab her eyes. “And when you’re next in London, you must call on my friend, Lady Hannah Slater. Her father is the Marquess of Devonville.” At Gisborn’s look of confusion, she added, “She has finally come out this past Season and will be one-and-twenty this year. She is a beauty, Gisborn, blonde, like me, but taller. She looks like a princess from a fairy tale. And she wants very much to bear children, and cares not a whit about whom she has them with,” she said quickly, wincing when she realized how her words must sound to Gisborn. His eyebrow cocked and a grin threatened to replace his look of grief. “I mean to say, she will bear you as many children as you wish, and she will be a good mother to them all. And she will love them.” Charlotte wiped her eyes and nose and gave the earl a wan smile, wondering if the man would consider her recommendation.
Gisborn nodded. “I know of her father, of course,” he whispered as he regarded her for a few moments. “And you think the two of us would suit?”
Charlotte nodded. “I do. I think you … and Sarah … will find her charming.”
Gisborn studied Charlotte’s face for a very long time. “I shall do as you say. I promise.”
Nodding, Charlotte took a deep breath. “Perhaps I shouldn’t mention it, but Lady Hannah does have a dog. A rather loyal dog,” she offered, hoping the news wouldn’t cause the earl to change his mind about meeting the daughter of the Marquess of Devonville. “She loves him very much.”
Gisborn’s eyebrows shot up, but the barest grin touched his lips. “An ankle nipper, I suppose?” he ventured. Thoughts of other aristocratic women with dogs came to him. He’d seen some who carried their small dogs in their reticules or held them in their arms as if they were babes. Most of those women had been older, though. Far older.
“Oh, no, Harold doesn’t nip ankles,” Charlotte countered rather quickly as she considered how to describe the Alpenmastiff that shared Hannah’s bed. Certainly the dog would behave with the earl, although if Harold sensed the least bit of danger from a man to his mistress, Harold would simply jump on the threat and knock him to the ground.
And then sit on him until a lawman could be summoned.
“Harold? She named her dog ‘Harold’?” Gisborn asked, the grin spreading a bit. He gazed at Charlotte as he watched her struggle with how to tell him about the dog. Impressed by her attempt to provide full disclosure of Lady Hannah, he reached out to capture her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of it as Charlotte watched, her eyes widening as he did so.
“Harold MacDuff is a rather large dog, you see,” Charlotte offered then, suddenly nervous by the earl’s odd reaction. “An Alpenmastiff.”
Gisborn nodded his understanding of a rather large beast bred for rescuing those lost in mountain passes and snowstorms. A farmer very near Gisborn Hall had such a dog, a bitch who had given birth to puppies a few weeks before he left for London. Although he had never seen the dog or her litter, his household staff had been quite verbal in their fondness for the pups.
He lowered Charlotte’s hand before releasing it. “Thank you, Lady Charlotte. I shall use this information to good effect, I think,” he said, his mind already working on how he might woo Lady Hannah by way of her dog. “And I shall send word if I am in need of further help with regard to Lady Hannah. I do hope you will not mind.” This last was delivered in a manner that suggested the earl might actually pursue the younger woman.
With those words, Gisborn stood from the bench, took both of Charlotte’s hands in his, and kissed the backs of her fingers. “You will be welcome at Gisborn Hall anytime,” he said, his eyes bright. After a long moment, he took a deep breath. “Until we meet again, Lady Charlotte,” he said formally.
Charlotte watched with mixed emotions as he bowed and took his leave, winding his way along the garden path until he disappeared into the house.
Chapter 25
His Grace Makes a Proposal
Charlotte watched the earl as he walked away, part of her distraught over his sudden departure and another part relieved that he had taken his leave. A bit panicked that she had allowed him to go with the deed to Ellsworth Park, she calmed herself with the knowledge that her cousin would not be able to sell it to the highest bidder to fund yet more gambling debts. And she had to calm herself again when she thought of her dowry, wondering if there was any of it left to help her secure her future with a man who was willing to marry her because he loved her, not because she was to be his brood mare or because it was her duty to do so.
She stayed in the garden for another half-hour, allowing the sun to warm her face and dry her tears, her eyes close
d so that she might concentrate on the sounds of the birds and the insects and the wind caressing the leaves and the feel of warm, moist lips kissing hers …
Her eyes flew open to find Joshua standing over her, his lips breaking into a grin at the sight of her surprised expression. “You look like a beautiful flower just bloomed in the sun,” he murmured quietly.
“Oh?” she replied with a sigh, still trying to get her bearings. He looked like a rogue god standing over her, his dark hair glinting with golden highlights and his mask adding mystery and intrigue to the look of amusement on the part of his face that was visible. His Grace with half a face, indeed, she thought with another sigh.
“Gisborn told me he is off to London to call on Devonville’s daughter,” he said quietly. He didn’t add that Gisborn thought Joshua should pursue Lady Charlotte for himself. She does not love you out of a sense of duty, he’d said with a shake of his head and a manner that demanded he listen closely. She simply does. He thought the comment odd but hadn’t spent much time considering it. “Are you … ?”
“I am fine,” Charlotte replied with a watery smile. “Thank you for … for making me consider his offer. It was quite generous,” she murmured, her head nodding. I have nothing to offer a husband now, she thought, realizing that her original dowry was probably long gone, and now the Ellsworth lands in Oxfordshire were as well. Should her father die, her mother would need to keep the townhouse in London just to have a place to live.
Joshua nodded, and indicated a folded paper he held in one hand. “I received this from Garrett a few moments ago,” he spoke softly, holding it out to her. “May I join you?”
Charlotte inhaled sharply, realizing she hadn’t stood upon his arrival to afford him a proper curtsy. “I apologize, Your Grace,” she said as she got to her feet and then did so, surprising him.
“You needn’t ..,” he started to say, and then sighed. He bowed over her hand and sat down to her right, where Gisborn had been earlier. She glanced over to see a side of him that he usually kept turned away from her. Although he wore his mask, the edges of his scars were evident as was the area where the hair was still thin behind his ear.
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