Always the Chaperone

by Murdoch, Emily E K

  “But your parents, they must have been a model for marriage.”

  Charlotte laughed. “Oh, yes, a very merry couple. They were so unhappy together, and my father such a monster…”

  “What do you mean, a monster?”

  She swallowed. He had been so honest about his sister—and was her story any worse?

  He saw her hesitation. “Please, I must apologize. I have no wish to bring up bad memories, Charlotte.”

  His use of her name shifted her heart. “No, it is only that he used to…to beat us. All of us.”

  William’s eyes widened in horror. “Your brothers?”

  Charlotte nodded. “And my mother and I, if we were disobedient. He was terrible when he drank, and as we grew older, he drank more.”

  William stopped walking. Disgust darkened his features. “You and your mother?”

  He did not seem to believe her or didn’t want to. “Please, do not concern yourself. It all changed three years ago.”

  “What changed his mind?”

  “He died.”

  They stood without moving in the middle of the street as a carriage rumbled by them.

  Finally, William spoke. “That is the most despicable thing I have ever heard.”

  Charlotte frowned and started walking with him, arm in arm. “When you grow up under such circumstances, and your father is a duke, no one questions his authority or his character. Even if they knew it was happening.”

  “I would never,” growled William, “never permit such a man in my sight if I knew that of him.”

  He growled, and she appreciated his protective reaction.

  “So, have you decided yet?”

  The frown on William’s face disappeared. “Decided what?”

  “Why, which of the young ladies of Bath you are going to marry?” she said brightly.

  She had intended her remark to lighten their conversation. She could not have been more wrong.

  Instead of answering, William pulled her down Bilbury Lane and pushed her against the wall of the closest building.

  “Going to marry?” he breathed with a wicked smile on his face. “I know exactly who I want to marry.”

  They were completely alone, and no one from the street could see them.

  “Who have you chosen?”

  William groaned and dipped his head, so his forehead touched hers. “Don’t tease me, Charlotte.”

  The kiss began before she could speak, and it was not the restrained kiss from three days ago, but passionate. His tongue teased her lips open, and she welcomed him.

  William’s hands crept around her neck, drawing her closer. The kiss deepened, and she arched into him, but he pushed her roughly back against the wall, breaking the kiss and staring at her with wild eyes.

  “Damn it, Charlotte,” he panted. “I have wanted this—wanted you—for too long now.”

  She did not need his words; she wanted his touch. Wild thoughts fluttered in her mind as she lost herself in their embrace.

  William’s hand moved from her neck down her body, tantalizingly close to her breasts but moving to her leg. It seared her when he had touched her in the curricle, and once again, there was nothing innocent about the way he caressed her.

  He started to push up her skirts, and she gasped at the sudden rush of longing she felt but did not understand.

  “Is that you, Bert?” a man’s voice echoed down the alleyway.

  William broke the kiss and immediately covered her with his body to protect her from being seen.

  “Bert?” The man shouted again, the echo bouncing off the walls.

  Charlotte could feel William’s heart pounding. It mirrored her own as she felt his hardness throbbing against her.

  Without someone answering him, the gentlemen moved away, his shadow disappearing from the end of the lane.

  “You are lucky,” William said in a low voice.

  Charlotte swallowed nervously. “How so?”

  He nodded. “Lucky I am able to control myself. Does this mean you are seriously considering marrying me?”

  She could not speak. Her mind was awash with images of what would have happened if that stranger had not attempted to find his friend.

  The word yes was on her tongue, but it was all too quick. Her mind might be ready for him, but was her heart? Was this just a game to him?

  She needed time to think—time away from William’s intoxicating presence.

  “No,” she whispered.

  William staggered away as though burned. “No?”

  Charlotte hated the disappointment on his face, but surely this was better than blindly accepting? She had been a chaperone for too long to be ignorant of the dangers of rash proposals and blind acceptance. Could she trust a man she barely knew? Was this not just a joke between them?

  “No,” she repeated breathlessly. “William…”

  “God’s teeth, woman,” he muttered ruefully, his eyes never leaving hers. “Every taste of you makes me want you more. I cannot take this much longer.”

  Without another word, he stepped away, leaving Charlotte alone, leaning against the brick wall and feeling more alive than ever before.

  “Come now,” he said, gaze finally dropped to the ground. “I should return you home. This is no place for a lady.”

  She attempted to gain her breath. A lady? She had never felt less like one than in this moment.

  “Do…do we have to leave this minute?”

  The words had escaped before she had been able to consider them, but William’s smile was enough to assure her she had not spoken out of turn.

  He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips against hers, and Charlotte lost herself in the heady world of his embrace.

  Chapter Eight

  William groaned. The sharp light that could only mean morning was piercing through the curtains in his rented room. He had never believed it possible to wake up on the wrong side of the bed, but his throbbing headache increased as he opened his eyes.

  Today was a day for staying in bed and doing absolutely nothing.

  “Wake up, lazybones!” John’s voice echoed down the corridor, and William raised a hand to his head. “It is almost nine in the morning, and the day is almost gone.”

  A clattering noise told William his brother had moved to the third room they occupied, where they ate and entertained the few guests of their acquaintance in Bath.

  He groaned as he sat up, head spinning. After such an intense meeting with Charlotte two—or was it three days ago?—he had been bored out of his mind ever since. Who could compare to her? What conversation would enthrall him?

  William finally stood with ill grace and pulled on his trousers, a shirt, and the waistcoat that was nearest.

  He was met with ill-humor when he entered the room where John waited.

  “Why do you look as though you’ve lost all your money on the horses?” John asked grumpily, barely looking up from his newspaper.

  William bit back the retort that he was in a better mood than John seemed to me. “Anything interesting?”

  John rustled the pages but did not look up. “Plenty of nonsense about the Season, and what everyone is wearing. Can you think of anything duller?”

  He could but did not consider now the best time to say so. Instead, William dropped into the only other chair at the table and looked, a little disconsolately, at the breakfast provided by their landlord.

  A few potatoes, more burnt than baked, a loaf of bread that was older than most the chits at the Pump Room, and a flagon of something that was probably ale.

  William curled his lips in distaste. “We need to get a footman, a manservant, something. It is disgraceful that the Duke of Mercia has to eat like this.”

  “Hark at you!” John said irritably. “This fare was good enough for you when you were Major Lennox. Does nobility affect one’s tastes as well as one’s pocket?”

  He had never been good at hiding his emotions from his younger brother. William swallowed down his se
cond bitter retort of the morning.

  John was seated awkwardly, hunched as though he could not bear to sit upright. His ears were red, and he huffed as he turned another page.

  William sighed. “What is the matter, John? You surely have nothing to complain about. Something is bothering you, and I would much rather know now than endure this temper all day.”

  The newspaper was dropped. “I will tell you, if you are that concerned about me,” he said with a frown. “Not that you have noticed until now.”

  But his words were interrupted by a loud knock on the door, which opened before either brother could respond. Their landlord stood there, short and stocky, with two envelopes in his coal-streaked hands.

  “Post,” he grunted.

  William rose and stretched out a hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  He saw the surprised look on his landlord’s face before he remembered that dukes rarely thanked anyone for something as simple as bringing up the post. Nor did they call a mere commoner, sir. But before he could say anything more, the door was closed.

  “A letter each,” William said quietly, thrusting John’s into his hands.

  “Thank you,” his brother muttered. “As I was saying…”

  John continued speaking, but William barely heard him. His eyes had fallen onto the letter addressed to him and the seal which had closed it. A. Axwick?

  His fingers fumbled as he opened it and pulled out what appeared to be a formal invitation. His eyes drank in the words.

  Your Grace, the Duke of Mercia, and his lordship, the Marquess of Gloucester;

  Your presence is requested for tea with Lady Charlotte St. Maur at Number Fourteen, Queen Square, today at eleven o’clock.

  It was one of the shortest invitations he had ever read, but it was clear enough. Charlotte had invited him and John, of course, to drink tea with her.

  John’s voice continued, but William could not concentrate. What did this invitation mean? If she wanted to spend more time with him, why had she invited John? Was the invitation a mere formality? He was still learning so much about the ways of nobility, and at every turn, he was about to make a misstep.

  “You’re not listening to me, are you?”

  “What?” William looked up from his invitation and saw the disappointment in his brother’s face. “Here.”

  He handed the invitation over and watched John’s eyebrows rise as he read the short missive.

  “Well, well!” laughed John. “And will you go?”

  “I am not the only one invited,” pointed out William. “I do not believe one of us can attend without the other.”

  “I am more than happy to attend. Lady Charlotte is an excellent conversationalist, and I have naught to do until luncheon as it is,” John said, reaching out for a large, burnt potato.

  “What do you think she means by it?” William had not intended to speak aloud, but it was impossible to keep the question to himself.

  John’s eyebrows raised. “By an invitation? I would say she would like us to have tea with her. What more could she mean?”

  Tea it was to be then, and he could no easier fathom what Charlotte’s thoughts were than his own. What did he want from her, from this invitation for this morning? He wanted her body, certainly. Their moment outside the Pump Room had certainly proven that.

  He wanted more. He wanted to know her thoughts, her opinions. Why did she rarely speak? Was she afraid that he would not take her seriously—or perhaps, that he would?

  So lost was he in his thoughts, that it felt like no time had passed when he found himself knocking on the door of her home.

  “I hope she has cake,” John said, stamping his feet in the brisk morning. “I am famished.”

  William could barely think. It seemed an age before the door was opened, and there stood Matthews. The butler looked somehow much taller and more imposing than when they had last visited.

  “Your Grace, your lordship,” said Matthews quietly with a frown that made William’s nerves increase. “You are expected.”

  He may as well have said you are to be executed, for that was the feeling it imparted. John, however, appeared to be immune to Matthews’s displeasure.

  John stepped forward without a care, and William followed.

  There was a door open to his left, and John strode in. William hesitated. This was her territory, their first meeting on her own soil. Through the doorway came the welcoming tones of a woman and John’s laughter.

  This is no time to wait around, William told himself. Move, man!

  Somehow, he managed to walk into the room. Charlotte wore a simple day dress more suited for a miss rather than a lady. There was a nervous smile on her face as she indicated he should be seated.

  William’s heart softened. After all his wonderings and concern, there was no ulterior motive here, just a desire, it seemed, to spend more time together.

  “I never thought I would find myself the chaperone,” John joked as the three of them sat down. “Fear not, my lady, I will guard you against my brother if needed!”

  It was well-meant but badly done. William saw the faint flush on Charlotte’s cheeks as she took in his brother’s words, but John seemed utterly oblivious.

  “Well, I cannot tell you how pleased we were to receive your invitation, Lady Charlotte. This will be the best food and drink we have had all day!”

  “Indeed? You have not found your lodgings to your liking?”

  “Not at all,” John said with a sigh. “Will was saying only this morning that we should look for another situation. Were you not, Will?”

  William opened his mouth but found no words forthcoming. Charlotte looked up, tea in hand, and passed it over to him silently. He accepted it.

  “Yes,” said John calmly, a little frown at his brother’s silence but more than able to continue the conversation. “We had not expected to be in Bath so long, and so the rooms we acquired for our duration do not suit.”

  William took a long sip of tea as John continued speaking. What was happening to him? He was not usually struck dumb in any setting, but it was not difficult to see why this would finally defeat him.

  His eyes took in the plush leather wallpaper, the delicate embroidery on every surface, the rich, gilt frames around paintings of women who looked remarkably like Charlotte all around the room.

  This was the parlor of a lady, a truly noble one.

  This was not his setting. No, this sort of formal place was more suited to a man of rank and breeding. Even when a major, invited to some of the best homes where they were billeted, William had never felt comfortable.

  John had fallen silent, and William glanced at Charlotte and saw her blush again.

  “It is very cold for the time of year,” he managed before sipping his tea again. The weather. He was talking about the weather?

  “Yes,” Charlotte said quietly. “And yet, I think it will be warmer soon. The cold cannot last.”

  Silence fell again, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock. William looked at John for help but saw his brother was grinning. This was entertainment for him, though torture for William.

  After another ten minutes of awkward conversation, William was almost at a breaking point. Should he just leave? Was there any point in staying if Charlotte was to be so quiet?

  John sneezed. As he closed his eyes to blow his nose, Charlotte grinned at William and winked.

  William smiled back at her, relief pouring into his heart. Of course, why had he not seen it immediately? It was John’s presence that was preventing her from speaking openly. But surely there was a way…

  “Tell me, Lady Charlotte,” he said suddenly. “Did you enjoy our walk back from the Pump Room?”

  Their eyes met, and he saw she perfectly understood him.

  “I did, even though we did not find Bert.”

  William grinned but was prevented from responding by his brother, who said, “Who is Bert?”

  Charlotte laughed, and William’s heart leapt as she repli
ed, “It is of no matter.”

  “Bert is not a common name,” John persisted, helping himself to another biscuit. “I knew a Bert before. He was in your regiment, wasn’t he, William? A good man. Where is he now?”

  William looked down at his hands and felt a shadow pass over him. “He did not return. He is buried somewhere in France, I think.”

  Sorrow flittered across Charlotte’s face.

  “This is not the appropriate conversation for a lady,” William said hastily. “We should speak about different things.”

  “I would like to hear more about it.” She poured herself another cup of tea, perhaps to avoid William’s eyes as she spoke. “More about your time in the army, Your Grace. If you do not mind. What was it like?”

  William scrabbled to find the words to describe some of the best and worst times of his life. “I…”

  John laughed. “Now, you will not hear a true account from my brother, Lady Charlotte. Better to ask me, one of the true soldiers!”

  “True soldiers?” Charlotte repeated. “I do not understand.”

  “It is quite simple, my lady,” John said. “My brother was a major. He had all the best food, beds, and places to sleep.”

  “You do not have a clue what you are talking about,” snapped William. “You never went into battle, John. Never even saw the enemy! Once you have seen what I have seen, you would not jest about it. You would not claim to be a true soldier. True soldiers were men like Bert, and he was not the only one who did not come home.”

  Silence fell once again, but this was not quiet full of anticipation for the next part of the conversation. This was painful.

  Damn and blast it. Why had he brought all this up? What was wrong with him? Why would he say things that upset Charlotte and embarrassed John?

  William stared into his cup of tea, and when he finally lifted his head, his brother was abashed.

  Charlotte had not looked away. “It must feel strange coming back to England after seeing such things.”

  He nodded, unable to find the words to respond.

  “Almost as though you cannot return to the England you knew,” she continued softly. “That England is gone, and a strange one left in its place.”