She poured more tea and added a wedge of lemon, which was Cook’s latest indulgence. It was not enough that he haunted her every waking step, but she was dreaming about him, too, and even when awake, she could think of no one but Will.
By God, she loved him. It had twisted her heart, his laughter the day before, when she had felt her most vulnerable when she had been mocked by society for the most excruciating…
The memory of Mrs. Holmes’s flabbergasted face popped into her mind, and Charlotte snorted with laughter—and put her hands over her mouth in horror. Now that she thought more about it, it seemed ridiculous. The simpering daughter, the overly eager mother, herself and Will stuck in the middle, attempting to have their own moment of love.
Remorse filled her heart. He had laughed, and perhaps out of nerves as well as the stupidity of the scene. Just as she realized how much she loved him and how precious he was, he had laughed, and she stormed out of the Pump Room.
Would he ever propose to her again? Would he even want to see her again? Wild panic flooded through Charlotte as she tried to see the whole situation as an outsider. If she was Will, would she want to propose again?
Her heart plummeted to her feet, bypassing her stomach. Certainly not. Had he not attempted to persuade her? Had he not made love to her, kissed her, and been honest with her?
Charlotte glanced at the fifth letter, the one from Miss Darby, and read it again.
There have been some rumors, I have just been informed…which could not be further from the truth, but no one believes me, and all I can do is think of John.
If I am honest, I believe he loves me almost as much as I adore him. I am in need of at least one more opportunity…he will make me the happiest person on this earth and ask me to be…
But no. I cannot even write it, in case all my hopes are for naught.
Miss Darby. Foolish, chattering, Miss Darby. Charlotte had been so dismissive of her, and her words rang true in her heart, as though her mother was beside her, guiding Miss Darby’s pen to give her exactly the advice she needed.
One more opportunity to fix him. He will make me the happiest person on this earth and ask me to be… But no. I cannot even write it, in case all my hopes are for naught.
Charlotte tightened her grip on the letter. How different were she and Miss Darby? They had both been expecting something different when they had met a gentleman who made them feel…everything. Everything was different, everything new.
Their happiness depended on that gentleman, but they were both one proposal away from true happiness. If they were both to gain their hearts’ desires, they would become sisters, which was a strange thought.
Charlotte started as the most wild and reckless idea came to her mind. Being a chaperone had started as a favor to a friend, and where had it led? To becoming what society had expected of her: a dull, cowed, and quiet chaperone.
But she was Lady Charlotte St. Maur. She was the daughter of a duke, and what’s more, she possessed intelligence and common sense. She had a man who loved her.
One letter was still lying unopened on the table. The handwriting looked strangely familiar, and when she opened it, she smiled. It was from Tabitha.
Dearest Charlotte,
Well, the baby has shifted for the first time, and I cannot tell you how much joy it brings me! Your brother, fool that he is, is attempting to force me into bedrest when I am but four months along, but I quickly put a stop to that. My mother did not take to her bed until confinement itself, and I see no reason to be any different.
I am still discovering Stonehaven. There appear to be more doors and rooms than I had remembered each time I walk down a corridor, and I never know where I have left anything. There are approximately six half-embroidered cushions all around the place, and I haven’t stumbled across the same one twice.
By the way, please thank Matthews for his continuing instructions. I am endeavoring to keep to them, but you must tell him my taste in brandy, at the very least, is not going to be tested. I will simply obey.
Richard has been wondering about names for this little one. I think he is a boy, but Richard is convinced she is a girl. Would we be asking too much if we begged your approval to call our first daughter, Charlotte? You must tell me if you would rather we did not.
Charlotte, I wish to know you better. You must come back to Stonehaven Lacey as soon as the Season is over. If you are anything like your brother, and he has assured me you are, then I feel we will become close friends.
He frightens me sometimes, your brother. To think that we almost lost each other due to jealousy, confusion, and misunderstandings. I fought for him, Charlotte, as I have never fought for anything. I thank God I did.
Do you know where the silver spoons are? I’ve been told Mrs. Marsh needs them and cannot find them. I must go. Please write back and tell me when you’ll be back.
I remain ever your sister,
Tabitha, Duchess of Axwick
Charlotte swallowed. Her fingers brushed the ink on the page. How could Tabitha know just how timely her letter was?
I fought for him, Charlotte, as I have never fought for anything.
She had seen the true affection between her brother and his new wife and never thought to experience the same. But without seeking it, without realizing it was coming, she had almost stumbled across something just as beautiful.
William Lennox, Duke of Mercia. He had been true to her, sought her out, never lied to her, or taken advantage of her. He made her heart sing.
Without any warning, Charlotte rose from her seat, allowing the blanket to fall to the floor. All this time, she had lived by society’s rules, and had it made her happy?
No.
And so, what better way to win him than to court William as he had courted her? To ignore society’s rules, of course. But with Will at stake, after rebutting him so definitely and then realizing how she truly felt, how he truly felt.
It was time for something drastic. Something wild. Something she would have never considered in her wildest dreams even a year ago. If she wanted to leave her chaperoning days behind her and become, truly, the bride, it would need to be something daring.
An image sparked across her imagination. It was wild. It was reckless. It was the sort of thing she could never have countenanced even a week ago. It was daring. No one would forget it. But would it be enough?
It surely wouldn’t work, would it?
Chapter Eighteen
It was impossible. No matter how hard he tried, William was unable to prevent himself from yawning.
“The hem itself is…Your Grace. Your Grace, I am not boring you, am I?”
Innocent eyes stared at him from the woman who had been lecturing him on the infinite number of materials used to construct her gown. Her mother stood a few paces behind her, a respectable distance to ensure nothing untoward occurred.
William sighed. It was not her fault, of course. These girls, they were taught nothing of use. Sewing and crocheting and embroidery, dancing and music, horse riding if they were lucky, and long, heartening walks in the rain if they were not…
It all led to an accomplished lady, he was sure, but interesting?
No. Miss Coulson had been introduced to him the moment he had entered Lady Romeril’s second ball of the Season, and he had been unable to rid himself of her or her mother for the last hour. Chester had been throwing him envious glances, and he wished he could palm her off on him.
But no, Miss Coulson evidently wanted to be the future Duchess of Mercia, and so William was trapped by the wall near the card room, unable to free himself to play a hand or join the dancers.
Instead, he was being rewarded—if you could use that term—for his gentility with Miss Coulson by being distracted from thoughts of Charlotte.
Goddamnit. Now he was thinking about Charlotte.
“No, I assure you,” he said to Miss Coulson, whose shoulders immediately relaxed. “I never realized before how much skill and artistry goes into cr
eating such a masterpiece as that gown. Please, do go on.”
She beamed. “Well, you are in luck, Your Grace, for we have come to perhaps, nay, certainly the most interesting part. As I was saying, the hem…”
William scratched his nose in an attempt to hide his next yawn, for it was impossible to stifle. Ye gods, he should never have come. All he wanted was to ignore the world for allowing him to have fallen in love with Charlotte when he did not deserve her.
John was right: he was a fool.
Now he was paying the price for his stupidity, stuck with one of the most boring debutantes who had entered society, and it served him right.
The dancers flew past them in a speedy English country dance, and Miss Coulson took a brief look at them before continuing, “I know what you are going to say. They could not possibly have stitched each individually, but if you look here…”
William bowed his head to examine the sleeve. This will teach him not to be so easily flattered. He had heard Lady Romeril hosted but one ball a Season, which had been a few months ago. When the invitation for a second ball had arrived, it was considered unprecedented, and no one had managed to pry the reason from Lady Romeril’s lips.
Even Mrs. Bryant, the renowned gossip of Bath was none the wiser—and this had whipped the intrigue into a frenzy. By the time it had come to respond to the invitation, William had allowed his curiosity to get the better of him.
Trust him to be introduced to the most boring woman in the room. The trouble was, he had stood for so long and feigned interest so well, he was not entirely sure how to extricate himself from her tiresome company. If matters did not resolve themselves, and quickly, he could find himself trapped with Miss Coulson for the remainder of the evening.
“But the hair, the hair is something else quite entirely,” said Miss Coulson, raising an elegant hand to gesture towards the pile of curls entangled with pearls. “You see, while you may think you need to begin with the curling irons, you must instead…”
William’s eyes slid from the piled hair upon Miss Coulson’s head to the lady walking leisurely past them. Dark hair, bedroom eyes, and a lingering look.
Miss Emma Tilbury, famed companion to the Earl of Marnmouth, winked as she passed him and cast an amused eye at Miss Coulson.
William smiled, despite himself, and waved her away. So, he was not the only one who had noticed Miss Coulson’s rather unfortunate interest in dressmaking. He should have known Miss Tilbury would do something as wild as winking at him in a ball—but then, if Marnmouth was to believed, there was little Miss Tilbury would not do.
Unfortunately, the interaction between him and Miss Tilbury had been noticed by a trio of ladies who had returned with glasses of punch.
William froze. Oh, Christ. Don’t tell me they’re all going to be at it.
But his fears were confirmed when the other two ladies walked past him as Miss Coulson chattered on, winking mischievously.
The marriage market was hell on earth. How did anyone manage to navigate it—and why did they bother? It was full of traps and snares for the innocent, and many women entered it without any of the right tools. Take poor, Miss Coulson. Unless she was able to find a tailor, she might end her days as a chaperone.
His stomach tightened. Even he had slipped into that horrendous way of thinking. No wonder Charlotte hated being a chaperone so fiercely; there was no better way for a woman to be considered useless and unmarriageable than to describe her as a chaperone or spinster, and even he had fallen into that habit.
Charlotte. Even thinking her name was painful, but he knew she was lost to him. There was no chance in hell she would even consider him as a dance partner now, let alone a partner for life. In all honesty, he could not blame her.
“For once in my life, I am not going to fade into the background of other people’s lives!”
“…and with careful study, one is able to apply the pearls in a circular motion, like so, to prevent them dropping in the heat of a ball. Of course, if diamonds are your preferred choice…”
William let Miss Coulson’s words wash over him. There was nothing in Bath for him, not after burning his bridges so definitely with Charlotte. He would wait out the ball, try and find out why Lady Romeril had decided to go against her convention and host a second of the Season, then leave for home.
At least then, he could not drive himself mad by hoping to see Charlotte every time he turned a corner, or entered a shop, or walked into a room. Christ, it was as bad as Honora, wherever she was. His whole life, every breath seemed to be on hold for these two women. He would die for them, each of them, but he was no closer either than he was three years ago.
A gaggle of newcomers entered the room, and William’s heart skipped a beat when he saw a dull gray gown, but then it sank. It was not Charlotte.
In a strange way, he was glad. He did not want to see Charlotte again here, in a private ball full of strangers. What would he do when he next saw her? Mouth dry up, heart stop, stomach lurch?
Or perhaps, and the thought was physical pain across his forehead, he would not see her again. She did not appear to be at Lady Romeril’s ball, and if he carried out his plan and left in the morning, there was little chance of a meeting again.
“Ahem.” Miss Coulson was staring, obviously awaiting a response.
William hoped he was charming. “I do apologize, Miss Coulson, I thought I saw…an acquaintance enter the room. Would you be so good as to repeat that?”
A true smile crept over Miss Coulson’s face. “Of–of course, Your Grace! Well, as I said at the beginning, this gown is silk, of course, but ’tis not the silk one would normally find in…”
William groaned inwardly.
What he would do for Charlotte’s company.
He should have proposed properly, securing her hand from the moment he knew he could not live without her.
“You can barely notice unless you examine it carefully. And that is all to the good, if you ask me.”
He could have immediately explained who Prudence was. Teasing was all very well, but it had overwrought Charlotte’s emotions. He should never have done that.
“But of course, my favorite part, as I said before, is the sleeves. See how the stitching, so small and so careful, never going beyond the lines of the design.”
The more he looked back, the more mistakes he recognized. No wonder she had eventually walked away. She deserved better, more than a thoughtless laugh when she had needed him. That laugh had broken everything between them, and he would never get the chance to make it right.
“Do you agree?”
William started. “What?”
For the first time since they had been introduced, Miss Coulson scowled. “I…I do not think you have been listening to a word I have said, Your Grace.”
“Of course I have!” William said bracingly. “Please do continue, Miss Coulson, I was greatly enjoying hearing about the…erm…the stitching of the sleeves and the…the embroidery of the–the hem?”
Without saying another word but giving him a dirty look, Miss Coulson bobbed her head and stalked back to her mother.
Finally. William breathed out slowly and leaned against the wall, finally alone with his thoughts.
He pulled out his pocket watch. Already a quarter to ten. All he had to do was survive for another few hours. At Lady Romeril’s balls it was considered good manners to leave as soon as she had gone to bed, and that was never late. A couple of hours and he could leave, and then depart Bath in the morning. There was nothing left for him here.
Confused murmurings rose from the dancers, and William glanced over curiously.
People started to point. Was this some special entertainment Lady Romeril had organized? Was she to make an announcement, perhaps?
The hostess did enjoy drama.
The dancers started to move aside. A woman dressed in the most exquisite gown and drenched in diamonds, and wearing a tiara—the sort a duchess would wear.
She had such pr
esence. William could feel it from the other side of the room. No wonder the dancers were moving aside for her—carriages on the street would move aside for her.
William’s jaw dropped. It was Charlotte.
But not the Charlotte ignored by the world. This one was adorned with diamonds—her neck, her wrists, her ears. The gown was shapely but modest, hinting at the splendid figure William knew all too well was under that silk.
It wasn’t what she was wearing that was astonishing, but the way she moved, no longer apologetic or quiet, or hoping not to be noticed. This was a woman confident and graceful woman, unafraid of everything.
It was a true marvel to see her flaunting her beauty.
Heart thundering, he went to her, humbled and eager to hear her voice, to be the recipient of her glorious smile. “Charlotte.”
The single word came out strangled, but it was all he could muster. He could see Lady Romeril grinning behind Charlotte, at the front of the crowd of spectators.
Well, he had to hand it to her, Lady Romeril had done it again. Her ball was going to be the talk of the town—but how was Charlotte involved? Was she waiting for him to say something—was this his chance to apologize?
“Charlotte—Lady Charlotte,” he corrected himself. God’s teeth, why was he so nervous?
But Charlotte did not appear to be listening to him. The nervousness was still dancing around her eyes. She lowered herself into an elegant curtsey, then…
William gasped, and he was not alone. Shock echoed around the room as all of Bath’s elegant society watched Lady Charlotte St. Maur kneel before him.
Surely, she was not going to…was she?
“Your Grace, William,” she said. The room immediately fell silent. “My whole life, I have been controlled by fear. Fear of my father. Fear of being rejected by my peers.”
Her gray eyes did not waver, but he heard the quiver of pain in her voice and wanted to stop her there, pull her into his arms, and comfort her—but wild horses would not make him do it. This was what she wanted. This was her time.
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