Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
BENNET HALL, SURREY - OCTOBER 23, 1816
LEE
“My solicitor is coming today. I expect he’ll arrive sometime this afternoon.”
Charlotte looked up between tentative bites of toast and nodded before returning silently to her breakfast. She had been unusually stoic the last several days, at least during the incredibly brief moments we had spent together.
Will had written a few weeks ago, asking to meet to go over some paperwork or other. The harvest had put me so far behind in correspondence that it was shameful. Fortunately, he was still free. His letter offered some additional intelligence of interest as well.
“I believe he is bringing his new wife.”
“Shall I have the blue room readied?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
Something was wrong with my wife. Not a single eye roll. This agreeable, formal woman before me was not her.
“I believe you know her. Lady Celine Rycliffe?”
That earned me a mere blink before she returned to her food. The news had knocked me back into my chair when I read it. But Charlotte… nothing.
Entirely without ideas, I continued breaking my fast in silence before retreating to hide in my study. It was a good use of my time. I had plenty of letters to catch up on this time of year.
When Brigsby alerted me to Will’s arrival, trepidation swirled in my stomach. It was the first time that Celine—now Mrs. Hart—would see my scars and, though the idea bothered me less than it would have a few months ago, I did loathe the thought. She had once considered me as a marital prospect, after all.
When I arrived in the drawing room, I found Will and his wife, but no hint of Charlotte. Brigs whispered, “Headache,” at my confused expression. I caught my own eye roll after the fact. Charlotte’s habits were catching.
Will was no stranger to the mottled lines of my face. Astonishingly, he had a new scar of his own across his right brow. Smaller and cleaner than mine, of course, but curious all the same.
Celine’s eyes widened at the sight of me, but she was too poised for anything more demonstrative.
Perfunctory greetings delivered, I was left to satisfy my curiosity. “So… I assume you were caught on a veranda again?” I directed my question toward Celine.
“It was a balcony. And we were not caught.” She replied primly, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin when the laugh burst from me.
Will’s groan nearly overshadowed the laughter, and he removed his spectacles, dragging an exhausted hand over his face. Never would I have paired practical Will with socialite Celine. But they moved together in a way that spoke of real intimacy.
“He’s my client, love,” he grumbled at her, flushing.
“I’m happy for you, both of you,” I added. And I genuinely was. No one deserved a good man more than Celine, and I would have difficulty naming a better man than William Hart.
“I understand I am to wish you joy as well?” she asked.
“Yes, my wife is feeling unwell at the moment.”
“Oh, I do hope she recovers soon.” I recognized that tone out of Celine, slightly higher pitched with the accent just a touch thicker than was natural. She was putting on airs.
“I’m certain she’ll be devastated to have missed you.” I added a hint of warning in my tone. Nothing Will would have caught. But Celine understood my meaning instantly and caught my gaze with a nearly imperceptible nod.
“Well, I shall let you two gentlemen get to your work. I will take a few moments to refresh myself.”
I handed her over to Eliza and took Will to the study with me.
He was familiar with the room and made himself at home in the chair opposite mine across the desk.
“I cannot believe you let Kit handle the marriage settlements instead of me. I thought we were friends.”
“You were busy. Apparently finding a wife of your own.”
“Yes,” he breathed with a pleased sigh.
“It agrees with you.”
“It really does. You as well.”
It did. Waking curled around her soft warm body with frozen toes trapped between my legs was its own kind of peace.
“What happened to your eye?” I asked.
“That is a long story. The short version is that my wife saved me.”
“She would.”
“Of course, the longer version is that she is the reason I required saving in the first place.”
“That… also fits.”
His answer was a pleased chuckle. He then dug a sheet of parchment from his attaché, his usual method for moving the discourse along. “Now, about my visit. We had a small fire at the offices. Some of the paperwork has seen better days, unfortunately. If you don’t mind, I’d like to sort through your ledgers—make certain everything matches.”
“A fire? Is everyone well?”
“Yes, yes. Paperwork suffered more than anyone else.”
Relief seeped into my bones. “I am glad of it.”
He nodded and dug into my ledgers with his usual attention to detail.
I sought out a pot of tea and biscuits to accompany our efforts before falling back into the seat behind my desk. We’d been working in relative silence for more than an hour when I broke.
“Will?”
“Yes?” he asked, head popping up, eyes wide behind his spectacles.
“I’ve—I heard some rumors. I…” Now that the time had come to speak the words, I didn’t want to give voice to them. But it was a necessary evil. “What have you heard about my wife?”
“I am certain she’s quite lovely?—”
“The truth, Will.”
His sigh filled the room. “Cee may have used the word shrew . And Kit’s sister had an impressive list of complaints to lay at her feet as well.”
“I meant more recently.”
He could not hide his wince. “Oh, that rumor.”
“Yes, that rumor.”
“No idea what you mean,” he replied with a cheeky grin that became a chuckle when I rolled my eyes.
“Is there anything to be done about it? The babe is mine, of course. But I hate to think of Charlotte subjected to such talk.”
He sighed and pulled off his spectacles, then folded them on top of his ledger. “Probably not. Not without making everything worse in the process.”
“That is what I worried about.”
“Cee, though, she might be able to help. She’s a bit less popular since she married yours truly, but she still has the ear of everyone who matters.”
“How could she help?”
“I suppose I should ask… The concern is that the rumor says you are not the father of the child, yes? More so than the number of days between your wedding and the presumptive date of birth?”
“Yes,” I replied tersely.
“Well, suppose she saw the two of you having a tryst somewhere.” He snapped his fingers performatively. “In fact, I recall she said as much. She caught you two in a lover’s embrace six months ago at the... Cavendish party.”
There was one gaping flaw with his plan. “How do you suppose I attended a party and no one noticed me? You may have missed it, but I am, in fact, quite tall and scarred like the devil.”
“Right. The theatre?”
I gestured toward my face again with an irritated hand.
“It is quite dark!” That earned him another look. “Well, I’d leave it up to Cee.”
“I’ll consider it. You are certain she would help a ‘shrew’?”
“She’s a forgiving sort,” he said with a shrug.
CHARLOTTE
I was hiding. Like a coward. I had been for days.
Lee ought to be informed of the rumors swirling. And, ideally, the person to inform him would be me. But the reality of that prospect left my chest on fire. Though that may have been the babe.
Every time I closed my eyes, the warmth in Lee’s gaze and the indulgent curl of his lips was branded there. I couldn’t bear to see that expression turn to disdain. Which it absolutely would when he was reminded of why he never should have wed me in the first place.
Oh, he would be nice about it. Lee was kind about everything. But just a hint of contempt would creep into the corner of his lips. It was inevitable. It happened with Ralph, and it happened with Wesley—though more suddenly.
And it would happen with Lee—it would begin with informing him of the rumors.
So I hid like a coward, and now time had run out. Because Lady Rycliffe was here. A newly married—and to a solicitor—Lady Rycliffe. Well, Mrs. Hart. Ordinarily that would have interested me. But the gossip would not have missed her. And she would report it.
I could still remember the first time I saw her, Lady Celine Hasket, Marchioness of Rycliffe, draped in mauve silk that clung in the most flattering ways. It was my debut. There, she flirted with the handsomest man in the room—a notorious rake, if memory served. But she smiled, laughed, teased in a delicate French accent, and then sauntered off leaving him gaping after her as if he could not believe he had breathed the same air. And I wanted to be her.
Celine did all the things my mother warned me never to do—flirt, wear low-cut gowns, and speak with passion on inappropriate subjects. She even wore the solemnity of widowhood well and still managed to ensure every single person she met adored her for her easy manners and bright smile.
I could not fathom a single secret in the ton she was not privy to. One flutter of her lashes and any man would tell her anything she wanted.
And she loathed me.
It was not an unfair assessment, truly. Celine was popular, in part, because she was kind. I hadn’t recognized that at first. When my engagement fell through with Rosehill—Celine’s brother-in-law—the rumors began to swirl. And every single one of them had him finding me wanting. Where one gentleman went, the rest followed. At once, I was left with the dregs of society. I was left with Ralph.
For weeks after my wedding, I watched from the wall—Ralph too preoccupied at Wayland’s to attend—as she danced and smiled and laughed and the men flocked to her, entranced by her beauty.
And that was where Wesley had found me, in my darkened corner, sad and unwanted. I could not even recollect the precise comment now. Something about her pug nose. And his answering laugh felt good. It soothed the bruises left by my fall from grace. My second observation regarding her sun-leathered skin earned a chuckle from him, and that felt even better. Genuine giddy delight had welled within me. When he called another gentleman over for me to repeat it, I added a note about the nasal quality of her voice—something I had long admired for its sensual tone—which earned me a snicker, and the attention of yet another gentleman.
So it continued. I earned what I thought was the respect of the gentlemen in Wesley’s circle. I knew now how wrong I was. It wasn’t anything like respect. It merely amused them to watch us snipe among each other. Or to watch me take pathetic swipes against a woman who neither felt the impact nor cared for my efforts. She was too far above me for my arms to reach.
But she knew, and she knew about the other hits that had landed—the targets that had been within my grasp. Miss Kate Summers, whose only mistake was accepting a dance from the man who had rejected me. Lady Juliet, who had later managed to engage herself to him. Dozens of others who incurred my ire.
And she would tell Lee. Sweet Lee, who had no idea who the woman he married truly was. When she finished telling him of my past, she would divulge the current rumors. Oh, it would be for his own good. She would never think he had married me knowing the full truth—who would?
He would know then. He would know and revile me. And I would deserve it.