Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marie didn’t want to encourage Charles any more than she already was, for her desire to be near him was so strong, she was hardly thinking straight, her mind teetering between conscious and dreamlike states.
The day had been perfect, and now, ending it in Charles’s bed? She couldn’t have planned it better herself.
Although, had she planned it, there certainly would not have been three other men in the room with them.
She continued tracing the outline of his lips with her fingertip, her eyes growing heavy.
“Thank you for today,” Charles said, giving her a momentary volley of energy.
She lowered her hand on the bed next to his, their little fingers pressed together.
“I hope you enjoyed it,” she replied.
“I did. More than any other adventure I have ever had.”
Obviously he exaggerated, but she smiled all the same.
“Are you ready to return tomorrow?” he asked next.
Her spirits fell. She’d managed to set aside the thought of returning to Grendale Manor all day. “I suppose. I assume you are not, seeing as how we have another ball to attend.”
He grimaced. “No.”
“We could always make it better for you,” she offered, her eyes heavy once again.
“How so?”
“You could push me into a fountain again.”
He smiled, though it faded swiftly away. “In truth, I dread being around others more than attending another ball.”
“I dread that, too,” she whispered.
A look of understanding passed between them. Had Charles changed his mind about the annulment? The look in his eyes certainly suggested so.
A cold draught sailed through the window, pulling a lock of hair across her brow, so she nuzzled further into Charles’s jacket, his earthy cologne filling her nose. Would the scent linger on her until morning? Would she be fortunate enough to smell it again if he kissed her now?
“Are you cold?” Charles asked.
“A little.”
He reached forward, brushing her hair from her brow before eying her hands. “May I?”
She nodded, though she had no notion as to what he intended to do.
He pulled her hands between his in slow movements, drawing her fingers toward his lips as he blew warm, comforting breaths upon her skin.
She closed her eyes, the warmth filling her body as if the sun shone down upon her—for that was what Charles was to her. Warmth, goodness, joy. The reason her future was secured, and the reason she now wished to live.
“I am going to have trouble sleeping tonight,” he whispered, breaking through another dreamlike state.
“Uncomfortable?” she murmured.
He shook his head. “I cannot seem to sleep now without your singing.”
Her eyes flew open.
“The walls are thin,” he explained.
Marie knew this already. She’d heard his every footstep, his every movement in bed. And yet, she’d never heard him or his valet speak a word. She’d thought that meant he couldn’t hear her either.
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m not the best singer.”
“On the contrary,” Charles said. “You’ve the loveliest voice I’ve heard in all my years.”
Once again, she knew he exaggerated, but his compliment soothed whatever embarrassment remained.
“If I wasn’t afraid of you being shouted at again, I’d suggest you sing me to sleep right here.”
“Perhaps another night, then,” she suggested.
His eyes caught hers. “Yes. Perhaps another night.”
Her heart thrummed against her chest.
“How are your hands?”
“Much warmer, thank you.”
Still, he kept hold of them. “I will let you sleep now,” he whispered.
Marie nodded, though that was not what she wanted at all. She wanted to be kept awake all night by Charles. Listening to his kind words, receiving his kisses, feeling his hands on hers.
But as his callused fingers gently caressed her skin, sleep crept upon her once again, and this time, Marie allowed it to take her.
The following morning, after a sleepless night, Charles and Marie caught the stagecoach and made it back to Orpington after many long, cramped hours, only to be whisked away into another carriage to return to Dorking that night for the ball.
With no extra coach for the help, Marie’s lady’s maid and Charles’s valet accompanied them, allowing no chance for the private conversation Charles so desperately wished to have with his wife.
Last night had settled any remaining concerns he had about their relationship, for he knew his feelings for her had changed. All he needed to do was be sure hers had, as well. Based on her actions the day before, he was more hopeful than ever, but he had to be sure.
All he needed to do was catch her alone. All he needed was Marie. Only Marie.
And yet, his hopes were dashed away again when they reached Grendale, for no sooner did the carriage stop before the front doors did his mother and father pour out to greet them with anticipatory smiles and hopeful eyes.
Charles remained mostly silent, but Marie was as generous as ever, vaguely answering their questions about their time away before gently directing the focus to the upcoming ball.
“Yes, we haven’t much time to speak, do we?” Mother said somewhat disappointedly. “People shall begin arriving shortly, no doubt. Perhaps we may speak later...about your time at the cottage?”
Marie promised to do so, glancing at Charles as a subtle hint to respond, as well.
“Yes, of course,” he mumbled.
He couldn’t care less about telling his mother what had occurred. All he wanted to do was speak with Marie. But when Mother pulled her away, agreeing that they must make ready for the ball, Charles was left disappointed again.
He raced through getting ready with the valet, being tempted at least half a dozen times to walk through their adjoining door, take her in his arms, and give her the proposal she deserved—a proposal that declared just how much he loved her and just how much he prayed she would spend the rest of her life with him.
But he could hardly do so if she were in a state of undress or if her lady’s maid was present. He wished for his declaration to be memorable. Loving. And most importantly, private.
So instead of barging in on her, he waited, pacing back and forth about his room, ignoring piles of business letters needing attention on his desk and wishing he were back in the cottage so he could hear if she was finished or not.
Just before the last of his patience drained, Charles headed for the adjoining door. Let propriety be hanged. He needed to declare his love.
He raised his hand to knock, but another tapping sounded behind him. His heart skipped a beat. Had Marie used the other door?
With quick feet, Charles answered the knocking, his disappointment keen as his valet appeared instead.
“Yes?” Charles asked gruffly.
“Forgive the intrusion, sir, but Mr. Page has arrived from London and requests an audience in the library.”
Dread pulled its heavy weight across Charles’s shoulders. Weeks ago, he would have died for news from his steward. Now, he cursed the man’s timing. Charles couldn’t put off speaking with him, either. Not when Marie deserved to know what the steward had determined.
What had Mr. Page determined?
Charles’s stomach churned. He peered over his shoulder, staring at their adjoining door before squaring his shoulders and leaving his room. In a matter of moments, he stood with Mr. Page, holding his breath as he listened to the steward’s knowledge.
“I’ve good and bad news, sir,” Mr. Page said.
“I’ve discovered that one has the grounds to request an annulment if there is evidence that both parties were forced to sign the wedding document, which I believe both of you have.
” He hesitated. “The bad news, however, is that no matter how hard I searched for an answer, there is absolutely no guarantee that an annulment would not injure either you or your wife’s reputation. ”
Charles took the news in stride. This was exactly the answer his logic had expected. And yet, no relief came. He may no longer feel trapped within his marriage, but Marie might.
The last fortnight flashed through his mind. The looks she’d given him, the way she’d kissed him, how she’d brought him to the fair for their first adventure together. Then Tristan’s voice rose within his mind.
“You’re a fool, Charles.”
Hope took flight in his chest. He was a fool. And often. But tonight he wouldn’t be.
Marie had seen Mr. Page arrive.
“The guests are already here?” Jane had asked.
But when they’d both peered down from the window, they’d recognized the steward instead.
Marie hadn’t been able to concentrate since, and the moment Jane left her room, Marie’s eyes flicked to Charles’s door.
Was he in there waiting to share the news with her? Or would he wait for tomorrow?
Well, Charles may want to wait, but she could not.
Picking up her soft pink skirts and heading toward the adjoining door, Marie forced herself to take courage.
She had no hope of spending another ball in front of a crowd pretending that all was well between her and her husband—when she did not know if all was well.
Things could have changed for Charles. Being around his parents again could have reminded him of his feelings from before—how trapped he was within this choiceless marriage.
She hesitated a moment before softly knocking on the door, but no answer came. Twice more she knocked, and twice more there was no reply.
Was he speaking with Mr. Page downstairs, or had he perhaps fallen asleep from their rigorous journey?
Slowly, she opened the door a crack with another knock. “Charles?”
No response came. She entered the room more fully, greeted at once by the smell of his cologne and the tidy nature of the space—aside from the mess of letters strewn about his desk.
Still, there was no sign of Charles.
With a sigh, she made to retreat. As she turned, she brushed too closely against the desk, and a few letters fluttered to the floor.
Swiftly, she picked them up and stacked them together before laying them on the desk. She made to turn away, but when her eye snagged on her own name written upon the top correspondence, she froze.
This is not yours, Marie, do not read it.
But her eyes were faster than her conscience as her gaze swept down the paper.
I am sorry to say this, Mother, but I cannot do this any longer.
My marriage to Marie is a farce. I should like to be clear and honest with you by letting you know that we are seeking an annulment.
She and I have nothing in common, and this is the only way for us to find true happiness—by being apart.
The words blurred together as Marie’s eyes filled with tears. This couldn’t be. She had to have imagined what she’d read. Charles had to be speaking of something else.
And yet, her name in his writing was clear—as clear as his desire to still end their marriage.
But how could that be so? What of the moments they shared, the way he’d looked at her in bed only last night? The kind words he’d spoken and the connection they’d made? She couldn’t have imagined it all.
And yet, as she read Charles’s words again, her cheeks flamed. How foolish she’d been to have had even the smallest hope that Charles would remain with her by choice. Of course he would choose his freedom. What person wouldn’t?
Drying her eyes, she steeled herself against any remaining emotion. There would be no place for the shedding of tears this evening. She had to attend the ball and keep up appearances one final time.
Tonight, she would be Immovable Marie Oakley again...instead of brokenhearted Marie Shepherd.