22. In Which a Gentleman Discovers the Value of Being Rescued – Lady Montague’s Drawing room, Mayfair, London #2
Charlotte considered. "Rescuing is swooping in and fixing the problem so you don't have to deal with it. Teaching is giving you tools so you can fix it yourself next time." She met my eyes. "Which do you want?"
I thought about it. About the book she'd given me on social graces after the Continent. About the way she'd stepped in with Lady Harrington, but then pulled back to let me try. About how she was showing me the patterns instead of just managing every conversation for me.
"Teaching," I said. "Definitely teaching."
"Good. Because I'm terrible at rescuing. I'm much better at pointing out what you're doing wrong and making you fix it yourself."
I laughed despite myself. "That's not true. You're excellent at rescuing. I've watched you do it all Season."
"For other people. Not for you." She took a biscuit from my plate and bit into it. "With you, I want to be a partner. Not a rescuer."
"Partners."
"Partners," she confirmed. "Which means sometimes I rescue you, and sometimes you rescue me, and sometimes we both just muddle through together and hope for the best."
"I like that better than constant rescuing."
"Me too."
We stood together by the refreshment table, eating biscuits, watching the room flow around us.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For this. For teaching me instead of just managing everything."
"Thank you for letting me." Charlotte brushed crumbs from her fingers. "Most men would be too proud to admit they need help with something like social calls."
"Most men haven't spent eighteen months away from Society and forgotten how to talk to people about ice sculptures."
"Most men don't need to know about ice sculptures. They're ridiculous." She smiled. "Come on. One more circuit of the room, and then we can escape. Let's see if you can manage a full conversation without me intervening."
"That seems optimistic."
"It is. But I have faith in you."
She had faith in me. After watching me flounder through half a dozen conversations. After seeing me at my most awkward and uncertain and very clearly out of my depth.
She had faith in me anyway.
We moved back into the crowd. Charlotte introduced me to a group discussing the upcoming races at Ascot—something I knew nothing about—and then stepped back slightly, letting me take the lead.
I asked questions. Used the tools she'd taught me. Followed the flow of conversation instead of fighting it.
And when I inevitably lost the thread and started to panic, Charlotte was there—not rescuing, just offering a small prompt, a gentle redirect, enough to get me back on track.
By the time we left Lady Montague’s drawing room an hour later, I was exhausted.
But I'd survived. More than survived—I'd actually managed a few conversations without making a complete fool of myself.
Charlotte and I walked toward the waiting carriages in comfortable silence.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Like I've been in battle. Except the weapons were words and the casualties were my dignity."
"You kept your dignity intact. Mostly." She smiled. "You did well, Edward. Really well."
"Because you taught me."
"Because you learned. There's a difference." She paused as we reached the carriages. "Same time next week? Lady Pembrook is hosting a card party. Lots of conversation, even more gossip. Perfect practice."
"You want to do this again?"
"I want to teach you until you don't need teaching anymore. Until you can walk into a room full of strangers and navigate it yourself." Charlotte looked up at me. "Not because I want you to stop needing me. But because I want you to choose to be with me even when you don't need me."
The words hit me square in the chest.
"I already chose you," I said. "Every day. Need has nothing to do with it."
"I know. But I want you to know it too. Really know it. Deep in your bones." She squeezed my hand briefly. "Let me teach you. Let me rescue you from your social awkwardness. And then we'll both know—this isn't about what we do for each other. It's about who we are together."
I wanted to kiss her. Right there in the street, in front of Lady Montague’s house, with a dozen carriages and twice as many witnesses.
Instead, I just looked at her. This extraordinary woman, who had spent the afternoon teaching me how to survive tea and gossip. Who had faith in me even when I had none in myself.
"Next week," I agreed. "Lady Pembrook's card party."
"It's a date."
"Charlotte—"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For seeing me. The awkward, uncertain, socially incompetent parts. And not running away."
"Thank you for letting me see them." She smiled. "Now get in your carriage before someone notices we've been standing here too long."
I climbed into my father’s carriage. Watched through the window as Charlotte was handed into hers.
She looked back once. Caught my eye. Smiled.
And I thought: This. This is what love is. Not just the grand gestures and the desperate rescues. But this. Learning together. Teaching each other. Letting each other see the messy, imperfect, struggling parts.
Being partners.
The carriage pulled away. I settled back against the seat and tried to process everything that had happened.
I'd been rescued today. Genuinely rescued. Charlotte had seen me drowning in social convention and thrown me a lifeline.
But she hadn't just pulled me to shore. She'd taught me to swim.
And somehow that felt more intimate than any kiss we'd stolen. More meaningful than any declaration of love.
Because she'd seen me vulnerable and hadn't looked away.
She'd seen me imperfect and chosen me anyway.
I pulled out the letter I'd been carrying for days. The one I'd written. The one that listed all the reasons I loved Charlotte that had nothing to do with rescue.
I needed to add something.
I love that she teaches me instead of just fixing things for me.
I love that she has faith in me even when I'm floundering.
I love that she makes being imperfect feel safe.
The list was getting long. But Charlotte deserved every word.
Tomorrow I would take her to the British Museum. Show her the Elgin Marbles she'd mentioned wanting to see.
But today—today she'd rescued me.
And I'd let her.
And somehow, that felt like progress.