Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“ Y ou must have seen the poem! Everyone is speaking of it.”
Charlotte shook her head, looking at Miss Marshall, somewhat amazed that her friend spoke with such awe over one small poem.
“My sister has told me of it, saying that it is only a few lines long, but that it holds a great deal of feeling.”
“It is overwhelmed with feeling,” Miss Marshall replied, putting one hand to her heart. “My goodness, it still overpowers my thoughts and senses whenever I think of it.” Charlotte said nothing, looping her arm through her friend’s arm. She and Miss Marshall had been acquainted for many years, given that their fathers’ estates bordered each other, but Charlotte had never once heard her friend speak with such passion before. “I know that you will think me foolish, given that this is my second Season, and I have heard a great number of gentlemen read a great many sonnets before, but there is something about that poem that is so very intriguing and so very beautiful at the very same time.”
“Why is it intriguing?”
“Because,” Miss Marshall answered, as they slowly made their way towards Gunter’s, where they hoped to purchase an ice, “there must be a purpose behind the poem. It holds so much feeling that it cannot be anything less than a declaration of love made by one gentleman to a lady.”
Charlotte frowned.
“We cannot know that it is a gentleman.”
Miss Marshall scoffed at this immediately.
“Yes, we can,” she stated, firmly. “No ladies would be able to have their work printed in The London Chronicle, I am sure, and besides that, there is a way about it that tells me that it is from a gentleman’s hand.” About to protest, Charlotte caught the sharp glint in Miss Marshall’s eye and chose instead to remain silent. “Should you like me to tell you the words?” Miss Marshall asked when Charlotte said nothing. “You may laugh, but I have it memorized.”
Charlotte blinked but nodded.
“But of course,” she agreed, quietly. “I should like to hear it, I think, given that it has taken hold of society with such strength!”
Miss Marshall smiled, stopped, and then closed her eyes, reciting the words in an almost reverent fashion. “‘ In fields of gold, where wildflowers throng, love’s gentle breeze whispers its song. As we walk, hand in hand, our embrace so sweet, our lips, our hearts, our lives, now meet. A love, a flame that burns so bright, will guide us through the dark of night. Our love, so strong, will forever shine, a love so pure, so true, so divine.’ ”
A light smile danced across Charlotte’s face as she listened to the poem spoken, admitting to herself that the words were sweetly written. Miss Marshall took a deep breath and then let it out slowly before opening her eyes, one eyebrow lifted in question.
“Yes, it was very good.” Charlotte lifted her shoulders and then let them fall. “Though I have heard and read poems of its like before.”
“But do you not think that there is something so beautiful about this one?” Miss Marshall protested, her eyes widening. “There is something about it which speaks to one’s heart. I am sure that the words could not have come from anything other than a deep and unrelenting affection for the lady, whoever she is.”
Charlotte smiled.
“Mayhap.”
Her friend let out a sound of exasperation and then shook her head.
“It is impossible to affect your heart, it seems.”
Laughing, Charlotte continued to walk along the pavement, taking Miss Marshall with her.
“My heart is touched by the tender words, of course,” she admitted, seeing Miss Marshall still frowning, “but I cannot understand why it has grasped society’s heart. There must be many gentlemen or ladies who write such words.”
What she did not admit to her friend was that she had never really let herself dwell on what love was, nor what it might be like to experience it. Her father and mother had always thought of a practical match and thus, Charlotte had considered it a waste of time to permit herself such flowery thoughts.
“But this might be from a gentleman who cannot reach out to the lady he loves in any other way than this!” Miss Marshall cried, a clear understanding suddenly coming to Charlotte. “It is trying to understand the reason behind those words that drives the beau monde to such distraction – as it has my own heart also.”
“I see.” Charlotte tilted her head towards the bookshop. “Might you wish to step in here for a time? I am sure that I can find you an excellent book of poetry that might make your heart sing all the more loudly!”
Miss Marshall laughed and then nodded.
“I know very well that you desire only to go to the bookshop and not to the milliners or the like, so yes, we shall. Though we are still to make our way to Gunter’s, are we not?”
Charlotte nodded and then stepped into the shop without hesitation, a bright smile spreading across her face. This was where she felt the greatest joy, the place where she felt as though she belonged, far from the rest of society and all of its requirements. Taking a deep breath, she drew in the smell that seemed to pervade the entire shop, her happiness growing steadily as Miss Marshall moved ahead of her, ready to peruse some of the novels near to hand.
Charlotte considered for a moment, then made her way to the other side of the shop, wandering down the long rows of books and searching specifically for any books of poetry that she might discover. She knew of a few authors and liked one or two specifically, but they often wrote about the beauty of nature, or about their love of their homeland. To find romantic poetry would not be difficult, but it was not something that Charlotte herself had read very often. Given that she had no experience of being in love, the idea had not come to her to read about it.
Moving around the corner to the end of the bookshelves, Charlotte paused and then picked up one book, smiling to herself as she opened it. William Blake was a name she already knew and, interested, she began to read the first page, only for something to knock into her, jarring the book from her hand.
“Oh!” Charlotte scrambled to pick it up, her eyes taking in the damage that the book had sustained from being thrown to the floor. “Oh, goodness. The spine is quite damaged.”
She bent her head to study it a little better, her face flushing with concern.
“My sincere apologies.”
Charlotte looked up, only for her heart to slam hard against her ribs, making her breath catch. This gentleman, whoever he was, had the most wonderful eyes, swirling with flecks of gold. His jaw was tight, however, no smile lingering on his face, but instead a slight furrowing of his eyebrows which made it appear as though he was displeased at seeing her.
“It is quite all right,” she murmured, moving a step back from him. “I shall purchase this book and there will be no difficulty, I assure you. It was an accident, nothing more.”
“No, I shall purchase it,” he declared, taking the book from her, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. “It was my fault, and I have no concern in doing such a thing.”
Charlotte blinked, a little surprised at his bold actions.
“There is no need, I assure you.”
The gentleman said nothing, lowering his dark head to look at the book a little more clearly.
“A book of poetry, I see.”
“Yes, it is,” Charlotte answered, a gentle heat swirling within her as he lifted his gaze to hers, perhaps wondering what it was that she was so interested in. “I hear that there has been a poem printed in The London Chronicle which has captured the heart of many a young lady.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the gentleman’s lips.
“And you thought to go and find more poetry to read, having been inspired by it?”
Hesitating for a moment, Charlotte lifted her shoulders and then let them fall.
“In truth, while I think the poem has its worth, I am seeking out another book of poetry that I might share with my friend, to show her that there are many other writers of poetry also. She might find herself just as caught up by one of those other poems as she is with the one in the Chronicle.”
The smile which had been held lightly to the gentleman’s face soon faded.
“You mean to say that you think the poem which was in the London Chronicle to have no particular merit?”
Charlotte spread out her hands, a little confused about why the gentleman appeared a little upset at this.
“I have read many poems, Sir, and think that, while the one in the Chronicle is beautifully worded, there are others which are just as delicate in their choice of phrase. Indeed, there has been poetry written about almost every subject known to man, and those words inspire, regardless of what subject they speak about!”
“I see.” The gentleman sniffed and then looked down at the book. “This book is solely romantic poetry, however.”
“Yes, that is so. I confess that I have not read as much romantic poetry as I have other types of poetry, but I know that William Blake is an excellent poet and I have enjoyed his work previously.”
The gentleman opened the book and read for a few minutes, nodding slowly.
“He does write well.”
“Might you have come to the bookshop in order to secure your own book of poetry?” Charlotte asked, though the gentleman quickly lifted his head and snapped the book shut as she asked that question, a sharpness coming into his eyes which Charlotte could not understand. “Poetry may often be written about ladies, but it is not only ladies who read it.”
“I am well aware of that.” The gentleman’s tone had changed completely, going from an amiable tone to one which was rather sharp. “I am not inclined to read poetry. I am not inclined to read anything, in fact. My time is filled with greater considerations.”
She blinked.
“Then why are you in a bookshop?”
The gentleman looked back at her for a long moment as if he was trying to come up with an answer, only for a small, crinkling smile to twist up the side of his mouth.
“Ah, that is because I am seeking a quiet rendezvous,” he said, speaking in a low voice now, which was almost a whisper as it raked up Charlotte’s spine. “I do hope that you understand, Miss…?”
Charlotte recoiled from him, refusing to give him her name.
“My book, if you please?”
She snatched it from his fingers and, without another word, turned on her heel and hurried back towards Miss Marshall, her heart pounding furiously. There was no doubt in her mind about what that gentleman had meant. He was a rogue and nothing short of it, declaring quite openly that he was looking for a place where he might twine his arms about a lady’s waist, might pull her close to him, and bend his head to kiss her lips. Her heart pounded as she heard a quiet chuckle coming from behind her, making her go hot all over. This was, no doubt, the very sort of gentleman that her mother had insisted she avoid and, therefore, she was not about to give him her name, nor ask for his!
“You have a book, yes?”
Miss Marshall smiled at Charlotte, only for her gaze to dart over Charlotte’s shoulder, her eyes flaring wide.
“I was not with him,” Charlotte murmured quietly, aware that her friend was now gazing at the gentleman, perhaps aware of who he was. “He came upon me suddenly and I dropped the book when he knocked into me. Though I have no qualms with that, given that I thought to buy it already.”
“You spoke to him?” Miss Marshall whispered, only for the gentleman to come to stand directly beside them, his eyes alight with evident humor, the edge of his lip curving.
“I do believe that I said I would purchase this for you, my Lady,” he said, holding out his hand for the book. “It was my fault and–”
“No, thank you.” Charlotte forced a smile, her nerves taut. “I want to purchase it for myself. It is no trouble. Besides which, it was an accident.”
“All the same.”
The gentleman reached forward and made to pluck it from her hand as he had done before, but Charlotte moved back, avoiding him and, in one swift motion, turning towards the shopkeeper.
“Good afternoon. Might I purchase this, if you please?”
The shopkeeper was an older man who smiled warmly and set Charlotte at ease, only for that smile to fade as he looked to the gentleman who, to Charlotte’s frustration, came to stand directly beside her.
“I shall be paying for this.”
Irritated now at his insistence, Charlotte turned to the gentleman, her chin lifting.
“I have already stated that I have no desire for you to purchase this on my behalf. Why must you be so determined, when I have already said no?”
The gentleman grinned at her and, despite her protestations and her upset, Charlotte’s heart beat wildly for a few moments as his full attention was placed upon her. Yes, she determined, this gentleman was a rogue for, in knowing what he had said to her previously about seeking a rendezvous, she could tell from his easy smile, the twinkle in his eye, and the way that he tilted his head and lifted his eyebrow, that he was nothing but a flirt.
“I know that young ladies such as yourself are often told that they must not accept gifts, especially from those that they are not acquainted with, but on this occasion I believe that it is merited.”
“And I do not.”
The gentleman’s smile faded just a little.
“Goodness, I had not expected a young lady of quality to be so stubborn!”
Charlotte lifted her chin, her stomach knotting, though she forced herself to speak just as firmly as she could.
“And I did not expect a gentleman to be seeking out a rendezvous in the middle of a bookshop!” she exclaimed, her face burning hot as she heard the bookshop owner make a small sound in the back of his throat, though he continued to wrap her book in brown paper and did not look at her. “Nor did I expect a gentleman of the ton to refuse to accept the request of a young lady, but to insist upon having his own way! That, I think, is not in the least bit gentlemanly – especially since we are not yet acquainted. That is the worst of it, is it not? We ought to have been properly acquainted, correctly introduced, and instead, you have insisted upon speaking with me and forcing your intentions upon me without so much as a thought!”
This was more than Charlotte would normally have ever said in public, more than she would have ever stated aloud had she been in company, and yet, with this gentleman, she felt herself emboldened. Whether it was his manner, his arrogance or his clear flirtation, something about him made Charlotte want to stand up against him and make it perfectly clear to him that she was not about to be taken in by him… and that meant refusing to accept his offer of purchasing her book.
“My word, you are rather fiery, are you not?”
“No, she is not usually,” Miss Marshall put in, coming to place herself directly between Charlotte and the gentleman. “Mayhap it is simply that you have brought that determination out in her character, good sir? Though to my eyes, it is not unfairly brought.”
This made the gentleman’s smile break apart completely, a scowl replacing it.
“I hardly think–”
“Might I complete my purchase?” Charlotte asked, taking out her pin money and speaking directly to the shopkeeper rather than listen to the gentleman any longer. “If you please.”
“But of course, my Lady.”
The shopkeeper named his price and Charlotte paid him directly, making certain that there was no opportunity for this gentleman to step in between them and press the money into the shopkeeper’s hand.
“I thank you.”
With a warm smile, Charlotte turned to take her leave, Miss Marshall beside her, though she did not say a single word to the gentleman. Pulling the door open, she stepped back to permit another lady to walk inside only to see the lady’s eyes flare and a light smile spread across her face, her cheeks filling with color. Curious, she turned her head and watched for a few moments as the lady made her way towards the gentleman directly, one hand reaching out to greet him so that he might bow over it.
“His rendezvous, I expect,” she murmured, darkly, only for the gentleman’s eyes to catch hers. He was not smiling, his hazel eyes seeming to turn very dark indeed as he looked back at her. With a shake of her head, Charlotte turned away and made her way out of the shop directly, Miss Marshall following her. “Goodness, what a disagreeable fellow!” Charlotte exclaimed the moment the door closed. “I found myself very irritated indeed.”
“I could tell,” Miss Marshall returned, a slight lilt in her voice. “I do not think that I have ever heard you speak so boldly! Though I will not say that it was not justified.”
Charlotte offered her friend a brief smile, feeling a little embarrassed that she had spoken with such strength.
“You do not think that I was rude?”
Miss Marshall shook her head.
“No, not in the least.”
“Do you know who he is?” Charlotte saw her friend’s gaze drift away. “I thought him a rogue, I confess. Are you acquainted with him?”
After a few moments, Miss Marshall nodded.
“Though I am not acquainted with him, I know of him. I believe that gentleman is Lord Kentmore – a Marquess and a rogue. You are quite right to think that he is inclined towards flirtation and the like, for that is precisely the sort of fellow he is! But the ladies of London are very fond of him, despite his reputation.”
Charlotte shook her head.
“I suppose that is what makes him a rogue, does it not? He is handsome, he is flirtatious, and no doubt there will be many a lady eager for his attention, mayhap in the misguided hope that they will be the one to ensnare him into matrimony!”
Her friend laughed softly.
“Indeed, though I think that they must all surely understand that such an idea is foolishness. He has proven, over the last few Seasons, that he has no interest in marriage so why ladies would then draw themselves to him, I cannot understand.”
I can.
The thought was a swift and unexpected one and Charlotte flushed hot, a little astonished that she should think such a thing. Lord Kentmore was clearly the very worst sort of gentleman, and certainly was someone she ought to avoid, just as her mother had insisted… so why, then, could she not remove the memory of his golden-green eyes, holding fast to hers?
“An ice, then?” Miss Marshall tilted her head and looked back at Charlotte curiously. “You do appear a little flushed. Are you all right?”
“It must still be the trace of irritation within me,” Charlotte laughed, making her friend giggle. “Yes, an ice is just what I need. Anything to put Lord Kentmore and his ridiculous arrogance out of my mind!”