Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Abattle waged inside Charlotte, a fervent desire to hide and guard the peace she had achieved at Fermoy during her isolation. Here, she was safe and protected, as was her daughter.
Yet the small flicker of excitement every time her eyes lit upon Perry reminded her of all she had lost. She was sheltered from the harsh judgments of the world, and yet, she was lonely.
Had her life gone the way of her fantasies, she would have wed Peregrine after making the shocking discovery so long ago.
Her family traditionally escaped the sweltering heat of London summers by retreating to the country, as did so many other prominent members of the ton.
Charlotte was twenty years old when, upon daydreaming her way through fields of tall grasses and humming a soft tune, she first laid eyes on Peregrine Spencer.
Her hand came to her collarbone at the memory, and Charlotte closed her eyes, savoring the moment.
She could never forget the day her life was forever changed.
It had been a summer like any other, and yet her first glimpse of Peregrine left his name evermore imprinted on her soul.
His sun-bronzed skin and light blue eyes had been startling.
She had observed him walking from the direction of the old castle ruins.
A loyal hound panted happily at his side.
Charlotte darted into the woods just beyond the clearing and hid behind a tree, watching as he strode by, completely unaware.
He chatted happily with his dog, promising the old boy a bone as soon as they returned to his neighboring estate.
Charlotte recognized Peregrine immediately, since their families had been friendly country neighbors for years.
Though she had seen him infrequently throughout the years, her mouth grew dry.
He was so handsome, especially as a grin lit up his face.
She peeked from behind the rough tree trunk, eyes widening as she scanned his sturdy and strong physique.
He had grown much taller since she had last seen him, and though she had finished her second, less-than-successful season that year, she had never once spotted him in any ballrooms. Perhaps if she had, her future would have been quite different.
Her parents encouraged her to be happy with her fate.
She had finally made a match. Her future husband looked nothing like the man walking before her now.
Viscount Dewberry was almost triple her age and loved to indulge in copious amounts of food and drink.
Her parents were delighted the widower had made an offer for her.
As though she should be grateful he found her—how had he said it? Ah, yes, “passably attractive.”
It was mortifying, the way the older man’s gaze raked over her body in cold assessment, as though she were little more than a suitable breeder.
Not unlike how she was assessing the younger man in front of her.
Her cheeks warmed as she took in Peregrine’s trim waist and strong legs.
As her father had explained, she was destined to make a sensible marriage that would benefit the family, yet…a simple admiration of a handsome gentleman wouldn’t hurt anyone.
Charlotte moistened her lips as she watched him climb the hill that would lead him away from the Fermoy lands and toward his own at Bodmin.
Her heart raced as she mused, wondering how she could convince her father to wed her to a young man such as this one.
If she could ever catch his attention, which, given the lack of enthusiastic suitors, seemed unlikely.
Charlotte fanned her face with her hands.
With a sigh, she turned away. It was not wise to get carried away with these fantasies when her future was decided.
Since her appearance was less than desirable among the other young debutantes of the ton, she hadn’t caught the interest of any gentlemen closer to her age.
Her body was curvier, given her fondness for sweets.
Her long brown waves were less appealing than the ideal blonde ones.
Her plain brown eyes did nothing to mask what her too-wide mouth revealed.
She had an unfortunate inability to hide her intelligence and tendency toward critical thought.
Since her contributions to conversations often made her less attractive, she had become adept at closing her mouth and standing by as prospective suitors dazzled her with their enlightening discussions. Or so they thought.
After all, the young men had no desire to hear her prattle on about the most recent additions to the collection at the Royal Botanical Gardens. Or the flowering cycles of various breeds of rhododendrons. Not everyone was as passionate about botany as she was.
She was hopeless.
Her family wanted the best match possible, even if that meant her husband might be much older.
The Baron Percy was nothing if not ambitious.
He loved his daughter and would certainly have entertained a young, strapping suitor if an offer ever came…but none had.
Thus, her engagement to Lord Darby, Viscount Dewberry.
Charlotte curled her hands into fists, resolute.
If she was destined to be with a much older man, she could very well enjoy the temptation of one her own age.
From afar, at least. Turning back to gaze upon the handsome man once more, Charlotte was horrified to see Peregrine’s dog running toward her at an alarming speed.
Damn hunting hounds and their powerful noses.
Charlotte clutched at her chest with her hand and braced herself as the animal seemed to fly through the tall grass, tongue and ears flapping in the breeze.
Her tormentor was joyful, if nothing else.
She crouched down to welcome the hound, who found her, even though she should have been well hidden behind the tree.
“Brutus! Brutus, where are you?” the young man called out.
Charlotte gathered her courage and stepped out from behind the tree, revealing herself. Her hands tangled nervously behind her back, and she tipped her head to hide the flush in her cheeks. Her embarrassment was catastrophic.
“Hello, Lord Spencer.” Charlotte nervously pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She hoped her hair wasn’t too tousled by the breeze.
It most definitely was. Her finger snagged on a tangle, and she withdrew her hand altogether, her mortification complete.
Mother would be furious that she had gone out without a bonnet, but she delighted in the way the rays of the sun touched her face. The warming sensation was akin to a freedom she didn’t possess. If she were to be a married woman, who cared if she had a few freckles? It was too late now.
The moment her eyes met those of Peregrine Spencer, she was ruined.
Her stomach clenched at the excitement as his eyes took in her cotton walking dress, her simple, most likely untidy chignon, and most devastatingly, her freckles.
He was probably thinking how funny she looked.
Charlotte was surprised to see a small smile on his face.
“I apologize for my unruly beast,” he said with a chuckle. “He has terrible manners.”
Charlotte blushed and gathered her hands in front of her, unable to decide what to do with them. “It is no bother. He is a handsome hound, and he has discovered my hiding spot with his fine nose.” Touching her fingertips to her lips, she giggled nervously.
“Are you a forest sprite, or some kind of fairy?” Peregrine asked playfully. “Will you grant me a wish or lead me to a magical land?”
A laugh escaped her lips and shook her head. “Alas, no,” she admitted, “I’m merely a girl having a wander.”
“Shall I wander with you?” he said. “Now that Brutus has seen you, he will not be happy unless we bring you home to safety.”
Charlotte gave a shy nod, avoiding his startling blue eyes, lest she embarrass herself with all her blushes. The afternoon sun was shining brightly, casting a glow on the clearing, the pollen dancing delicately in the air, reminiscent of little fairy folk buzzing about from flower to flower.
“How long have you been in residence at Bodmin?” she asked, lifting her skirts as she walked beside him, moving her feet quickly to keep up with his brisk pace.
Charlotte was used to a slower pace, exploring with little desire to return to her embroidery or French lessons.
Nature was her sanctuary. Though she enjoyed her moments of solitude, it was exciting to have someone with whom she could converse.
“I’ve been here a few weeks. I’m enjoying the tranquility and taking in the country air.” His mouth flattened as he finished speaking, as though perhaps he was holding something back.
Charlotte made a breathy “ah” sound. Peregrine must have noticed her walking quite briskly to keep up with him, and he slowed his pace. Brutus ran in front of them, hopping over the tall grasses with glee.
“Were you visiting the ruins?” Charlotte inquired, not yet ready to end their conversation.
Peregrine lifted the journal he carried and stopped walking, opting to show her his notes instead.
“I’ve been sketching the Ruins of Belmore Castle.
I find them quite fascinating. They are an ancient model of Roman architecture,” Peregrine explained.
“A modern castle built upon the ruins of an ancient one.”
Charlotte ran a finger along his sketch; it was very detailed. He had chosen to draw the ruins from the eastern side. His shading and proportion were impeccable.
“This sketch is beautiful. It looks as though the castle could just come off the page,” she said. “I love sketching as well.” Withdrawing her finger, she rubbed it to remove the charcoal dust lingering.
Peregrine’s cheeks reddened at the compliment. “Well, I have lots of time to explore and add details while out here, may as well take advantage,” he said. “What do you like to draw?”