Chapter 11
Arthur
Charlotte is asleep when I wake, her dark hair spread atop her pillow. Her face is soft in slumber, and my chest eases at the sight.
She’s here at last.
The sun is streaming through the window, but for once, I don’t rush to start my day. I have the next two weeks off from the university, my time reserved for far more important matters than geometry.
Charlotte stirs when I run my fingers along her bare shoulder. I’m about to apologize for waking her when her eyes flutter open and she offers me a soft smile.
“Good morning,” I say, keeping my voice quiet.
“It is, isn’t it?”
She rolls toward me, the move causing the sheet to drag lower on her body. I can’t quite help but follow its path, yet the moment my fingertips draw close to Charlotte’s breast, she tenses .
I quickly redirect my hand, running the backs of my fingers along her arm. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Please. Is your staff here to prepare a meal?”
My lips twitch into a smile. “They are. But even if they weren’t, I’m sure I could manage to cook an egg or two.”
Charlotte’s eyes widen in obvious surprise. “Truly?”
“Indeed,” I answer. “Would you like tea with your meal? Coffee?”
“Tea, please.”
After pecking a quick kiss to Charlotte’s nose, which has her wrinkling her face in feigned offense and me chuckling in response, I roll out of bed.
She watches me dress, a sort of appraisal in her eyes I’ve always found curious considering how shy she is with her own body.
But I do not mind it, neither her shyness nor her bold eye, so I let her have her fill as I ready myself to walk downstairs.
“I’ll return shortly,” I tell her, earning a smile.
The hall is quiet as I head to the bath to wash my face and hands and take care of necessities. It’s quiet still when I reemerge.
I find my staff in the kitchen downstairs, conversing over their own morning coffee and tea. They jump up nearly as one, but I quickly raise a hand.
“Please, no need to fuss,” I assure them all. “I only came down to procure breakfast for Charlotte and myself.”
Ella, my head cook, gives me a stern roll of her eyes. “As if we wouldn’t fuss,” she says, going to the counter, where an apple tart sits. She begins to cut slices from it. “We’re absolutely beside ourselves to have the girl here, and you’re hiding her from us.”
Ruby, the new kitchen maid, looks at Ella, aghast .
“It’s all right, Ruby,” I say, knowing what she must think of Ella’s seemingly insolent tone. “Ella is free to speak her mind here, as are you. And I am not hiding her.” I raise a challenging brow at Ella. “I only wish to give her time to acclimate.”
She waves a hand over her shoulder as my longtime butler, Willard, clears his throat. “I’ve brought her trunks into the parlor, sir. But I didn’t think it wise to attempt unpacking them last evening.”
“Certainly not,” I agree, attempting to hold back my smile as I remember my evening with Charlotte. “Whenever we are free from the room today will suit.”
Willard nods, and Ella cracks an egg into a pan while Ruby prepares a kettle for tea. I quickly realize one member of the staff is missing.
“Where’s Bess?”
Willard is the one to answer me. “Already up and about the house, sir.”
“I hope she stopped for breakfast first?”
Ella nods. “She did. But you know Bess. Everything must be pristine for our new arrival.”
In other words, Bess is nervous and taking out her energy on the house. Not that I mind, as her position as housemaid is to keep the manor clean and orderly. But I don’t want her overexerting herself.
When Ella finishes with the eggs, she sets them on plates beside the apple tart and a couple spoonfuls each of baked beans. The kettle is added, as well as two cups, and Ruby reaches for the tray.
“Allow me,” I say, picking it up.
Ruby, once again, looks aghast.
I can hear Ella chuckling as I exit the kitchen, using my shoulder to push open the swing door into the pantry and then another out into the dining room. I pass by the table and find Bess on my way upstairs. She’s in the drawing room, dusting the same furniture she tackled the day before last.
“Bess,” I say gently.
She wheels around, hand at her chest. The young woman has been at the manor for over four years, but she still startles easily. “Goodness. Can I help you, sir?”
“Arthur is fine,” I remind her, although Ella is the only one who seems comfortable enough to forgo the title when addressing me. I do understand. “Only a reminder that the day is fine and the sun is already shining. Perhaps a stroll in the gardens is in order.”
She blinks at me before some of her tension eases. “Are you requesting I stop to smell the roses?”
“Oh, well, that does sound nice. Don’t you think?”
Bess smiles as I continue on my way toward the stairs. It takes some finagling to open the door into my chamber with my hands overfull, but I manage it at last. Charlotte sits up in bed, holding the sheet high to cover herself. She looks relieved once she sees no one is with me.
“Look at that,” I say lightly, shutting the door behind me. “I stumbled across some breakfast.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Arthur. Please tell me you didn’t make that tart yourself? If you have, I shall demand you tell me immediately what else I’ve failed to learn about my husband.”
There’s no concealing my grin as I set the tray on the bed, sitting bent-legged beside it. “The tart was not my creation,” I admit. “Nor did I cook the eggs this time. I can, however, whip up a fairly tasty fricassee.”
“You’ve been hiding yourself.” Charlotte’s words are said in good humor, her eyes watching appreciatively as I pour our tea .
“The only surprises will be pleasant ones,” I assure her. Although her comment about hiding does remind me… “Would you like to meet the staff today? There’s no rush, of course. Or we could go for a walk around the gardens. They’re quite plentiful out back.”
“Both, I think. I’d very much like to learn everything about this place.”
I nod, and Charlotte accepts a plate from the tray, tucking the sheet under her arm to hold it in place. It looks difficult for her, the way she’s balancing both tasks in order to eat.
“Charlotte, dear. Would you like a shirt?”
She looks surprised by the offer, but I recognize the hope in her eyes and hop up to grab one in haste.
I take her plate once I’m seated back on the bed and hold the opening of the simple cotton shirt in her direction.
She slips her arms inside, letting the sheet fall as the garment covers her breasts and stomach.
She tucks it around herself with a soft smile, looking immediately comforted.
I breathe a sigh of relief, offering her the plate once more. As Charlotte cuts into her tart, I sip my tea.
She hums before long. “This is lovely. Your cook is very talented.”
“That she is,” I agree, breaking the yolk in my egg before piling a small piece of it with beans onto my fork. “I’m certainly lucky to have her. She’s keen to know your preferences, by the by. I think she’d rather appreciate the chance to try cooking a new dish or two.”
“Then I’ll gladly think on what I may like.” Charlotte’s eyes return to her plate as she asks, “Will I…have a lady’s maid?”
“I have interviews lined up at the end of the week,” I tell her, noticing the pinch in her brow. “Unless… Do you not want one? It’s entirely up to you.”
“It’s proper, is it not?”
“I don’t much care about proper,” I readily admit. “If you prefer to bathe and dress yourself, I haven’t a problem with it. I do not have a valet, Charlotte.”
“You don’t?”
Her relief is palpable, and not for the first time, I try to puzzle out what, exactly, I have yet to pinpoint when it comes to Charlotte’s every comfort being met.
“I do not,” I confirm. “You’d like for me to cancel the interviews, wouldn’t you?”
“Please.” The answer is soft but decisive.
I tuck an errant strand of Charlotte’s hair behind her ear. “Consider it done, my dear.”
Charlotte and I finish our meal with talk of the manor.
I give her more details about the library, which is filled with books from generations past, as well as go over our extensive indoor plumbing, which I know Charlotte herself is used to.
I explain the gardens out back and tell her of the roses planted using cuttings of those I grew up with.
She seems especially interested in seeing the third floor and the spiraling staircase that leads there.
Once our stomachs are satisfied, I set the tray aside. Since the only clothing of Charlotte’s we have access to is her wedding gown and the corset she surely doesn’t wish to wear, I jog downstairs to grab an outfit befitting the day.
Charlotte looks stunned as I come through the doorway with a full trunk in my hands, since I wasn’t sure what she’d prefer.
“Arthur.” There’s laughter in her tone as she steps off the bed as if to help me. In the end, she simply watches me place the trunk near the foot of the bed, my shirt covering her hips but not her bare legs. I quickly double back to shut the door, although the staff is nowhere near.
Catching my breath, I wave to the trunk. “Voila.”
With a chuckle, Charlotte opens the top. I give her privacy to dress, closing the drapes and making myself busy with straightening the various items on her vanity. When I finally turn around, Charlotte is pulling the tie at the back of her dress tight.
“If you ever can’t reach, I’m happy to help,” I tell her, knowing her more formal attire may be difficult to navigate on her own. But if Charlotte doesn’t want a lady’s maid for such, I certainly won’t force her.
She nods, giving me a soft, grateful smile. But the moment she finishes her tie and runs her hands over the fabric, smoothing it at her waist, I see it. The dimming of her eyes. Like a candle blown out.
“Do you need a different trunk, my love?”
“No.” Charlotte’s reply is quick, another smile offered my way. “This is perfect. Now let me tidy my hair, and you can show me the gardens.”
Putting away my frown, I collect our breakfast tray and bring it back to the kitchen while Charlotte pins her hair. By the time I return, she’s ready, her locks in a gentle twist at the back of her head. I offer my arm, and she accepts it easily, the two of us walking to the back lawn.
Charlotte’s gaze roams over the hollyhocks that are in bloom as we stroll leisurely through the gardens. “What time do you regularly leave?”
“For the university? After breakfast. My lecture ends by midafternoon, and I’ll return shortly thereafter.”
“May I use your library while you’re gone? ”
“ Our library,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze on my arm. “And of course. You’re welcome anywhere within your home. And…if there’s anything you need to be happy, please do tell me, Charlotte. I will get it for you.”
She aims a gentle smile my way before stopping in front of a wall of roses, the blooms here a mix of red and white. “I’ve always liked roses.”
“Is that so?”
“They have a bite.” She flashes a grin before tapping, ever so gently, the thorn at one stem. It doesn’t pierce her, but she rubs her thumb over her fingertip nonetheless.
“Then they are like you,” I say, understanding now why she likes them.
Charlotte looks at me in surprise. “How so?”
“Charlotte, love, you are so much more than your finery and the fairness of your features. Surely you must know it’s the very reason you stole my affection?”
A second passes. And then two. “Do you not fear me drawing blood?”
“I would gladly shed it for you,” I tell her, lifting her fingertip to my mouth and kissing it. “If it would bring you closer to me, I would shed it all.”
Charlotte’s voice shakes, although her expression gives little away. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be, Arthur. A man is to own his wife. Not bleed for her.”
“And when have I ever expressed interest in controlling you, Charlotte Kane? It is you who holds my very heart in your palm. You own me with every flex of your hand. And I am your willing captive.”
“So if I demand for you to kiss me?”
“I would ask where. ”
Charlotte tugs me in by my cravat, her request clear.
I meet her lips with my own, the softness of her mouth a temptation I have no desire to resist getting lost in.
Her beauty has drawn me in since the moment I met her; that’s true.
But it’s the person she is at her core that had me scheduling a second visit. And then a third. And a fourth.
Like these roses, Charlotte is soft. Fragile, even. Yet with the smallest encouragement and room to grow, she flourishes beyond the bounds of what most gardens could ever hope to accomplish. I’ve often thought Charlotte wasn’t born for this time. Or perhaps, she was made to change it.
But she is here, in the now. And all I can do is ensure she knows these gardens have no walls. That I won’t ever tame her. Won’t even try.
Charlotte melts in my arms as the kiss goes on, as if she’s able to forget the outside world for a while. I do my best to keep her there, but soon enough, she pulls back, a shy smile on her face as she brushes a piece of hair off her cheek.
“Well.” She clears her throat lightly, a lovely blush on her skin. “Keep kissing me like that, Arthur, and I might forget the staff.”
“The staff will turn a blind eye,” I assure her. “Are you ready to meet them?”
“Yes, I think so.” She sets her shoulders back, a little of her pluck returning. “I’m a Kane, after all. Am I not?”
“For the rest of our days,” I promise.
And surely far beyond that.