Chapter Fourteen #2
“I don’t know. I have not seen him much this week.” A sickly-sweet stench had begun to fill the carriage, and Charlotte realised with growing chagrin that it seemed to be emanating directly from her brother’s person.
“Why not?”
Freddie shifted on the squab, clearly irritated by her questioning. “He has been such a fuddy-duddy since last week. He was not game for any of our usual haunts, and so Deering and I left him behind.”
Charlotte found it odd that Freddie would voluntarily pass his time with a man nearly forty years his senior. He was always going on about the young set he ran with, and Freddie was nothing if not conscious of his social perception.
There was a lapse in conversation until Freddie offered amiably, “I am sure we can arrange to have a nurse brought in to keep an eye on your injury, Charlotte.” He was listlessly looking out the window, likely sobering up a bit and feeling the discomfort that accompanied such an experience in a moving carriage.
“That will not be necessary.” Not to mention, impossible. She was not even sure they would have the funds to feed themselves this week, let alone pay a nurse’s salary.
“It is no bother, Charlotte. Lord Deering has generously offered to pay the expense.”
Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. Freddie was still looking out the window, pointedly not meeting her gaze.
“Why would he do that?” She fought to keep her voice pleasant and even.
“Actually, Charlie, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Freddie turned back into the coach and hesitated, as if aware of the delicate risk he was taking in that moment.
“Lord Deering has offered to support the rebuilding of the Elford estates in return for…” Clearly, her brother was not fool enough to think she would welcome his news.
He squared his shoulders and started again. “In return for your hand in marriage.”
It was as if all the air had been sucked from the coach. Charlotte seriously considered opening the door and flinging herself from the moving vehicle—if only for the chance of a breath.
She could not think of a word to say as the carriage rattled up to the front steps of their townhouse.
Freddie also seemed disinclined to speak, preferring instead to precede her out of the carriage and up the front steps.
Charlotte gave a thin-lipped smile to the young driver and followed Freddie inside, fighting the urge to slam the door behind her.
Charlotte rounded on Freddie. “How could you? How could you, Freddie?”
He frowned and straightened his shoulders, clearly upset that that had not been the end of the matter.
“I do not know what you mean, Charlotte. I have made you an advantageous match. That is the duty of a brother, especially a titled one. You should be wed, and considering your age and our financial situation, I would say Lord Deering is a very respectable option.”
Charlotte gaped. “You insult me and our family by insinuating we should have any benefit to gain from Lord Deering. And I do not say so because of his rank.”
Freddie sniffed and made a show of re-pinning the clasp of his pocket watch—their father’s pocket watch.
“I am the man of the house now, Charlotte. It is up to me to make sure this family stays afloat. Lord Deering understands this and has offered considerable help. I would think you, of all people, would understand the value of blunt in the maintenance of large estates. And I hesitate to remind you, you are not exactly in a position to be turning down offers. Father told me of your… indiscretion, shall we say, with Signore Rossi.”
Charlotte stared at her brother, mouth hanging open.
Signore Rossi had been a painting instructor hired by her stepmother, Veronica, to teach Freddie the way of the Italian masters.
Despite Veronica’s disinclination to dirty her hands with mothering, Freddie had always been her pride and joy, and she believed he had an artist’s soul that should be nurtured.
Their father had scoffed at the idea, insisting Freddie be raised understanding the duty he had as heir.
Veronica would not hear of it and sheltered and spoiled the boy.
Not much better than her stepmother, eighteen-year-old Charlotte had doted on Freddie as well, sitting in on his lessons with the young, handsome artist, hoping to absorb any knowledge she could so that she might help Freddie along in his studies if necessary.
Signore Rossi—Luca, he had insisted she call him—was kind and warm. He paid her such special attention. It made her feel like a shining star, his muse. She had never felt so adored in her life.
She still did not know how her father had discovered their affair, though with the cynical hindsight of maturity, she could not rule out the possibility that Luca himself had exposed them.
The earl had called her to his study one morning, summarily announcing that Signore Rossi had been dismissed and his silence secured with her dowry.
“I hope you feel the shame you have brought to our family, Charlie. The loss of a dowry is a fair price for the loss of your respectability.”
She had been heartbroken, arguably more so by her father’s censure than Rossi’s abandonment.
And the worst part was, she had not even done what Rossi had extorted their family for.
Certainly, given time and more devoted attention, she may have given up more than a few kisses and stolen touches.
But she had not, and she had been left in limbo—a ruined virgin, the scorn of her family.
That day, in the hall outside the study, she had vowed to herself that she would never again risk her family like that. She would spend the rest of her life making up for her catastrophic failure.
Now, however, standing just steps away from that very same hall, she felt the familiar sting of her shame eclipsed by the blow of betrayal.
Her father’s betrayal of her secret, her brother’s betrayal of her autonomy.
She felt a burning fury toward every man who had ever deigned to power-play her. It was all-consuming.
She sputtered for a moment, and then the dam broke. “How dare you try to humble me with that? I have done penance for that mistake every day of my adult life.” She felt the skin of her knuckles stretch tight as she clenched her fists violently in the folds of her skirts.
“Oh yes, Frederick. I understand. Far more than you ever had. It is because of you and your self-absorption that we no longer have an estate. The Elford Earldom is nothing but an empty title now. The only reason you still have a roof over your head and a bed to return to after your debauchery is because of me. I have taken on real employment in order to bring in the funds necessary for survival. We would have sold this house years ago if it were not for me.”
She was really getting going now.
“And have you forgotten about your younger brothers? Your heirs until you find a woman stupid enough to take you on. You have stolen from them directly, and yet you have the audacity to claim you are responsible? To pretend you have an ounce of authority when it comes to this family? You don’t have a leg to stand on, Frederick Aston.
Don’t you dare try to sell me off like just another heirloom. ”
Freddie’s face was florid and scrunched like a sour-faced child. Charlotte half expected him to stomp his feet and yell.
“You took on work?” His right hand twitched, and she saw him eyeing the nearly empty whisky decanter he had left on the sideboard.
“Don’t you see, Charlotte? That is completely unacceptable.
Of course, you need a husband. No respectable lady of the ton takes on work.
It is unseemly and could tarnish the family name. ”
“I do not need a husband. I need a brother who can acknowledge the fact that his behaviour has done far more to tarnish the family name than my work has.”
“It does not matter, Charlotte. It is already done.”
Charlotte pinned him with a withering glare. “How much have you lost, Freddie? In the last week?”
Finally, he had the decency to look somewhat chagrined. “It is nothing for you to worry yourself over. Deering is good for it.”
“I did not ask if Deering can cover the sum. I asked for the amount.”
Freddie waved his hand. “Nothing. Nothing. Somewhere around five hundred.”
Charlotte wanted to cry. That was more than she had made in the last year with her writing.
“Don’t look so down in the mouth, Charlie. That is a drop in the bucket with Deering’s shipping wealth.”
“Do not call me Charlie.”
For the first time that day, Freddie looked truly shocked. Finally, something had rattled his cage. “Charlotte, don’t be like that. I am your brother.”
“You are no brother of mine.” With that, she marched straight out of the room and down the back hall. She needed to get some air before she was sick on the bare parquet floors.