Chapter Thirty
“What are your intentions toward her, Scarsdale?” While the men chatted over port and cigars, Wells had leaned over with a dark scowl on his face.
Surprised perhaps not so much by the question but the place and method of delivery—while the other men were wrapped up in a heated debate about the optimal rotation of crops and livestock on their country estates, it was still overly public to broach such a topic—Benjamin sat and stared at his friend and business partner.
“Lady Charlotte,” Wells repeated. “What are your intentions toward her?”
“Trying your hand at playing protector?” Benjamin tried to deflect the inquiry with his usual jaded passiveness, taking a sip of port to wet his suddenly dry mouth.
The overly rich liquid only made it worse. Despite his meteoric rise in the ranks of society—informal, to be sure—there were some tastes he had never been able to adopt; this thickly sweet wine being one of them. He had to mask a grimace as he swallowed.
“Well, it is not as if her good-for-nothing brother will step up to the task. And though she may have kept herself upright thus far…” The pause in his sentence was enough to make Benjamin want to squirm.
They both knew that her dealings with him had driven her to the very brink of ruin in the eyes of society.
“I feel it is my duty as a gentleman to ask what it is you are about.”
The emphasis on gentleman cut even further. Leave it to Wells to wield the sharpest barbs in the things he did not say.
“Do not mistake me,” Wells said. “I believe women of all creeds should be free to make their own choices and take their pleasure—and money—where they may.”
“The Duke of Wells, a closeted Wollstonecraftian?” Benjamin muttered into his glass and considered braving another swallow of the foul liquid. “What will they say?”
Wells ignored him and continued, “It is one thing to make a lady your mistress in return for her financial freedom. While I have disputed the ethics of the inherent coercion in such an arrangement, it seemed to be mutually beneficial.” Benjamin tried not to roll his eyes at a duke delivering such a lecture on power inequalities but knew any interruption would be thwarted by the man’s single-minded tenacity.
“But this? Ben, what is this?” The bewildered tone of his voice was enough to make Benjamin look away again, unnerved by how much Wells’ disappointment hurt.
It cut too close to the quick of his own feelings.
“Bringing her here, or out to the theatre? Think of the position you put her in. You are not courting the girl. Nothing can come of this but her own ruin. It is unusually cruel—even for you.”
At that, Benjamin’s head snapped up. He had spent years hardening his heart, cultivating a ruthless, powerful image.
It had served him uncommonly well in his dealings and protected what little was left of his soul on the streets.
But now, hearing his closest friend—the only family he really had—call him exactly what he had set out to become?
It was enough to make him taste bile. What was he playing at?
“So, I ask you again, Ben: What are your intentions regarding Lady Charlotte?”
Suddenly, the answer was obvious. The idea that there was no future for them was absolutely untenable.
She would not be left out in the cold, her reputation in tatters, and her family’s safety only secured until the fool of an earl found his next vice.
She certainly would not be alone for Deering to swoop in and destroy her, the way his son had destroyed Delia.
“My intention is to marry her.” The moment the words left his lips, he knew he was right. It was as if decades of sodden weight were lifted from his shoulders. He suddenly felt so light, he feared he might float away right there in the Wylde’s dining room.
Wells regarded him closely, as if he was not entirely sure he recognised the man in front of him. Then, a grudging smile tugged at his cheeks. “Jesus, I am surrounded by lovesick fools.”
∞∞∞
As the footman closed the carriage door, Charlotte sank back against the squabs.
The evening had been full of laughter and excitement and—dare she think it?
—belonging. After the men had rejoined them in the parlour, there were rounds of lively card games, music, and singing—the Wylde sisters working their magic and pulling everyone into their convivial mood.
It had been a treat to watch Elkington dote on Elsie and, later, after the majority of the guests had gone, even little Helen was allowed to join the revelry—Elkington had insisted, despite Elsie’s protestations, that it was far too late for a girl of her age to be up and about.
When the sprite of a child had bounded in directly following Elsie’s capitulation, it became clear that she and Elkington had been in league from the outset.
Even more than that, Benjamin had been by her side the whole time, solicitous and warm in ways he had only ever been in the privacy of his chambers.
It was almost embarrassing to know the others could see him clearly favouring her, pairing with her in a game of whist, flirting over sherry, brushing her arm as he turned the pages of her music when she had played at the pianoforte. It was enough to make her dizzy.
It had been a warm, sparkling night that would stand out in her memory as a shining glimpse into a life that might have been. But now, alone in the quiet of the carriage, no longer distracted by the cheerful Wyldes, Charlotte could feel the ache in her chest growing.
“Did you not enjoy yourself?”
Charlotte squeaked at the familiar voice, suddenly in the dark space with her.
Benjamin had opened and closed the other carriage door and vaulted himself inside without breaking her from her reverie.
Either he was magnificently stealthy, or she had been far more lost in thought than was good for her—likely both.
“Apologies, I did not mean to startle,” he added.
There was only a slight glimmer of light from the carriage lamp shining through the window, but Charlotte was still able to make out the uncharacteristically boyish glint in his eye.
“Yes, you did.” She could not keep the smile out of her voice.
“Yes, I did.”
He grinned, and she felt the look like a gust of warm seaside breeze. He removed his hat, tossing it haphazardly onto the cushion beside him before stretching out his long, sculpted body in the small space, his legs inevitably tangling under her skirts as he rested his hands on his midriff.
With the shadow of a night beard and lines of comfortable fatigue around his eyes, he looked for all the world a noble gentleman ready for the short carriage ride back to his family home after a long night on the town, where he would retire—with his wife.
The strange thought knotted the tendons in her chest further.
He watched her with the deceptively lazy stare that she knew concealed a wealth of cunning and what seemed like all the world’s secrets. “So, did you enjoy yourself? The Wylde brood can be a trifle overwhelming at times.”
“Not at all; they were delightful. I enjoyed myself very much.” Too much.
“Then why the long face?”
It was not like him to ask such direct questions. It was a testament to how relaxed he was after the ease of the evening that he seemed content to chat with her, tease out her thoughts and musings. The casual intimacy of it was a knife to her gut.
“Merely tired. How did you find the evening?” She gave him a soft smile, which she hoped hid the swirling roil of emotions inside.
“I admit, I usually find nights like this to be tedious affairs—but I think I actually enjoyed myself.” He had a far-off, yet speculative gleam in his eye. “I think the Wyldes have taken a liking to you. Elsie especially.”
Charlotte tried not to preen at the comment. She considered it the highest compliment to have found favour with such women. “I like her too. All of them, in fact. Miss Helen was a delight.”
Charlotte had played a silly children's duet with Helen on the pianoforte until they both had to stop for their fit of giggles.
She was not sure she had felt such lightness and joy since the twins were young—and even then, her responsibility to them had often loomed over the merriment of their play.
They sat in silence as the carriage pulled along the quiet streets of Mayfair, both basking in the evening. “You charmed her. I think it will be that much more difficult to keep her from the evening entertainment the next time.”
Charlotte’s heart stopped and stuttered, picking up to a sickening speed.
Next time. He spoke of the future so casually, as if it were a given that she would continue her acquaintance with the family and remain part of his world.
A world they both knew she was only borrowing time in.
Less than a few more paltry weeks. Not that she had been counting.
“Elsie seemed fairly familiar with you. How did you meet?” It had been clear even the night in Elysium that Elsie and Benjamin had been acquainted longer than her betrothal to Elkington.
“We met some years ago—I did her a favour.” The characteristic evasiveness returned, and Charlotte feared she had pressed too far.
She arched her brow at him sarcastically. “Is that all you will share?”
Surprising her, he shrugged and grinned, the boyishness returning as quickly as it had left. Her heart swelled to see him so comfortable and at ease. “Not my secret to tell.”
Charlotte huffed at that. “Are not all our secrets yours?”
He smiled at that and took her hands in his lovely, large, warm ones. “Shall I tell you a secret of mine?”
His words were light and teasing, but the look in his eyes was full of something elusive. Charlotte found herself leaning forward to try to capture whatever well of truth was hiding just behind his beautiful, deep eyes.
“Yes.” The word was hardly more than a breath, and she watched as his wide mouth parted and his pupils dilated.