Chapter 37
The Marquess of Vyse was in no position to come down for dinner that evening, nor did he appear the next, which made Charlotte suspect that he’d downed more than the two empty bottles of port the footmen had found in his carriage.
It was only the following night, just after dinner, that he sauntered down the central staircase, not looking fresh, exactly, but at least no longer trailing fumes.
Vyse bowed low to the dowager and took her hand, gathering it against his chest so that they stood quite close and the dowager had to tip her head back to look at him.
He was a square-faced man, neither tall nor short, with a good head of chestnut hair, a pair of heavy brows, and dark, unholy eyes that peered out underneath them and seemed to make all sorts of promises.
“Why, Lady Alice,” Vyse said, his voice low and hushed, inviting her to lean in, “how ravishing you look this evening.”
“Is it me, or is Vyse less handsome than I remember?” Lady Skeffington said to Alexandra in her loud whisper, and it was true that in the plain country air, his skin looked sallow and rather puffy.
“Lady Charlotte.” Vyse turned toward Charlotte and flipped over her hand to press a kiss onto her gloved wrist. His nearness felt so oily that she shuddered, which made his dark eyes glow. “Ah! So responsive,” he murmured for her ears only. “What a good girl you are.”
It felt too rude to make a gagging sound, so Charlotte said, “Yes, thank you for noticing. The scandal made me look inside myself, and I’ve become quite pious. Shall we find a cozy corner and discuss scripture?”
Vyse’s face dropped. “Ah. D’you know, I’d better…”
He backed away without bothering to finish his sentence, and Charlotte sagged with relief until she realized he was making a beeline for Alexandra.
“Friends!” Charlotte clapped twice to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “What do you say to a little dancing?”
Clare was filled with music when Wolfgang and Lysander returned from their trip.
A lilting song spilled out over the marble floor of the hall and up toward the frescoes on the ceiling, each note a little siren calling so sweetly that even though Wolfgang was tired from a long journey and not dressed for company, he and Lysander followed it through the arch into the Grand Salon and down the corridor that led to Clare’s ballroom.
Lysander leaned back against the ballroom’s double doors and let the music wash over him. “My God. Did you know she played so well?”
But Wolfgang barely spared a glance for Miss Marby, straight-backed at the pianoforte.
As always, his eyes were trained on Charlotte.
With ten long strides he crossed toward her, paying no attention to the round-eyed stares from Miss Alexandra and Marby, dancing next to her, or from the dowager and Lady Skeffington, perched in their spindly chairs.
He ignored Lord Vyse, too, even though the man had to jerk to a halt mid-quadrille to avoid crashing into him.
Wolfgang shut out the whole world and bowed low to Charlotte.
“May I have this dance?”
“My lord duke,” Vyse sputtered. “I am currently partnering—”
But Charlotte ignored the Marquis. She hesitated, and Wolfgang’s world narrowed to her small hand as she reached out and offered it to him.
The music stopped mid-bar.
“Sorry, don’t mind me! I was overcome with a sudden urge for a waltz,” Ms. Marby called, as a new, even sweeter song swelled around her.
For a full measure, Wolfgang stood stock-still with Charlotte in his arms, fighting the urge to tuck his chin into the impossible bramble of her curls.
When the downbeat came, he swept her into the first turn, and the next, and soon they were skimming over the polished floor, the ceiling twirling like their own kaleidoscope.
Charlotte gave a delighted laugh. “You’re a marvelous dancer!”
What could Wolfgang do but grin?
“How charming that you thought I wouldn’t be.”
She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t mean to shock you, but have you seen the size of your feet?”
Wolfgang didn’t bother to answer. He dipped into the turn and spun Charlotte faster for the pleasure of seeing her breathless.
It was almost too much—the warm column of her back under his splayed palm, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, the rush and retreat of her heavy skirts against his thigh.
After a few measures, she spoke again.
“You were gone.”
Ah.
At least she’d noticed.
“Yes. Lysander and I went to see a parcel of Warrick land he wants to use for his ironworks. I took your advice—it’s past time I started running the estate as I see fit.”
Her neck was arched into the turn, but that drew her gaze to his face. “I’m glad.”
He lowered his voice, speaking below the music so the others couldn’t hear. “Charlotte—what you told me. I thought I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself when I shut down after John died. But I hurt Lysander. God blind me, I hurt you. I’m so damned sorry.”
She had such a mobile face and it held so many feelings. “We hurt each other, and I hate it.”
“Bad luck,” he growled. “Bad timing.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I knew something was wrong. I should have come to you and forced the issue, but I felt so stupid—”
“Stupid?”
Another sadness flitted across her face, another way for his heart to ache. Also another mystery to solve, but not in front of observers. Wolfgang waltzed her across the room and out the open doors onto the cool, dark quiet of the terrace.
Her lips quirked. “Well done, Your Grace. Were you as decisive on the battlefield?”
“Yes, when I had a clear objective in mind. How did I make you feel stupid, Charlotte?”
She hesitated. “We’d written to each other all summer, but you didn’t trust me enough with the biggest—” Her cheeks darkened.
Music floated out onto the flagstone, but they weren’t dancing any longer, though he held her with one hand low on her back and the other wrapped lightly around her fingers.
“I thought you doubted me, and for a while it made me doubt myself.”
It was all he could do not to howl.
“No, that wasn’t it. I simply couldn’t—I barely can now.” Wolfgang swallowed hard, but it was a week for ripping off bandages. “Shall I try?”
“You mustn’t feel you owe me—”
“I’d like to tell you.” That wasn’t quite right. Going back to those days felt like taking a bayonet to his own gut and twisting. But Lysander had a point—it was long past time to dig himself out of the grave. “I must learn to talk of it or I’ll turn to stone.”
Charlotte nodded, and her hand tightened on his shoulder either to encourage him or to brace him, Wolfgang wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure where to begin, but every story has a worst part, so he steeled himself and started there.
“Lysander and I took it in turns to stay with John in the final weeks. We didn’t want to leave him with a nurse, and he couldn’t be alone.
” His throat constricted. “But I did leave once, for a cloth and some water. John couldn’t swallow, and I thought it might give him some relief to swab his mouth. When I got back, he was gone.”
He’d walked into the room and known at once that it was empty.
“Not even you can fight death, Wolfgang.”
“I know, and I’m glad he went. It was intolerable, watching him suffer.
But I saw lots of men die at Waterloo and it never shaped how I remembered them.
When I reach back for John, I only see the last hours.
” Christ. He couldn’t recall his brother’s voice, but he couldn’t forget the brutal sounds John made when he was dying. “I erased him, Charlotte.”
Much to his mortification, his shoulders began to shake. Charlotte pulled him close and her fingers found his collar, burrowing up into his hair and tugging gently, not to tug more from him but to let him know she was there.
“You didn’t erase him, you adored him.” Her voice was soft, her lips close to his ear. “You still do. It’s clear how much you three brothers loved each other.”
That much was true, and he’d made damn sure John knew it.
The waltz faded, a new song rose, and they swayed together.
“Will you answer a question for me?” Wolfgang asked, trying not to get distracted by the feel of her in his arms.
“Of course.”
“Why did you lie to your mother that night?”
Charlotte tensed. “Oh God, Wolfgang, I’m so sorry, I—”
“You already apologized and I forgave you. I simply want to understand.”
She took a deep, shuddery breath. “My parents—you must have heard of their marriage?”
Wolfgang nodded.
“Everyone forgets how young she was when it ended, only twentyfour. The best I can understand is that my father wounded something inside her, or brought out an aspect of her character she can’t quite control.
She’s not always steady, so Gran took charge of me and of course that was another wound.
She doesn’t like men much and she certainly doesn’t trust them, and if I told her about you…
” Charlotte shot him a warning glance. “I love her, of course, and I know she loves me, but—”
“But what?”
Charlotte shrugged, and Wolfgang’s instincts lit up. Shrugs and laughter in the face of difficult things—they should play whist again because at last, he knew her tells.
“Sometimes love feels like a chain, doesn’t it?”
Oh, Christ.
Wolfgang pulled her more tightly into his arms. The night was soft and the air heavier than usual, promising more rain.
The darkness and the chirps of the grasshoppers and the calls of the marsh frogs wrapped around them, and he wished he could lift Charlotte up and bundle her in the peace of the night as if it were a blanket.
For once he was even grateful for his enormous and, frankly, inconvenient size, if it meant his body could offer her shelter.
“You needn’t maul me, Wolfgang,” she said, even as she nestled in closer. “The real tragedy is that my mother needed a gran, and all she has is me.”
“You’re more than enough.”
Charlotte shook her head, the slightly off-kilter point of her nose drawing lines across his chest. “No, we all need lots of people. My mother’s alone except for me, so I must—”
She paused, and he heard volumes in her hesitation.
“What must you do, Charlotte?”
“If you must know, my mother got into a bit of debt this summer. But I believe I’ve handled it.”
“Debt?” He had to stop and fight for reason, or at least not fall on all fours and paw at the ground at the thought of her struggling by herself.
“Charlotte, damn it, my whole purpose in being here is to lend you assistance. If you need help—if you need anything—you must know I’d move worlds for you. ”
She leaned back in his arms to look up at him, and Wolfgang didn’t declare himself again, but neither did he hide from her. Everything he’d ever felt for her was naked on his face.
The music crashed to a halt and Miss Alexandra called out, “LORD VYSE, ARE YOU HEADING FOR THE TERRACE?”
Wolfgang stepped away from Charlotte, though it took some effort to make himself let go of her hands.