London Ladies (The Complete Series)

by Eaton, Jillian

  Charlotte squinted suspiciously at him. Was he–was he laughing at her?

  “This is not amusing,” she said.

  “I never implied it was.”

  “Good. Because this is a very serious topic of discussion, and–you are laughing!” she accused when she heard an unmistakable snort. “You’re impossible.”

  “So I’ve been told.” He stretched his arm up past her ear and splayed his fingers across the side of the carriage. “But not to worry. I’ve no intention of doing anything with you that would require a bedroom.”

  She blinked. “You–you don’t?”

  He gave a curt shake of his head. “As I made clear in the beginning, I found myself in need of a lady wife. You required a different husband. That was the bargain struck. I see no reason for us to become more acquainted, intimately or otherwise.” His arm fell away, and even though a grin still lingered on his lips, his eyes had gone cold. “The separate bedrooms are for your benefit as much as mine. This is a marriage of convenience, Charlotte. Not of passion or desire.”

  An uncomfortable lump formed in her throat as the warring sides within her clashed together. She may have been experiencing feelings of shyness–what new bride wouldn’t, especially when she’d known her groom for less than a month?–but she didn’t expect those feelings to linger unduly. Once they passed, she was very much looking forward to picking up where she and Gavin had left off on the terrace.

  “Not now, you mean,” she said in an attempt to seek clarification. “You don’t want a marriage of passion or desire now. But surely in a few weeks–”

  “Not ever, Charlotte.” He withdrew his arm and stepped back, leaving her gazing at him in wordless confusion.

  Where was the rogue who had kissed her senseless before they even knew each other’s names? Where was the scoundrel who had burned for her on the balcony? Who was this detached, emotionless man who spoke of their marriage in terms of bargains and convenience?

  This is what he told you to expect, a small, unwanted voice piped up. This is what you agreed to when you said your vows.

  She set her jaw.

  Charlotte’s father had curried Bettina’s favor until the day he died, begging for affection with every word he spoke and every gesture he made. As a child, she’d thought it romantic and sweet. Now, faced with the cold slap of rejection, she knew it was neither of those things.

  She wouldn’t be her father, settling for scraps. But nor would she be her mother, whose bitterness had ruined any chance she ever had at finding love. Charlotte would just have to follow her heart, and hope it let her in the right direction. Short of leading her into the arms of a particularly stubborn husband, the only other thing it wanted was a hot bath and comfortable bed.

  “Will you see to it my trunk is delivered to the inn?” she asked Gavin coolly. “I’d like to change, and then rest.”

  “Charlotte…” He raked a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Why would my husband revealing he is not attracted to me be upsetting?”

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “I never said I wasn’t attracted to you.”

  She met his stare unflinchingly. “People desire things they are attracted to. If you do not desire me, then what am I left to conclude?”

  “That’s not what I…damnit.” His eyes darkened to slate as a vein pulsed in his temple. “You knew what this was before you entered into it. I didn’t offer you a false illusion of love and happily-ever-after. This is what you agreed to.”

  “You’re right,” she said simply. “It is. But that doesn’t mean I find any joy in it. And neither, I think, do you. Which begs the question…why do you want a marriage of convenience when it’s clear we’re capable of so much more?”

  Leaving him to ponder the question, she walked past him and headed towards the inn.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Gavin watched Charlotte march away, he cursed himself for a fool ten times over. He had not handled that well. Bollocks, he had not handled any of it well from the beginning. But in the end, he supposed it did not matter. She was his wife, and the knife of tension that had been wedged in his back since the night of the masquerade was finally gone.

  He waited until Charlotte had made it to the inn before he returned to the blacksmiths’ shop with a bag of coins for the priest. Then he waited, teeth clenched with impatience, for the clergyman to slowly count out his payment coin by tedious coin.

  “It’s all here, then,” said the priest once he’d finished. “One can never be tae careful, given this line of work.” He tucked the bag inside of his robes, then rested his hands on the pulpit. “She’s a great beauty, your new wife.”

  His thoughts elsewhere, Gavin nodded absently.

  “Full of sass and vinegar, as well. It’s that red hair of hers. I wouldn’t be surprised tae learn she had a healthy dose of Scots blood in her.”

  Given the ease with which Charlotte’s temper could flare, Gavin wouldn’t be surprised either. He made a noncommittal grunt of agreement and waited for the priest to dismiss him (even he was not so bold as to walk out on a servant of God) but it seemed the old man was just warming up.

  “You know,” he began, pulling back his sleeves and leaning forward onto pale, bony elbows, “there are three types of couples who come through those doors behind you.”

  “Are there?” Gavin said dismissively.

  “Aye. The young ones, so foolish in love they still have stars in their eyes. Only half of them make it through the ceremony, you know. More like as not their parents arrive and oh”–his woolly eyebrows shot up–“you have never seen a soul more enraged than a mother come to collect her wayward daughter. Why, last week there was a girl, young and pretty, who was on the run with her sweetheart. A nice enough lad, but more of the working sort than lord of the manor, if you understand my meaning.”

  “She was a lady and he was a commoner.”

  “As common as they come, although he had a strong back and a good will about him.”

  When the priest’s eyes took on the faraway quality of someone just warming to their chosen subject, Gavin resigned himself to the fact this was going to take much longer than expected. He carried a wooden chair over from the other side of the room and settled into his, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh.

  “And then?” he said curtly.

  The priest frowned. “Dinna take that tone with me, my boy. Patience is a virtue you’d do well tae learn, especially with that headstrong bride of yours. As I was saying, there are three types who make the long journey to Gretna Green. The boy and his ladylove were first. The next is—”

  “Wait,” Gavin interrupted. “What happened to them?”

  “The young sweethearts, you mean?”

  “Yes,” he bit out.

  Was the damned priest daft?

  “Oh, well now, the girl’s parents came rushing in tae save the day. The boy protested, but he was no match for an earl, and the girl was whisked back tae London quick as a wink. I imagine she will be married off tae this lord or that, but ‘tis a fool’s errand tae believe another man will put the same smile on her face as that young boy did. Pity.” The priest interlocked his fingers and made a tsking sound. “But that is the risk when you run away with your heads so high in the clouds you canna see the earth beneath you, I’m afraid.”

  Which was precisely why Gavin intended to keep both of his feet firmly on the ground where Charlotte was concerned.

  He knew what she wanted.

  Hell, deep down, there was a part of him that wanted it as well.

  Kisses in the morning. Holding hands in the afternoon. Hungry for more than food by the time evening came around. Going out for a long day of work, and coming home to a warm pair of loving arms that made all of his problems melt away.

  But happily-ever-after didn’t come without a steep price.

  And it was one Gavin was unwilling to pay.

  “You said
there was a second kind?” he asked the priest. “A second kind of couple.”

  “Indeed. Now, these are in the biggest rush. They don’t want anyone to be able tae count back the months after the baby is born, you see. The lass is almost always in tears, the lad is yelling, and it’s the parents who drag them here. I charge twice as much for those,” he confided with a wink.

  “What about the third?”

  “Aye, the third.” The priest grew more serious. “Those types of couples are the rarest. I dinna see them very often, but when I do, it warms my heart every time.”

  “And why is that?” Gavin asked, only half-interested in the answer.

  “Because they are the ones in love, my boy. Deep down tae the bone in love, even though most of the time they’ve yet to realize it. More the pity for them, as it’s clear as crystal to everyone else. Tell me,” he said, rubbing his chin. “For which reason did you and your red-haired lass darken my door?”

  Gavin didn’t like the priest’s knowing tone.

  No, he bloody well didn’t like it at all.

  Smug bastard.

  “I do not love Charlotte, if that is what you trying to imply. Nor is she expecting. Our marriage is a business arrangement that benefits us both. Nothing more, nothing less.” How many times, he thought irritably, would he have to keep repeating the same thing? Was it so unusual for two people to come together in such a way? Could a husband and wife not exist in harmony without everyone shoving love down their damn throats?

  “A business arrangement,” the priest repeated. His expression was solemn, but there was an undeniable twinkle in his eyes. “That is a very practical way for you tae go about it.”

  “To go about what?” Gavin snapped.

  “Why, tae go about getting the lass you love tae marry you. Does she know? She doesn’t, does she?” the priest hooted when Gavin scowled and shot to his feet. “Good luck tae you then, my boy. You’re going tae need it!”

  “You have no idea what you are talking about, old man,” Gavin growled.

  He stormed from the smithy, the priest’s laughter following him out.

  The skies opened at dawn and a heavy rain greeted Charlotte when she woke. For a moment she remained absolutely still, blinking slowly up at the ceiling as she allowed the events of the past fortnight to play through her mind.

  The masquerade.

  The proposal.

  The wedding.

  The wedding.

  With a gasp she lifted her left hand to make sure she had not dreamt the entire thing, but the evidence of her decision was right there. It glinted mockingly in the dim light and Charlotte bit her lip as she spun it around her finger.

  The plain gold band was more than a piece of jewelry. It was a symbol. A symbol of the eternal connection forged between herself and Gavin. For the rest of her life, she would be married to this man.

  A man she knew nothing about.

  After their first encounter, she’d come away believing he was a man of great ardour. His touch had set her on fire, and even now, in a small room on a hard mattress with rain pattering at the window, she trembled from the memory of his fingers gliding across her flesh. Of his mouth pressing against her neck. Of his tongue–

  Stop it, she ordered herself sternly.

  Gavin may have ignited a flame that night in the study, but he’d since done everything within his power to extinguish it.

  Touting practicality over passion.

  Demanding indifference over desire.

  Admittedly, Gavin had been forthright about his expectations. She was the one who wanted to change the terms. And what would she do if she failed?

  Could she be satisfied with a marriage of convenience that never developed in anything more? Was it better to accept the inevitable now, or keep trying to make Gavin see what might be if only he opened his eyes?

  She didn’t have an answer.

  She didn’t even know if there was an answer…other than to get up, get dressed, and soldier on. After all, Gavin may have been a cold man, but he wasn’t a cruel one, and she was far better off with him as her husband than Paine.

  Mindful not to wake Tabitha, who was still sleeping soundly, Charlotte began to ready herself for travel.

  Unfortunately, the only garment in her trunk that hadn’t been coated in a layer of dust was the one she’d intended to wear for her wedding. It felt silly to put on the blue dress now, after the day had already passed, but unless she wanted to wear her filthy, wrinkled habit again–which she most certainly did not–there was really no other choice.

  A wistful smile claimed her lips as she slipped into the dress and then looked at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. Charlotte had never been the sort who worried over her appearance (she left all things fashionable to Dianna), but there was no denying the dress would have been perfect for her wedding day.

  Soft and flowing, it had capped sleeves, a scooped bodice trimmed with white lace, a high waistline that emphasized her slender frame, and a long skirt of muslin and cotton voile that rustled as she walked.

  Gathering her wilted ringlets in a crown on top of her head, she closed her eyes, and for one fanciful moment imagined herself walking down the aisle in a beautiful village church instead of a blacksmith shop.

  The lovely music of a harpsicord filled the air as she approached the pulpit. She passed her mother, who was smiling, and gave her bouquet of wildflowers to Dianna, who was wiping away tears, before slowly turning to face her groom.

  Gavin’s gray eyes widened at the sight of her, and his grin touched every inch of his rugged countenance.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said huskily, “and I’m the luckiest sod in the world.”

  “Oh, Lady Charlotte, that’s a pretty dress, isn’t it?”

  Wait.

  Tabitha wasn’t in this wedding.

  On a sigh, Charlotte opened her eyes as the illusion of her perfect ceremony faded away and the gloomy little room with its sagging floors and cracked plaster came into focus.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It’s what I was going to wear yesterday. Could you assist me with the buttons down the back?”

  “Of course.” Tabitha made quick work of the pearl fastenings, and then brushed out Charlotte’s hair before taming it into a long braid. “It’s a shame they were unable to draw you a bath.”

  “Why, am I beginning to smell?” Charlotte asked wryly.

  Tabitha flushed. “No, no, not at all. It’s just that hot water would have done wonders for your curls.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait until we get to London, or hope that the next inn we stop at is more accommodating than this one.”

  “I don’t know how it could get any worse,” said Tabitha, her nose wrinkling as she looked disdainfully at their meager accommodations. “I didn’t want to say anything before we went to sleep, but I’m fairly certain I saw a mouse sitting on the wash basin.”

  “At least he got a bath.” After a quick peek out the window to see if it was still raining–it was, great angry buckets of it–Charlotte pulled on elbow length gloves, a pair of sturdy boots, and a navy pelisse with heavy silver buttons that would help protect her against Scotland’s notoriously fickle weather.

  Leaving the heavy traveling trunk behind to be carried out by Gavin’s valet, she and Tabitha dashed through the rain to their waiting coach. The gleaming black carriage was noticeably larger than the one driven by Mr. Smith which Charlotte was glad for as she wasn’t exactly looking forward to being stuck in close quarters with her uncommunicative husband.

  Gavin joined them shortly. He sat across from Tabitha and Charlotte, muttered a lukewarm greeting, and promptly disappeared behind a damp copy of the Morning Chronicle.

  “I hope it does not rain like this the entire way!” Tabitha exclaimed as their driver, a heavyset man with a rather shockingly long moustache, roused the team of matching grays into a bouncing trot.

  Charlotte instinctively braced herself against the jostling she w
as certain to come, but to her relief the suspension of this coach was of far higher quality than the last, and despite the pitted roads they rolled onwards with nary a bump.

  “I hope it doesn’t either.” After a flicked glance at Gavin, who showed no signs of engaging her in conversation anytime soon, she lowered her hood and peered out the window. A dismal gray landscape greeted her, the rolling hills blanketed by a thick fog and the sun no more than a faint glimmer of pale yellow in an otherwise cloudy sky. “I just hope the horses do not mind the rain.”

  “They appeared to be strong Scottish stock,” said Tabitha. “I am certain they are used to it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be amusing if they could wear coats?”

  “And hats,” Tabitha added.

  “What would you do if you saw a horse strolling down the street with a cravat on?”

  “Invite him in for a cup of tea,” the maid giggled.

  From his seat directly across from them, Gavin lowered his paper and glared over the top of it. “Do you mind keeping your voices down?” he asked. “I am trying to read.”

  Tabitha’s narrow face filled with color and she mumbled an apology, but Charlotte leapt readily to her maid’s defense.

  “We were only having a bit of fun,” she told Gavin sharply. “If you wanted peace and quiet, you should have taken a separate carriage. You cannot stop us from talking.”

  “Two carriages would have been an unnecessary expense.”

  “Worth every penny if you ask me,” she mumbled under her breath.

  His eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” she said innocently. “I didn’t say anything. Isn’t that what you wanted? No speaking, no amusement. Just a long, tedious, journey comprised of staring out the window and counting the raindrops on the glass.”

  Gavin stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous. All I asked was that you lower your voice. A perfectly reasonable request, given the way you were screeching.”

  “Screeching?” An auburn brow notched. “I’ve never screeched in my entire life.”

  “Then what would you call it?” he sneered.