Weddings and Scandals: Regency Romance Collection

by Alec, Joyce

  An uncomfortable silence grew the very moment that Lord Wickton stepped away. Miss James’ cheeks were a deep, angry red and her eyes were darting from place to place. Evidently, she had expected her brother to escort her away from Michael in order to fetch them both a drink, but Lord Wickton had obviously wanted to give Miss James the opportunity to further develop a rapport with Lord Glenister.

  “This is a little awkward, is it not?”

  Miss James sighed heavily and turned her head back to face him. “Yes, it is,” she stated honestly. “I was not expecting to see you this evening and I certainly was not expecting you to ignore my presence as though nothing has occurred between us.”

  Praying that Miss James was talking about the fact that she had aided him in his recovery and not the kiss that he had pressed onto her lips in the gardens, Michael cleared his throat. “I did not want to give anyone any question over our acquaintance, Miss James,” he lied. “After all, there are those in society who are more than eager to spread rumors about anyone they choose. If it became known that we had not been formally introduced but yet were conversing like old acquaintances, then I feared that it might leave a stain upon your reputation and I did not wish that.”

  Miss James arched one eyebrow, her expression unchanging. “Is that so, Lord Glenister?” she asked, not appearing to believe a single word he said. “I am surprised, therefore, that you did not state such a thing to me before you quit my brother’s house. I am also surprised that you did not allow me to know your name and title when we first met, for surely then I would have been aware of your intentions and understood them completely.”

  Michael struggled to think up some appropriate excuse, aware that he could not give her his true reason for hiding his name from her. “I—I did not think it wise, Miss James.”

  “And even though you are acquainted with my brother, you did not want him to know of your name?” Miss James asked, a slow flush beginning to climb up her face. “Ah, now I see the truth of it, Lord Glenister. Now I see your reasons for not wishing to reveal yourself to me.”

  Frowning, Michael stared at her, confused. “You know my reasons, Miss James?”

  Her face was crimson, her eyes narrowing as she glared at him. “I understand it all now, Lord Glenister. Whilst you were glad of my help, no doubt you had heard of my brother’s insistence that I wed. You must also have heard that I am a bluestocking and something of a wallflower.” She swallowed hard, pausing for breath which was coming in short, sharp gasps. “Your intention was to hide your identity from me for fear that my brother would push me forward for your consideration. Is that not so?”

  Michael blinked rapidly, not at all certain what she meant and finding that he could not easily answer her.

  “Therefore, in order to prevent him from doing so, you did not want to tell me your name and then pretended ignorance over our acquaintance,” she finished, her hands tight together in front of her. “If it had not been for my own stupidity in wanting to seek you out and discover the truth of your identity, then we would continue on as we were—pretending that we did not know one another and that your calamitous injuries had not occurred.” Her face was draining of color now and Michael was concerned at the slight tremble in her limbs. “You were intent on remaining a mystery to me, were you not, Lord Glenister?”

  “That, at least, is true,” he admitted, spreading his hands. “But as for the rest, Miss James, you are quite mistaken.”

  Her smile was forced. “Then I await your explanation, sir.”

  Michael opened his mouth to respond but found that no easy answer came from his lips. He could not tell her the truth, could not allow her to know that he had the journal of the Earl of Brentwood which now ensured that he was in danger of being beaten again—or worse. He had to protect her, even if his heart screamed at him to make sure that she did not truly believe everything she had said.

  “I see.”

  Miss James’ words were quiet and broken, her shoulders slumping as she looked into his face. Her eyes were sparkling with tears which she was attempting to blink back, clearly frustrated with herself for having such a depth of emotion. Had he really had such an impact on her? Could it be possible that she, too, felt the same closeness that he did after such a short acquaintance?

  “Miss James.” He took a step forward and reached out his hand, making to catch her own, but Miss James immediately took a step away from him and dropped her gaze from his face.

  “I thought that you were the first gentleman of my acquaintance who thought nothing of my desire to read and to learn and to further my own knowledge,” she said hoarsely. “But I must surmise that you said those things simply to ensure that I thought well of you. Perhaps so that I would not keep questioning you about your name or your title.” A tight smile flattened her lips as her eyes darted to his. “It seems I have been mistaken in my consideration of you, Lord Glenister. I shall do as you wish and shall ensure that our acquaintance goes no further. Good evening.”

  There was nothing that Michael could say to prevent her from walking away from him. His mouth was dry, his heart slamming into his chest as he saw the stiffness of her back and recalled the agony in her eyes. He had not wanted her to believe those things but yet it seemed, despite his torment at letting her walk away from him, that it might be for the best. Mayhap once the journal had been dealt with, mayhap after Lord Brentwood stopped hunting him—if he ever did—then Michael might be able to go after Miss James and tell her the truth. It would, most likely, be far too late by then and he had very little hope that she would even listen to him, but it was the only flicker of hope that he had.

  “Enjoyed yourself this evening, old boy?”

  Lord Stevenson ambled over towards him, a broad smile on his face. “Are you coming to sit down? The second half is about to begin—although I do hope that screeching creature does not get up to sing again.”

  Michael did not laugh as Lord Stevenson chuckled amiably.

  “I think I must go,” he found himself saying, as the idea of staying in the very same room as Miss James began to torment his mind. “I have something of a bad taste in my mouth after a recent conversation and I find that I no longer wish to be in attendance.”

  Lord Stevenson’s face fell. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said gruffly, his eyes growing concerned. “Is there anything I might do?”

  Shaking his head, Michael held back a sigh. “I thank you for the offer.”

  Lord Stevenson nodded, although his expression remained grave. “My carriage will take you home, Glenister. And I shall call upon you tomorrow, if I may?”

  “I would be glad of the company,” Michael replied honestly. “Good evening, Stevenson. I must take my leave.”

  9

  Charlotte was so angry with herself over having such inexplicable feelings for Lord Glenister that, for the next few days, she did nothing but pore over books of all kinds. Lord Wickton, who did not understand what the matter was, chose to remain silent and unobtrusive. He did, however, write a short note to Emily, who came to visit Charlotte within an hour of receiving the letter.

  “Good afternoon, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte looked up in surprise from where she had been reading, seeing her friend’s concerned expression as she walked into the library.

  “Emily,” she stammered, putting the book down carefully and trying desperately to remember whether or not they had arranged to meet. “I did not expect you. I—”

  Emily held up a hand. “You need not worry, Charlotte,” she reassured her. “We have not arranged to meet.”

  Confused, Charlotte frowned. “Oh.”

  “Your brother wrote to me,” Emily told her, now appearing a little concerned. “He says you have not left the library in four days.” She arched one eyebrow as Charlotte looked away, seeing the stacks of books on the tables surrounding her and wondering to herself whether or not it really had been four days. It did not seem that long, but then again, she had been putting so much effo
rt into not thinking about Lord Glenister that she had lost track of time.

  “Charlotte?” Emily said gently, catching her attention. “Is something wrong?”

  To her horror, tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes. “No.”

  “That is foolishness,” Emily said, now coming to sit down opposite Charlotte. “You are pretending, are you not? You are pretending all is well when I know that there is something deeply upsetting going on within your heart.” Her shoulders settled and a small, encouraging smile settled on her lips. “You will not tell your brother, of course. I understand. But I am your friend, am I not? I will not judge you if you wish to share whatever is burdening you.”

  Charlotte closed her eyes and felt tears sear her closed eyes. She had been fighting against every single thought directed towards Lord Glenister these last few days, but the struggle had not lessened. In fact, it had grown all the stronger.

  “It is nothing,” she whispered, feeling her heart ache. “It is only that Lord Glenister confirmed to me that the reason he did not reveal his name and title to me was so that my brother would not push me towards him in an attempt to garner his affections.”

  “That cannot be so!” Emily exclaimed, as Charlotte carefully opened her eyes, relieved when no moisture clung to her lashes. “That is an utter disgrace if that is the truth.”

  Hesitantly, Charlotte told her everything that had passed between herself and Lord Glenister. She told her about what she had said to him and how he had not refuted it. Tears clogged her throat, but she pressed on determinedly until she had told her friend about everything.

  Everything except the kiss.

  “So, he did not say that he did, in fact, do as you suggested,” Emily said slowly, as Charlotte came to a close. “You may just have surprised him so much that he was unable to answer.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I hardly think so. It is easy enough to refute if it were not true.”

  Emily looked at her speculatively. “And you have come to care for Lord Glenister, have you not?”

  Heat climbed into Charlotte’s face, but she did not look away. It was almost a relief that she could be honest with someone about how she really felt. “It is utterly ridiculous, of course,” she said, trying to be practical. “But yes, I have found myself caught up with him somewhat.” Aware that her cheeks were burning, Charlotte pressed one hand to her face and tried to laugh. “I have been doing my utmost to forget him, but as you can see, I have not succeeded.”

  “Oh, Charlotte,” Emily said, a touch wistfully. “How wonderful that you care for him so, especially when you have never really thought much of any of the gentlemen that your brother has suggested to you before.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I would rather not feel this way, Emily,” she said honestly. “It is the first time I have ever found myself caught up with a gentleman in such a peculiar fashion, but now it seems that I am to have no relief for my feelings. I am to linger on, attempting to remove him from my heart and mind and having no answers to the many, many questions I have about him.”

  “Questions?” Emily looked confused but Charlotte waved a hand as though to brush the question away.

  “I should like to ask him about his injuries, to find out why he was being beaten so… but there is no earthly way that I shall ever be able to have such a discussion now. Perhaps it is just as well.”

  Emily frowned. “Or you could seek him out and ask him pertinent questions until you are satisfied with his responses.”

  “I could,” Charlotte laughed, aware of how determined she could be and just how much her friend was aware of that particular foible. “But I do not think it would be for the best. Whilst it might answer some of my questions, it could also inflame my heart all over again and that would be too torturous to bear, I think.”

  Her friend nodded slowly, before shrugging. “Very well. But you are not to stay indoors for yet another day,” she said firmly, getting to her feet. “Do come along for a walk with me. Or, we might visit the bookshop, if you are determined to lose yourself in words.”

  Hesitating, Charlotte wanted to say that as much as she appreciated Emily’s suggestion, she would prefer to remain indoors and continue on with what she had been doing. However, the other part of her realized that she had been closeted inside the library for much too long and that mayhap a part of her reason for losing herself in books was simply to avoid any chance of meeting Lord Glenister in London.

  “Very well,” she sighed as Emily beamed at her. “But I simply must change. Can you wait for a few minutes?”

  Emily scrutinized her. “I think I shall ring for tea,” she said primly, her eyes dancing. “For your hair is a little… out of place and that shall need attention also.” She chuckled as Charlotte flushed red, reaching up to pat her hair and realizing that her chignon was now askew and in danger of tumbling down around her shoulders.

  “I will be as quick as I can,” she promised, hurrying past her friend and not forgetting to ring the bell for Emily on her way to the door. Emily was correct. It might take a good bit of time before she was entirely presentable.

  * * *

  “I am certain that the fresh air will do you good,” Emily said determinedly, as they turned into Hyde Park. “Already you are regaining color in your cheeks.”

  Charlotte attempted to shoo away the butterflies that were beating their tiny wings all through her. Her worries about seeing Lord Glenister again were growing by the minute, her eyes darting across the park as they ambled slowly along.

  “You are anxious, Charlotte.”

  “I am,” Charlotte admitted quickly. “I do not know what I shall do if I see him again.”

  Emily shrugged. “You shall treat him as though he is nothing more than a simple acquaintance,” she stated calmly. “You shall greet him, exchange a few pleasantries if required and then continue on.” She smiled and looped her arm through Charlotte’s. “And I shall be here with you, of course.”

  “Thank you,” Charlotte murmured, aware that even Emily’s attempt to reassure her had not changed even a modicum of how she was feeling. “I cannot help but fear that I shall turn to ice and freeze in place. This is not at all how I normally behave, and it is, as I say, quite disconcerting.”

  Emily caught her breath. “That is not he, is it?”

  Charlotte’s stomach twisted as she looked towards the path ahead and saw a gentleman walking towards them alongside another that she did not recognize. In fact, she did not know either of them. Relief flooded her.

  “No, it is not,” she responded quickly. “I do not know either of these men.”

  “But they appear to know you,” Emily murmured quietly. “See how their eyes linger on you?”

  Charlotte watched the men carefully, seeing that her friend was correct. Both men were looking at her keenly and for a moment, she thought that they might be a danger to her. Warnings sounded in her mind and she clutched Emily’s arm a little tighter. Lifting her chin and putting a small, settled smile on her face, she continued on as calmly as she could, not permitting her own fears to overtake her mind.

  “Good afternoon.”

  The first of the two men hailed them both as they drew near, but Charlotte allowed her eyes to settle coolly on him, not reacting to his jovial greeting.

  “I do not think we are acquainted, sir,” she said hurriedly, inclining her head. “Do excuse me.”

  “Now, now, that is not so,” the first man said, standing directly in the way of both her and Emily’s path. “Do you not recall dancing with both myself and Lord Davenport here?”

  “Dancing?” Charlotte looked at the first man more carefully. He was not overly tall and rather stout, with small, brown eyes and a crop of thick, dark hair that had been neatly styled. His jaw was firm although soft at the edges and his chin rather prominent.

  She did not recognize him at all.

  “It is not of particular surprise that you do not remember us,” the second man said, his voice a
little lower than the first gentleman. “Your brother was, if I recall, insisting that we all attempt to dance with you on the night of your ball, Miss James. Your head must have been spinning.”

  He chuckled and Charlotte felt herself blush, fully aware that this had been precisely what her brother had been doing. She realized that there was, in fact, a good chance that she had been introduced to both these men before and now did not remember it.

  “I am truly sorry if I have forgotten,” she said hastily, throwing a quick glance towards Emily, who was staring at the two gentlemen with wide eyes. “Lord Davenport, did you say?”

  Lord Davenport, the taller and slimmer of the two men, nodded. His eyes were kind, his smile broad, and she found herself thinking well of him almost at once. The first gentleman’s smile, however, did not quite reach his eyes.

  “And this is Lord Brentwood,” Lord Davenport said, as Charlotte quickly dipped her head, bending slightly at the knees. “Earl of Brentwood, in case you have forgotten.” He laughed again but the Earl did not join him.

  “May I present Miss Smythe, my dear friend,” Charlotte replied, aware of just how hot her face was. “I am truly sorry that I did not recall either of you. It was, as you have said, Lord Davenport, a very busy evening and my brother was very fervent in his attempts to ensure I had an evening I would not be able to forget.” Her tone slipped, making her sound a trifle sarcastic, which only added to her blushes.

  “Might you walk with us for a time?” Lord Brentwood said, spreading his arm out in the direction of the path from where they had just come. “It would be our pleasure to accompany you both so that you will not fail to recall us the next time we should meet, Miss James.”

  Charlotte’s mouth went dry as she glanced towards Emily. She did not really wish to walk with either gentleman and would have much preferred to set her blushes aside and continue on with her friend, but after such an insult, she felt as though she could not easily refuse.