Without waiting for his answer, she moved down the Gallery and deeper into the exhibits. She paused before a small statue of Athena. “Do you think the original one that was in the Parthenon is still out there somewhere or was it destroyed?”
Much mystery surrounded the statue to which she referred. Made of gold and marble, it was said to be a sight to behold but had disappeared at some point.
“It must’ve been destroyed sometime over the centuries.”
She turned to face him and lifted her chin. “I think it's still out there somewhere. Perhaps in someone's private collection.” Then she looked again at the small statue that was surely a poor replica of the original. “One must have hope or else life would be too difficult to endure.” She studied him for a long moment before moving on to the next exhibit.
James stared after her, pondering her words. Was that what he was doing? Living without hope? Or was he merely being realistic? How could he hold hope after all he'd witnessed and endured? He had seen mankind at its worst. It wasn’t feasible to think of “possibilities” after that.
However, he wasn’t about to argue. He didn't want to be the one to steal her hope. Life had a way of doing that all by itself.
They reached the end of the Gallery when suddenly a nearby display clattered to the floor, making a deafening clangor.
Without a second thought, James reached for Charlotte and dove for the floor, shielding her with his body. He closed his eyes as he protected her, braced for shots and flying debris. He was back on the battlefield with cannons firing upon them and his men scattered about. Shouts and moans filled the air, but he kept his position, guarding the woman in his arms.
Only seconds passed before his brain protested those impressions. Cannon fire? A woman in his arms? On the battlefield? He opened his eyes and looked around, realizing his mistake even as his heart continued to pound with fear. A wave of embarrassment rushed over him, heating his entire body. How ridiculous to allow memories to take over. She must think him a fool or worse.
“James?” Charlotte looked up at him, eyes wide, as he helped her sit up. “What was that?”
Relief flooded him at her question. Perhaps she had been as startled by the noise as he. He placed his hands beneath her elbows and assisted her to rise, keeping his gaze on their surroundings. He drew a slow, deep breath with the hope of hiding the true extent of his panic. When would such situations stop causing this reaction? The reminder that he wasn’t well mentally or emotionally was unwelcome now more than ever.
“I'm not certain.” He cleared his throat, hating how weak his voice sounded. “Something obviously fell.” He forced himself to meet her gaze. “I apologize for overreacting.”
“Not at all.” Charlotte managed a smile. “I'm pleased to think I'm with someone who is prepared for whatever may happen.”
That was one way of looking at it. It took only a moment for him to realize he preferred her reason over simply thinking he was losing his mind. But still, he felt the need to offer some explanation. For heaven's sake, he’d thrown her to the ground and covered her with his body. That had to have been a highly unusual and unexpected experience for her.
“I fear my time on the battlefield has caused me to overreact when I hear loud noises.” His face heated at the admission.
Charlotte drew in a small gasp, bringing his gaze to those perfect rosy lips. “Of course. No doubt such sounds during a war mean more trouble is to follow.” She gave a single nod as if his reaction had been reasonable.
But it wasn’t. Even now, his heart continued to pound as if desperate to escape his chest. His mouth was dry, his movements jerky. He glanced around, certain he could see enemy soldiers moving just out of the corner of his eye. None of that was normal. After this many months home, he was beginning to despair that these feelings would ever go away.
Charlotte followed his gaze, a slight frown marring her brow. Was this the moment she realized that he was crazy? She studied him again. “Why don't we find the source of the noise? Surely that will make both of us feel better.”
She tucked her hand under his elbow and started forward, leaving him no choice but to accompany her.
Doing something so normal seemed to ease his upset. He was surprised none of the museum staff or other visitors had come to investigate the sound. He forced himself to search and soon spotted the blank place on the wall where an object should have been.
“There it is,” she exclaimed. “A metal shield fell to the floor. No wonder it made such a clang.” She squeezed his arm even as she smiled at him.
He soaked in her calming manner and allowed it to wash through him. She calmed him, much like an ocean wave erasing marks on a sandy beach, leaving it smooth. He focused on her gentle hold on him, on the slight hint of lavender that surrounded her, and the visions at the corners of his eyes faded.
Perhaps it hadn’t been such a terrible experience to have with her after all. At least, not from his perspective.
~*~
Charlotte looked up in surprise from the breakfast table the following morning as her father hobbled into the room. Based on his frown and awkward gait, his painful gout had flared once again. A footman was directly behind him, carrying a stool on which to rest his foot.
“Good morning, Father,” Charlotte said from her chair even as her stomach tightened. His presence did not bode well as he rarely joined her for the morning meal.
“I can't say that it's good, but it is certainly morning,” he responded, not bothering to look at her.
Pain furrowed his brow, making him look older than his six and ten years. His grey hair was combed back, emphasizing his receding hairline. With a long, narrow face that looked perpetually pinched, thin lips, and a hooked nose, he was not a handsome man.
The footman pulled out his chair then helped ease it forward after her father sat. Then the servant hurriedly knelt to place the footstool under her father's foot.
Charlotte knew better than to ask how he was feeling. That would only bring about a reprimand of some sort. In all honesty, when her father was feeling so poorly, she much preferred he keep to his bedchamber. No matter what she said or did, it didn't seem to please him when he was in good health let alone when he was in pain.
The footman glanced at him as if to make certain the stool was properly placed. At her father's nod, he stood and moved toward the sideboard to fill a plate while the butler poured her father a cup of coffee.
Her mother was convinced the coffee her father was so fond of contributed to his gout. Charlotte wasn't certain, although many claimed a rich diet with too much meat worsened the problem. She was wise enough to keep her opinion to herself. Long ago, she’d given up trying to make suggestions on the topic as it only angered her father more.
She reached for her tea, certain he would share the reason for his presence. Whether she would be able to finish her breakfast depended on what he had to say. There had to be a reason he’d roused himself from bed this morning. She returned her cup to its saucer and reached for her toast, hoping it would settle her stomach despite her nerves, even if the sausage and eggs half-eaten on her plate wouldn’t.
Her father sipped his coffee then took a bite of sausage before lifting his gaze to her, his black brows forming a bushy line above his eyes. Her stomach immediately clenched.
“I believe your mother has spoken to you.”
Though tempted to pretend she didn't know to what he referred it wouldn't be worth the effort. Better to have this conversation over and done with. Nothing he could say would change her mind, but she needn’t tell him that.
“Yes, she did.” The image of Lord Samuelson and the idea of speaking with him had her setting down the toast. There was simply no way she could marry the man. Not when the idea of seeing him briefly this evening made her ill.
James filled her mind as he had so often since their outing the previous day. If only Lord Samuelson were more like him.
“Are
you listening?” Her father's irritated tone struck through her thoughts.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said you need to make it clear to him that you welcome his suit. I have a particular schedule in mind for his courtship of you, and it begins with this evening.”
Hadn't she just told James how important it was to hold on to hope? She couldn't sit by and allow her father to rule her life without making another attempt to make her opinion clear.
Refusing outright to consider the man as a husband would only anger her father. Surely easing into the conversation was a better option. “Father, while I appreciate your suggestion about Lord Samuelson, I don't believe we would suit.”
Her father scoffed, sending a bit of egg flying out of his mouth and onto the table. “And what do you know about such things?” He kept his gaze focused on the food before him.
“I know that marriage should be a partnership of sorts. It is important that we respect each other.” She knew her statement would fall on deaf ears. How ridiculous to bother making the point when her parents’ marriage was anything but a partnership.
Her father at last deemed to glance at her. “He'll respect you as soon as you give him an heir.” His claim only upset her stomach further.
She couldn’t prevent her lips from curling in disgust at the idea of kissing Lord Samuelson. How could she possibly share a bed with the man? “I doubt my manners will please him. Surely he would prefer someone quiet and biddable.”
“That is exactly what you will be.” He pointed his fork at her, his lips pursing into a thin line. “Quiet and biddable. How difficult can that be? You need only look at your mother for an example.” He returned his attention to his eggs.
“I don't think I can be either of those things. It would be unnatural for me to act that way when doing so doesn’t reflect who I am.” How could he not see that looking at her mother only made Charlotte more determined not to be that way?
“You will do as I say or pay the price.” Her father didn't bother to look up as he made the threat.
She already knew what the price would be. She'd have to remain in her room for the foreseeable future or until she agreed to do as he ordered. Her father’s wrath was nothing to invoke lightly, but this was her future they were discussing.
“But—”
“I have no idea what in your upbringing causes you to be so disloyal to your family, but I will not have it.” His heated glare had her biting back the rest of her protest. “You will do your duty as my daughter. Do I make myself clear?”
She hesitated, still tempted to refuse. But what would be the point? Her mother would be punished as well as Charlotte. She could only hope a miracle occurred to keep Lord Samuelson from wanting to marry her.
Somehow, she had to make that happen and make certain he didn't like her. But she had to proceed with caution. She couldn't do it in an obvious fashion, or as her father had warned, there would be a price to pay. With reluctance, she nodded, wondering what the evening would bring.
~*~
Charlotte pressed a gloved hand against her stomach as she entered the Washburn ballroom that evening. She glanced about warily, relieved that Lord Samuelson wasn't waiting for her. The knot of dread that had formed in her stomach since the conversation with her father had only tightened while her mother had watched carefully as Mary, her lady's maid, had assisted Charlotte to dress. She couldn't remember seeing her mother so agitated in a long time.
“Tighten the stays more,” she’d directed the maid.
Then she'd had Charlotte change gowns three times before settling on the pale blue muslin with embroidered white flowers along the neckline. Fixing her hair had been another challenge. Nothing suited her mother. Charlotte had finally waved away the maid, settling on a tight chignon at the back of her neck with a few wisps left along her temples.
Then she stood and presented herself to her mother. “Will I do?”
Her mother scowled at her defiant tone. “You will smile and act charming. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mother.” Charlotte had yet to think of some way to repulse the lord without being caught at it.
“I will accompany you this evening to make certain that you do.” Her mother gestured for Mary to follow her out the door.
Now Charlotte glanced over her shoulder to where Lady Wynn greeted their hosts. She was careful not to look around further. The longer she postponed the meeting with Lord Samuelson the better.
At last, they stepped into the ballroom and greeted a few familiar faces before continuing slowly around the room.
“Smile,” her mother said under her breath.
Charlotte did as she was bid. She wanted her mother to be able to report to her father that she had behaved. She didn't want her mother to pay for her actions. Nor did she wish to be locked up in her room for days on end when she had every intention of asking James to escort her on another outing.
The thought of him loosened the knot in her stomach considerably. If only he were here this evening. But the only ball she'd seen him at was the one where he'd come to confront her about Lord Palmer. She didn’t think he’d attend this one without a reason.
“Good evening, Charlotte.” Margaret Gold smiled then greeted Lady Wynn with a curtsy. “I hope the evening finds you well.”
“Indeed, it does.” Charlotte’s mother answered for both of them. With a pointed look at Charlotte, she added. “Doesn't it, my dear?”
“Yes.”
From the odd look Margaret gave her, she knew she wasn't fooling anyone. With a faint shake of her head to discourage Margaret from asking questions, Charlotte forced more of a smile. “This is such a lovely ballroom.” She knew it was a ridiculous thing to say, but she couldn't think of anything else to pretend as if all was normal.
“I especially like the vines wrapped around the columns.” Margaret glanced around the room as if trying to think of something else to add.
Charlotte could have hugged her for catching on so quickly.
“Wait until you see the refreshment table,” Margaret added. She looked at Charlotte's mother. “So many appetizing items and endless amounts of champagne.”
“Oh?” Lady Wynn glanced in the direction of the refreshment room. “Perhaps we should make our way there.”
Charlotte’s heart felt heavy at the realization that her mother eagerly wanted a drink. Did she find spending an evening with Charlotte so trying or was it the thought of reporting to her husband all that had transpired that made her want to do so?
Guilt settled heavily on her shoulders. Perhaps she should go along with Lord Samuelson's interest if he indeed had any. She had no desire to make her mother more miserable than she already was.
Lady Thompson, a friend of her mother’s, greeted them and the two were soon deep in conversation. It relieved Charlotte to know her mother still had a few friends with whom to speak as they lifted one’s spirits. Unfortunately, companionship was one more thing from which her mother had stepped away.
Margaret drew back and tipped her head, suggesting that Charlotte follow. “What is going on?” she asked in a hushed whisper.
“I am to speak with Lord Samuelson this evening.”
“For what purpose?” Margaret's eyes narrowed. “He is far older than we are, is he not?”
“My father has an understanding of some sort with him.” Charlotte sighed. “I'm supposed to be charming as well as quiet and biddable when we speak.”
“You must be jesting.” Margaret shook her head, her dismay increasing Charlotte’s. “Have you ever noted his teeth? They're rather frightening in appearance, large and yellowed.” She gave a mock shudder.
“Perhaps that's why he so rarely smiles.” She wasn't certain if knowing the reason was reassuring.
“Oh dear.” Margaret glanced out the corner of her eye before returning her gaze to Charlotte. “Here he comes now.”
“Already?” Charlotte could hardly catch
her breath. “I thought I would have more time to prepare.”
“Do you truly think that would help?” Her friend’s grimace was answer enough and nearly made Charlotte laugh.
Margaret's question allowed her to realize she was being silly. She’d already met the man and nothing untoward had occurred. She should use this moment to look at him with fresh eyes and try to find something they had in common before she determined whether she needed to try to push him away.
She looked in his direction as he neared only to feel her hope flicker before promptly snuffing out. What common ground could she possibly find with the man? He was quite tall and thin with pronounced cheekbones in a narrow face. His thick hair was combed back from his high forehead in an odd manner meant to be stylish but fell short. His nose had a distinct bend in its bridge, making her wonder if it had been broken in his youth. His appearance was less than appealing. That hadn't changed since she'd last seen him.
“Good evening, Lady Charlotte.” He bowed and she curtsied. He completely ignored Margaret. He looked over Charlotte’s shoulder to her mother and bowed again before his gaze returned to Charlotte. “May I say you look lovely this evening?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but she bit back the retort. “How kind of you.” She gestured towards Margaret. “You remember Miss Gold?”
He glanced at Margaret. “I can't say that I do.”
Though tempted to call him a liar since she knew they’d been introduced, she didn't bother. It came as no surprise that he was one of the lords who seemed to consider the Gold family upstarts. Margaret’s father’s title had been awarded rather than inherited.
“How disappointing that you forgot our meeting last month.” Margaret offered a bright smile. “I thought our introduction was quite memorable. You spilled champagne on my slipper. Surely, you remember.”
Charlotte couldn’t help a chuckle though she quickly sobered. Trust Margaret to refuse to allow the slight to bother her in the least.
Lord Samuelson shifted, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I seem to faintly recall it now.”
To Dare a Rogue Page 6
