Seduced at Sunset (Love at Pembroke Palace Book 6)

by Julianne MacLean

  Drake’s temper cooled and grew quiet as he watched his mother stare miserably into the dancing flames of the hearth.

  He had never felt close to her in the past, for his father was always the dominant figure in the house. He overshadowed any affection that could have existed. Drake had been too busy defending himself from beatings, and later, simply withdrawing to the extent of a transatlantic crossing.

  But what about his mother, who had remained at her post, living through the loss of her two daughters and the appalling violent boxing career of her only living son? Drake remembered how he came home night after night—in a wretched state, barely able to stand, spitting blood, his face swollen and bruised, his ribs broken. Mrs. March had always tended to his wounds. The footmen, occasionally, had been required to carry him upstairs to bed.

  No wonder his mother had been happy to see him leave the country, knowing he would give up the sport. If one could call boxing a sport in his case.

  Yet he had always resented her. Was it time for change?

  Slowly, he moved forward and crouched down at her feet. He took both her hands in his and spoke gently. “I am sorry your relationship ended badly. But I need to know… What did you say to Lady Charlotte today? You must tell me.”

  Her mournful eyes lifted. “I couldn’t help myself. It was selfish of me. I won’t deny it. I just wanted her to disappear.”

  He took a few deep breaths. “Did she send a letter? Did you keep it from me?”

  She looked down at her lap. “Yes. I burned it.”

  Drake imagined how pleased he would have been to receive such a letter from Charlotte, a request to join him on the river that morning. He would have been there to pick her up at precisely six o’clock. He would not have been a single moment late.

  “She told me you said some unpleasant things to her. Is that true?”

  His mother nodded, then bowed her head. “You should go back to America now and never speak to me again, Drake. I wouldn’t blame you for it. You should leave.”

  He squeezed her hands. “I see what you are doing. You are trying to push me away, and I understand. Your life has not been easy, and you feel guilty about many things, as you should. You made a mistake today in the way you spoke to Lady Charlotte. It was badly done, Mother. But you do deserve happiness, as we all do. Therefore, I want you to do something for me. Can you get dressed pleased?”

  Her weary eyes met his, and she cupped his cheek in her hand. “Will you forgive me? Not just for today, but for all of it. You know what I am talking about.”

  Yes, he knew.

  “I will forgive you, Mother, if you will forgive me as well for deserting you and staying away for so long. But please…I need you to get up and come with me now. Will you do that?”

  Looking defeated, she nodded and rose to her feet.

  Two hours later, Charlotte was slouching low on the sofa in the drawing room, sipping her third glass of Scottish whisky.

  Adelaide, William, and Garrett had done their best to cheer her up by inviting her to play cards, but she had no interest in table games, for she had just watched the man she loved walk out of her house in a terrible temper with a look of absolute loathing in his eyes.

  ‘It is not up to you to strong-arm people into love,’ he had once said to her. Little did he know it was his own mother she was scheming against, working to break up the courtship that had no doubt been at the summit of all his mother’s hopes and dreams. How could Charlotte blame Mrs. Torrington? William was a handsome and brilliant man. She must have been madly in love with him.

  Charlotte thought about what Adelaide had said earlier—that they must be forgiving, for they could not know what kind of life Mrs. Torrington had led, for they had not walked in her shoes. But Charlotte did know many things, for Drake had told her about his childhood. He had lost his sisters to illness and had been raised by a violent, abusive father.

  Charlotte could only presume that his mother had suffered an equal degree of despair, for she had been married to that violent abuser and had watched both her daughters fall victim to diphtheria. Charlotte tried to imagine what that must have been like. No wonder Drake’s mother was angry and controlling—and desperate to have a good man for her own husband.

  And Mrs. Torrington had not known that Charlotte was that good man’s illegitimate daughter. If she had known, perhaps she would have made an effort to win Charlotte’s approval and affections. All she knew was that Charlotte was the daughter of her rival.

  She swirled her whisky around in her glass, then tipped it up and swallowed the entire contents in a single gulp.

  The others were quietly playing cards, glancing over at her occasionally with concern. Her head was in a fog. All she wanted to do was keel over sideways and fall asleep right here on the sofa cushions.

  She was only vaguely aware of the butler entering the drawing room, and she was startled when he appeared in front of her. He cleared his throat. Loudly. Charlotte strained to lift her heavy-lidded gaze to look up at him.

  “You have a visitor, my lady,” he said in his deep, authoritative voice. “He is waiting for you in the library.”

  “Who is it?” she asked, her head swimming and bobbing about.

  “Mr. Torrington.”

  That sobered her up in a hurry. Charlotte blinked a few times and sat forward. “He’s here? Now? What does he want?”

  “I don’t know, my lady.”

  She became aware, suddenly, of Garrett, Dr. Thomas, and her mother, all staring at her worriedly from the card table.

  “I will go and see what he wants,” Charlotte said, rising unsteadily to her feet. She wobbled slightly.

  “Perhaps I should go with you,” Garrett said.

  “That is not necessary,” she insisted, raising a hand to object. “I am perfectly capable of…”

  What? Descending the stairs without tumbling to the bottom and falling on her face? Not a certainty… Oh, she shouldn’t have poured that third glass of whisky. Now she was pickled.

  But she had no choice. She had to go down there and see Mr. Torrington. Drake. Her lover. In all honesty, she wanted to see him, for she had been crushed by his sudden departure and the fact that he blamed her for his mother’s misery.

  It was, unquestionably, all her fault. If she hadn’t sent that letter to Dr. Thomas assuring him of his success with Adelaide, perhaps he would still be at the theater with Mrs. Torrington tonight and none of this would have happened.

  But would that have been preferable? No, it most certainly would not, for one of Charlotte’s lifelong prayers had been answered. Her mother was engaged to marry the great love of her life. How could Charlotte wish for anything different?

  A few moments later, she was walking into the library, marveling at the fact that she was standing in the same room with Mr. Torrington, when a short while ago, she had fully accepted and believed she would never lay eyes on him again. But here he was. In the flesh. Like a gorgeous Greek god before her. So handsome and appealing. Her body ached to touch him and hold him close. What she wouldn’t give to go back to those lazy days at Pembroke, when they were free to make love every night, when she had dared to hope that something more would come of this.

  “Mr. Torrington,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to return.”

  He was looking down, holding his hat in his hands, turning it over and over. “How could I stay away,” he replied, “when I could not bear the thought of your disdain?”

  Charlotte frowned in confusion. “It is you who walked out, sir, and I saw the loathing in your eyes. The disdain was in your camp, not mine.”

  At last he looked up and met her eyes with a look of dismay. “Yes, but that loathing was not directed at you.” He approached her and held out his hand. “You must come outside with me.”

  “Why?”

  “There is something you need to hear
.”

  For better or worse, Charlotte trusted him completely and laid her hand in his. He led her out of the library, across the entrance hall, and out the front door.

  It was a warm summer night and crickets were chirping in the square. Charlotte felt the effects of the whisky fading, for she was acutely aware of every sound and sensation—the tap of Drake’s footsteps down the cement steps, and the warm touch of his hand.

  His coach was parked out front. He opened the door and gestured for her to climb inside. She did so without hesitation, not knowing what he intended. But she would go with him anywhere, willingly, even though she still believed he was angry with her for unwittingly meddling in his mother’s affairs.

  Charlotte sat down on the upholstered seat and was surprised to discover another occupant in the dimly lit interior—Drake’s mother, Mrs. Torrington.

  Drake climbed in and sat beside Charlotte, who straightened her posture and prepared herself for another verbal lashing from this woman who must surely despise her, now more than ever.

  “Good evening, Lady Charlotte,” Mrs. Torrington said.

  “Good evening,” Charlotte coolly replied.

  The tension was thicker than turtle soup.

  Drake said nothing for the longest time, and Charlotte wondered why he had brought her here. To punish her further?

  “Mother…” he said in a deep voice edged with command.

  Mrs. Torrington took in a deep breath at the sound of his urging and cleared her throat. “I have come to apologize to you, Lady Charlotte. My behavior this afternoon was inexcusable, and I was wrong to say all the things I did. I must also apologize for reading the letter you sent to my son, which arrived yesterday. I took it and hid it from him. I burned it, in fact. He did not know you had returned to London, and he did not receive your request to join him on the river this morning. He never knew.”

  Charlotte sat very still while she pondered Mrs. Torrington’s apology and confession.

  According to his mother, Drake never received her letter, so Charlotte had been correct to give him the benefit of the doubt. But still, there were so many cruel words spoken in this woman’s parlor that afternoon…

  Then Charlotte thought of Adelaide’s wise words again, and her own knowledge of the life this woman had led. She strove to seek a deeper understanding.

  “Why did you not want me to be with your son?” she asked. “I care for him very much.”

  Drake’s hand came to rest upon hers, and she turned her head to look into his eyes.

  “I care for you as well,” he said, “and I have made that exceedingly clear to my mother this evening.”

  Charlotte’s gaze darted back to Mrs. Torrington, who sat across from them.

  “I cannot possibly express how sorry I am,” she said. “I was selfish, and I was thinking only of myself.”

  “Tell her why,” Drake said, nudging her further when she hesitated.

  Mrs. Torrington raised a handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed at the corners. “I didn’t want you in my son’s life because I knew whose daughter you were—Adelaide Sinclair’s, the Dowager Duchess of Pembroke, William’s true beloved. I knew that William loved her, and I resented you because you brought her back to London. I wanted you and your mother to go away. I wanted William for myself, for he is the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.”

  Charlotte watched Mrs. Torrington in the flickering light from the carriage lamp and felt quite certain there was genuine remorse in her heart, and a hint of shame as well, for Mrs. Torrington had tried to come between her son and a woman who truly loved him.

  “Can you ever forgive me?” Mrs. Torrington asked.

  Charlotte felt all the tension and misery drain out of her body and took great care in searching for the right words.

  “Yes,” she said, “for you have been very kind to me this evening. You have brought your son back to me, and you have explained that he never received my letter about joining him on the river this morning. I thought perhaps he was making me wait intentionally, so I would understand that he wished to be rid of me.”

  “I am sure he would have been there,” Mrs. Torrington said, “if he had known you were waiting.”

  “Yes, I would have.” Drake squeezed Charlotte’s hand.

  “I couldn’t stay away from you,” Charlotte whispered to him. “I had to come back to London so that I could tell you how I felt.”

  “If you hadn’t come,” he said, “I would have taken the train to Pembroke tomorrow, for I felt the same way. I cannot bear to be without you.”

  She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his shoulder, while they all sat in silence.

  “You should go home now, Mother,” he said, “but I must stay to have a word with Dr. Thomas. You can send the coach back for me.”

  He and Charlotte exited the vehicle, but before they made their way back to the house, Mrs. Torrington leaned out the open door.

  “Will you do something for me, Lady Charlotte?” she asked.

  “Yes. What is it?”

  “Will you wish your mother well, and congratulate her on her engagement? Tell her…” Mrs. Torrington swallowed hard and forced the words out. “Tell her she deserves every happiness. Please extend my good wishes and felicitations to Dr. Thomas as well.”

  “I will do that,” Charlotte replied with a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Torrington. That is very kind.”

  Drake’s mother tried to smile in return, but it was colored with melancholy. Her eyes brimmed with tears she fought to hold back as she closed the door.

  Charlotte vowed to visit Mrs. Torrington the following day and bring her some fresh flowers, for she was well acquainted with the heartache the woman would endure over the coming weeks. Charlotte also understood the importance of friendship at such a time. She would do what she could to bring some cheer to Mrs. Torrington’s life. Perhaps in time, Charlotte might even put her matchmaking skills to good use again, for she knew more than a few eligible bachelors of an appropriate age…

  The coach pulled away from the curb. Charlotte turned to face Drake in the dim light that filtered out from the windows of Pembroke House. “You mentioned you wanted to speak with Dr. Thomas,” she said. “I hope you don’t intend to challenge him to a duel, or heaven forbid, a boxing match, for breaking your mother’s heart.”

  Drake chuckled and shook his head. “No, my darling. I wish only to apologize to him for my behavior earlier. I understand that he has loved your mother for an eternity, and I cannot begrudge him for being honest with mine. He did the honorable thing to end it now and follow his heart, for a man must be with the woman he loves. He cannot let anything stand in his way. But there is more I wish to say to him. Or rather, to ask him, if you will allow it.”

  There on the sidewalk, Drake dropped down on one knee before her and reached into his pocket. “I am in love with you, Charlotte, and I cannot imagine living another day without you in my life.” He pulled out a glittering diamond ring and showed it to her. “I need to know that you will always be at my side. I don’t care where we live—here or across the Atlantic—as long as we are together. And I will consider myself privileged to take you to parties and balls and dance with you until dawn. I want the whole world to know you are mine, for you have brought happiness back into my life. So please permit me to ask this important question. Will you marry me?”

  Charlotte covered her mouth with a hand and hiccupped. “Yes, I will.”

  His eyes smiled first, then his faced warmed into an expression of pure joy and relief. He stood up and took hold of her hand. “May I put this on you?”

  “Please.”

  Her fingers trembled as he slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

  “It’s beautiful, Drake. I am so happy I could cry. But when did you decide this?”

  “I knew I loved you at Pembroke,” he explain
ed, “in the forest, when you stood in the rain at sunset. You were the most beautiful vision imaginable. That was the moment you had my heart forever.” Pulling her into his arms, he held her tight. “Will your father give us his blessing?”

  “Is that what you want to ask him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t see a problem, for he knows true love when he sees it, and he knows it lasts forever.”

  She felt the bond between them spark into a flame as his lips found hers and his hands slid around her waist. The kiss was passionate and sent her heart spinning. He kissed her until she feared her knees might buckle and she might faint there in his arms.

  He pulled back and smiled down at her, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight.

  “Good Lord, you taste like a brewery,” he said. “Are you drunk?”

  “Drunk with love,” she replied with a grin.

  He laughed. “You’re going to feel miserable in the morning.”

  “There is no chance of that,” she said, shaking her head, “for I will be too busy feeling grateful—grateful for the fact that I was attacked by a purse thief this summer and bashed on the head. How lucky I was that day.”

  “And how lucky I am on this day,” he replied. “I will thank the heavens repeatedly for bringing you into my life, until the day I die.” Then he covered her mouth again in a soul-reaching kiss that lifted her clear off the ground.

  Epilogue

  In the autumn of that year, two family weddings took place at the chapel at Pembroke Palace. First, in September, the dowager duchess, at the youthful age of sixty-two, walked down the aisle in the presence of all her children and grandchildren, to marry the man she had known and loved her entire life—the renowned surgeon, Dr. William Thomas. They made plans to travel to America together the following summer to visit the Grand Canyon.

  In October, when the leaves were changing and the air was crisp, the chapel bells rang yet again to celebrate the nuptials of Lady Charlotte Sinclair, who was also known, to those close to her, as reclusive bestselling author Victor Edwards.

  Charlotte was anything but reclusive, however, for she and her new husband, Drake Torrington, began a honeymoon and world tour that lasted two spectacular years. They followed in the footsteps of her older brother Lord Vincent, who had traveled to Egypt and India with his new bride over a decade earlier. After visiting the pyramids and climbing Mount Vesuvius in Italy, Charlotte and Drake boarded a luxurious steamship bound for America and crossed the Atlantic.