by Julia Quinn
She sighed. “And they’ll never acknowledge that fact. I’m sure they’ll have Herbert proposing by Vauxhall.”
Anger tore at him. “No, they won’t.” Setting her back a little, he touched her cheek, gazing into her soft brown eyes for a long time. “Marry me, Charlotte,” he whispered.
She opened her sweet mouth, then closed it again. “I can’t. Not without their permission.”
Reminding himself that he liked her in part because she was at heart a good, proper chit, he took a breath. “Say for a moment that I had their permission.”
“But you don’t. And you won’t. I love them, aside from their disbelief that I would attract anyone on my own, but they won’t agree to something they think could put a blemish on the family, even if it’s only in their own imaginations. No matter how much I might want it.”
That was what he wanted to hear. “You would say yes, if not for that.”
Slowly she nodded. “Yes.”
“Then I’ll manage the rest.”
With an exasperated look, she plucked the last bit of pollen off his jacket. “I know you’re probably used to getting what you want, but it won’t—”
He stopped her argument with another kiss. Kissing her seemed the very best thing ever invented. Or the second best thing, rather. It occurred to him that if he ruined her, her parents would probably be happy to marry her off to him. But he didn’t want to resort to that—though he would keep the option open. Nothing was going to prevent him from having her. He would find a way around this, because he refused to lose her to anyone else. And especially not to damned Herbert Beetly.
They talked for nearly an hour before Alice scratched at her door. With a yelp Charlotte scrambled to her feet. “What is it?”
“Lady Birling wishes to see you, miss.”
“I’ll be right down.”
“I could hide under the bed,” Xavier suggested, rising behind her.
“You could, but eventually you’d starve to death.” She smiled, feeling giddy despite the poor prospects for the two of them. He’d asked her to marry him, for heaven’s sake.
“Promise me something, Charlotte,” he said softly, drawing her into his arms again.
“What?”
“Promise me that whatever your parents or Beetly say, you won’t give in. I’ll make this right.”
Because she couldn’t help it, she leaned up and kissed him. Could it be enough that her heart soared at this moment? Even when she knew he was bound to fail? Of course there was always the slight chance that he’d actually succeed. “I promise.”
He slipped back out the window, cursing at the condition of her trellis as he descended. Charlotte watched him go over the back fence, before she joined her mother downstairs, only to discover that, of all things, her cousin Sophia had invited her to spend the night.
“Am I permitted?” she asked, eyeing the invitation. Despite their age difference she’d always enjoyed chatting with Sophia, but since Easterly’s reappearance she’d barely set eyes on her.
Her mother sighed. “Your father and I have been discussing her invitation since yesterday. I don’t like it, but she is family. And hopefully no one else will find out about it. But you’re not to discuss Matson. That nonsense never happened, as far as we’re concerned.”
And obviously her mother, at least, had begun to realize that something more substantial than a luncheon or a shopping excursion would be needed to keep her unavailable to gentlemen callers. Next would probably be a surprise week in Bath with Grandma Birling. Well, she’d be as discreet as she could, but with Sophia she’d always felt like she could discuss anything. And she was desperate for a friendly ear where Xavier was concerned. “Yes, Mama.”
All the while she packed her overnight bags she wondered whether Xavier would try to visit her again tonight, and then break his neck on the trellis when no one came to open the window. Oh, dear. Unsettled as she was, the only thing she could do about it was pack twelve times and eat the entire plate of pastries Alice had fetched for her to snack on.
Finally she dressed in her favorite blue visiting gown with matching hat and ribbons, and dove into the family coach as soon as it pulled onto the drive. When she arrived at Sophia’s twenty minutes later, her cousin was waiting for her in the foyer. Lady Sophia Throckmorton always looked cool and collected and completely in control, and this afternoon Charlotte envied her for it. As aggravating as Charlotte’s situation with Xavier was, Sophia had at least as many worries with her husband returning to London just as she’d decided to marry another man.
The footman had barely taken her bags when Sophia came forward and gave her a sound hug. “I’m so glad you could come!” she exclaimed. “I am in dire need of good, logical, feminine conversation. Are you hungry yet? I ordered a light dinner to be served at seven.”
Now Charlotte was beginning to regret her pastry snacking. “That’s fine,” she replied. “I just had tea and couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Excellent. I’ll have it brought to my room. I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you, but I must tell you that I have set a rule for this visit.”
Charlotte lifted her eyebrows. “A rule?”
Unexpectedly Sophia hugged her again. She probably felt the need for a friend herself, Charlotte reflected, feeling guilty that she hadn’t been a better cousin. “Yes, a rule,” Sophia continued. “We can discuss clothes, hats, gloves, hemlines, jewelry, shoes, carriages, horses, balls, food of all sorts, women we like or don’t like, and which of the latest dances we most enjoy, but we are not going to say one word about men.”
Damnation. Charlotte forced a smile. “I think I can do that.”
“Perfect!” Taking her arm, Sophia led her to the stairs. “Come and see the new gown I just purchased. It is blue with Russian trim, and it’s just the loveliest thing. Oh, and I have a pale pink silk gown with delightful red rosettes that I think would be just the thing for you.”
It sounded lovely, but abruptly Charlotte wondered whether Xavier would ever see her wearing it, and what he would think. “For me? I couldn’t—”
“You can and will. I purchased it on a whim last month, but it is just not for me, and I so hate to waste things.”
As they went to look at the gowns and have a nice long coze, Charlotte wondered what it would be like to be able to see a gown, decide she liked it, and just purchase it—without having to worry whether it made her look fast, would draw too much attention from possibly scandalous men. She jumped when the housekeeper scratched at the door to announce dinner was being brought up.
Chatting had been nice, but as they finished eating and Sophia poured tea, she had to admit that it had done nothing to distract her from Lord Matson. She so wanted to talk about him, to know if Sophia would understand how she felt and agree that it would be worth it to risk nearly everything to be with him.
Their conversation trailed off. Charlotte was beginning to debate whether to break Sophia’s rule or not when her cousin opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind.
Charlotte paused with the teacup halfway to her mouth. “Yes?” she prompted.
“Nothing. I was just—it was nothing.”
Blast it. Charlotte went back to sipping her tea. Now she had no distraction at all, and faded cobalt eyes and a warm, soft smile seemed to lurk in every thought. It wasn’t fair, that her parents’ doubts over her allure and their fear of scandal could ruin her one chance at a happy life. Especially when she knew that if they would take the time to know Xavier, they would realize that he wasn’t a rakehell at all—he’d been sad and lonely, and had decided to enjoy himself a little when he’d arrived in Town. It wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t hers. And then there he was, stating that he could single-handedly set everything to rights, while Lord Herbert Beetly stood at the ready.
Sophia’s cup clinked into her saucer. “What are you thinking about so seriously?”
Charlotte blushed. “I was thinking of—” No, no breaking the rule unless S
ophia did it first. “Nothing really. I was just daydreaming.”
“Your parents are at it again, aren’t they? Trying to wheedle you into marrying. I vow, I would shake my Aunt Vivian until her teeth rattle.”
“Oh, she means well, but—”
“They all mean well, but that doesn’t mean they are right. Perhaps I should speak with Aunt Vivian and Uncle Edward about the dangers of being wed too soon. Do they not see my sad state of affairs as a warning? That every woman should wait until she is at least twenty-five to make such a decision?”
Charlotte blinked. “Twenty-five?” She wanted to marry a different man than her parents had chosen, not merely push back the beginning of her misery.
“Or older.”
“Older? Than twenty-five? But that would be six years! Surely—I mean, if you met the right person, that is, if you thought you’d met the right person, there would be no reason to wait.”
While Charlotte tried not to look too pitiful, Sophia gazed at her. “No, I don’t suppose there would be any reason to wait if you’d met the right person. The problem is that there are no guarantees. I married for love, you know. Sometimes even that is not easy.” She paused. “Perhaps we should suspend our rule and speak frankly about—a man, a particular man, just to give an example.”
“No names, though,” Charlotte broke in, remembering her mother’s warning. “You know how my mother hates me gossiping.” This way at least she could keep Xavier’s identity a secret and still talk about him—and receive an honest opinion and advice, which she desperately needed.
“Agreed,” Sophia stated.
Charlotte grabbed Sophia’s hands, so grateful she felt near tears. “How nice to be able to speak frankly!”
“So it is! I believe that is why men manage to dupe us poor women so often; we do not share our feelings about them in an honest and frank manner.” Sophia gave her cousin a knowing gaze. “But you know what I mean when I say that men are prideful, difficult creatures.”
And very arrogant. “Yes, yes, they are.”
“All of them.” Sophia paused again, obviously choosing her words—and her advice—carefully. “And stubborn men are the worst.”
Charlotte nodded. “Especially those who refuse to listen to reason, even when they have to know you’ve been completely logical.”
Sophia’s expression became more enthusiastic. “You are so right!”
“I also believe that some men enjoy causing disruptions simply so they can charge in to set things right again. Or think they can.”
“That is certainly true. I also hate the way some men are forever trying to get us to—” Sophia blinked, her color deepening. “I’m sorry. Perhaps—”
“No, you’re right.” Her own cheeks heated, but this was the best chance she was likely to have to discuss Xavier frankly. “They are always stealing kisses. And in the most inappropriate places, too. And all you have is their word that it means anything at all.” What if she was just an infatuation for Xavier, after all? What if she managed to turn Herbert away, and then Xavier turned his back a week later, once the game was won?
Her cousin stood, her expression somber. “I’d rather have Lady Neeley’s horrid parrot than any man I know.”
Oh, now Charlotte was making Sophia feel bad, too. “Or that monkey Liza Pemberley is forever carting about,” she said, trying to cheer them both up. “I heard that it bites.”
“Does it?”
“I’ve never seen it do so, but it would be lovely if it did,” Charlotte returned with a slight smile. “I can think of at least one person I’d like that monkey to bite.” Lord Herbert. Then if nothing else, at least he might change his expression for a moment.
Sophia’s lips twitched. “It would be quite handy to have a trained attack monkey at one’s command.”
“Better than a dog, because no one would see it coming.” And perhaps if she owned a monkey, not everyone would think her so dull and ordinary. She sighed. “I daresay the monkey doesn’t even really bite. It always seemed quite a docile creature to me.”
“Yes, but one never knows with monkeys. Or men.”
“So I’ve noticed.” She frowned. “I’ve often thought that…men…always seem to think they know best.”
“Pride. They are swollen with it, like the Thames after a rain.”
Something plinked against the window. Charlotte sighed again. Splendid. More rain.
Sophia glanced at the glass, then turned back. “I also hate it when certain men refuse to admit when they are wrong. I—”
Two taps came this time. For a bare moment Charlotte wondered if Xavier had found her, but she quickly shrugged off the thought. He wouldn’t risk causing her a scandal by climbing through someone else’s window. “Is it raining? What is that?”
The sound came again. “That is not rain,” Sophia declared. “It sounds more like a fool standing outside my window, throwing rocks.”
She didn’t seem all that upset about it, but then Sophia was poised to be married as soon as she and Easterly reached an agreement. “Ah, it must be Mr. Riddleton,” Charlotte said. “He’s quite infatuated with you, isn’t he?”
“I don’t believe he is as infatuated with me as you might think.” Before Sophia could elaborate, a shower of what had to be pebbles hit the window.
“Goodness!” Charlotte exclaimed, frowning at the window. It wasn’t Xavier; she was certain of that. And Sophia seemed to have a good idea, anyway. “He sounds a bit determined. I think he is using larger pebbles.”
Her cousin sighed. “Perhaps I should see what he wants, before the window—”
The window shattered. The guilty rock rolled up to Sophia’s toes.
“Blast it!” Sophia grabbed the rock and made her way through the broken glass to the window, looking as though she meant to hurl the stone back at the perpetrator. “I cannot believe Thomas—” She stopped, leaning out.
“What is it?” Charlotte asked, her breath catching. It wasn’t Xavier; it couldn’t be.
Sophia, though, seemed to know exactly who it was. Leaning further out the window, she began a low-voiced conversation with the vandal. Charlotte listened for a moment until she realized it must be Easterly himself. Now if her mother found out, she’d never be allowed to go anywhere to visit.
But if Lord Easterly had had to resort to breaking Sophia’s window in order to get her attention, maybe their situations weren’t that different. At least Sophia could decide who and when she wanted to see all on her own. Charlotte wanted to see Xavier, wanted to kiss and be kissed by him, wanted things that he’d only hinted about, and everyone told her it was impossible. Everyone but Xavier, but she had much more experience with her parents than the earl did.
She fingered one of the rosettes on her new silk gown. He might convince the baron and baroness to let them wed, but she doubted it. The Birlings were wealthy enough that she didn’t need to marry for money, and they certainly considered that Lord Herbert would add more respectability to the family than Xavier could.
It shouldn’t even have been a question—and she abruptly realized why she refused to give up hope. She loved him. She loved Xavier Matson. Since she’d set eyes on him she’d been infatuated, but since they’d spoken she admired him. And now that she’d come to know him, she loved him.
“’Ere now! Whot ye doin’ throwin’ rocks at a lady’s winder?”
“Oh, thank you, Officer!” Sophia called.
Charlotte jumped, scrambling to her feet. Peeking over Sophia’s shoulder, she could make out Lord Easterly surrounded by three men wearing the uniforms of the watch. Someone was in trouble.
Lord Easterly glared up at them, not looking very pleased. “You tricked me, you—”
“’Ere now, guvnor! Not in front o’ the ladies. Come along. It’s to gaol wit’ ye.”
“Do you know who I am?”
Charlotte smothered a giggle. She didn’t think the watch would care who he was, considering. Perhaps she and Xavier were luckier than Soph
ia and Easterly and Riddleton. At least she and Lord Matson wanted the same thing. Her cousin, though, seemed to want her estranged husband dragged off in chains.
Strange as the thought was, it left her feeling more hopeful. She and Matson wanted the same thing. He meant to do something about it. What could she do, then?
Chapter 8
Lord Herbert Beetly or Earl Matson?
Really, ladies, which would you choose?
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 17 JUNE 1816
Xavier arrived at the Birling House door just as Lord Herbert’s coach turned up the drive. For a moment Xavier considered returning later, but he had a few errands to run this afternoon, and he needed to arrive at Vauxhall before Charlotte and her escort. Besides, he had no intention of setting up camp in the middle of enemy territory. He’d already chosen his field of combat.
The butler pulled opened the door, nodding twice to acknowledge both men as Herbert joined them on the front portico. “My lords.”
Beetly eyed him. “You’re not welcome here, Matson.”
“Perhaps not,” Xavier returned, lifting his bouquet of roses and handing it to the butler before anyone could tell him that of course Charlotte wasn’t home—not for him, anyway, “but my flowers are nicer than yours.”
“I didn’t bring any flowers.”
“No, you didn’t, did you?” Xavier tipped his hat. “Good afternoon.”
He hated leaving Beetly there; Charlotte had promised she wouldn’t do anything hasty, but he knew that in the face of her parents’ criticism and Beetly’s mediocrity it wouldn’t be difficult for her to forget that not only was she better than that but she also deserved better than that.
It killed him every time he went to that door, knowing that her parents would have removed her from his grasp. But he went anyway, to make certain the Birlings knew that he wasn’t about to give up. She already knew that; he hoped she believed it.
At least he could tell himself that he only had to wait until tonight. From what he’d been able to discover, thousands would be attending Vauxhall, all to witness the reenactment of the Battle of Waterloo on the occasion of the battle’s one-year anniversary. Prince George had apparently managed to spend thousands of quid on the event, money he’d had to borrow and would never repay. Considering that he would be able to see Charlotte there, however, Xavier was willing to forgive the extravagance.
