by Jenna Jaxon
Writhing as her stomach and head fought over who would make her most miserable, Charlotte clenched her teeth, her gorge rising. “Alan came thinking I desired a tryst.”
“But you did not?” Jane cocked her head.
“No. I tried to tell him I had no interest in him before, in the library, but he left. Then Maria arrived with her dilemma and I didn’t remember to tell him not to come. So he appeared here. Oh, Jane.” She wanted to cover her face for shame but feared it would have catastrophic effects on her churning stomach. “He saw I was foxed, but he didn’t care. He told me he had made a wager at White’s about when he would . . . would bed me.” Heat rose in her face, making her even more nauseated.
Jane’s face paled. “The man’s reputation is scathingly deserved.” She clutched Charlotte’s hands in a painful grip. “Charlotte, please tell me he didn’t . . . ?”
“I don’t know.” Tears started in Charlotte’s eyes. “He was on top of me and I swooned. I don’t know if he . . . did anything or not.”
“My dear. How awful.” Jane slid her arms around her.
Thank God for Jane.
“Is that why Nash assaulted Lord Kersey?” Jane sat back.
“What do you mean, assault?”
“He apparently thrashed Kersey for all he was worth, then threw him down the staircase.”
“My God.” Nash knew. It was the only explanation. Charlotte drew back into the pillows. “Did he throw Alan out the door?”
“No, but there was quite a scene.” Jane’s face lit with satisfaction and she proceeded to describe the ensuing events, blow by blow. “Considering how easily he trounced the earl, I wouldn’t be surprised if Nash has been frequenting Jackson’s while in town.”
Charlotte rubbed her head against the pillow, trying to ease her unrelenting headache. At least her stomach seemed to have settled. “Did Lord Kersey at least have the good sense to go quietly?” Lord, the ton tongues would be wagging in no time.
“Not a bit of it, my dear.” She patted Charlotte’s hand. “Just then, Maria rushed down the staircase, screaming like a banshee.”
Charlotte listened, amazed, as Jane related the rest of the evening’s events. At last she shook her head. “But why would she do that?”
“I’ll give you three guesses.”
Words stuck in her dry throat. “He is the father of her child?”
“It would seem so.” Jane sat back, watching her closely. “They were much in company in Suffolk. I suppose my chaperonage lacked somewhat. But then, she is a widow. Though not for long.” She tilted her head. “By the time the carriage arrived, Maria had sent for her bag. She helped him in.” Jane sniffed. “I would not be surprised at all if they are married as soon as Kersey can procure a special license.”
It wasn’t Nash. Overwhelming relief cascaded through her. Not, of course, that it should matter at all to her, but she was glad just the same. “I suppose I was to be Alan’s final conquest before he donned the leg-shackle.” Charlotte turned her head into the pillow. She would kill the wretch if she ever saw him again.
“Perhaps, although I very much doubt you will be the last.” Jane raised her brows. “I’d wager my best horse Lord Kersey will tire of domestic bliss within the year. Unless Maria manages to keep him under the cat’s-paw, which I must admit she may. She’s a tenacious woman, despite her appearance and manner. Perhaps she will tame the rake after all.”
“I’m relieved he won’t be pursuing me any longer, but I’m sorry for Maria to be saddled with such a husband. Somehow, I don’t believe she’ll reform him. No one could.” Charlotte closed her eyes. If only she could shut out the world so easily. “So what must I do, Jane?”
Jane smoothed Charlotte’s hair back, her touch soothing as always. “I think you need to simply wait and see, my dear. It may be the case that nothing happened at all. Or if it did, nothing will come to pass from it. Of course, there are other options you might pursue if there is a child.” She glanced away, staring intently at the still life hung over the bedside table. “You could marry Lord Wrotham.”
Charlotte shuddered and slid lower beneath the covers. “I would never do such a thing to Nash.” She hardly knew how she would face the man, let alone think about marrying him and foisting the child of another man off on him.
“I do not mean for you to marry him without telling him your plight,” Jane said, her lips pinched. “I would never suggest such a dishonorable thing.” Her face softened. “Besides, he knows what happened, Charlotte. He loves you. I believe he would marry you still.”
He did love her. And she loved him. The ache in her heart deepened. How could she tell him she carried another man’s child? If she did. She shook her head so violently pain shot through it once more. “I cannot do that to him, Jane. The child could be his heir.”
“It would be his decision to make. Do you think he will stand by and see you disgraced?” Jane sniffed and rose. “He’d publicly announce you carried his child and force you into marriage whether you liked it or not.”
Nash would do exactly that. And her father would smile all the way down the aisle. Tears trickled down her cheeks, wetting the coverlet. Soon she’d be a blubbering mess. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Time would tell if there would be anything to regret. Until then, she must keep this secret.
“Then we must be careful not to let him know anything.” Charlotte tried to sit up in the bed, in her haste falling back down onto the pillows. “You can make my excuses tonight at dinner and tomorrow. After this weekend I can keep to the Park and live quietly until I know something for certain.”
“When did you have your courses last?” Jane’s voice continued in its matter-of-fact tone.
“About two weeks ago. But . . .” Charlotte bit her lip.
“But?”
“I am never very regular. Before this last time I hadn’t had them since July.”
Jane sighed. “That will make it more difficult to ascertain if you are breeding or not. However, if you have seen nothing after three or four months, or if you become ill in the mornings, I would say you are. We will simply have to wait and see.”
Not simple at all, but she would find a way to endure the wait.
Her cousin headed toward the door, then turned back, fixing Charlotte with a direct gaze. “Your hiding in here will not serve, you know. Wrotham will suspect something. If you are ill both tonight and for the Harvest Home, I daresay Nash will send for Mr. Putnam. I understand the man carries his leeches in a special porcelain jar.”
Charlotte shuddered, torn between the equally real horrors of leeches and humiliation. Jane knew exactly what threats to administer, but this time shame won out. “I cannot meet Nash, Jane. I simply cannot.” Charlotte stopped and stared at her. “They all know, don’t they? All the guests know what happened.” She’d never be able to show her face in society again.
“All they know is that Kersey and Nash became embroiled in a fight,” Jane said, offering a glimmer of hope. “Maria’s entrance prevented any questions about the reason for it. So I doubt anyone save Rose and I, and the three of you, know anything of your involvement. That, perhaps, will be your saving grace. If the earl doesn’t want a more thorough thrashing, he’ll keep his mouth shut.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “One hopes he would have more sense than to brag to his bride about such things. We can act as if you had nothing to do with the fracas, but only if you put in an appearance tonight and at the festival tomorrow.”
Charlotte winced but nodded. Somehow she would find the strength to laugh and talk with Nash as though none of this had happened. All the while chastising herself for not realizing until too late how precious he was to her. A fool indeed.
* * *
More carefree than Nash had ever seen her, Charlotte laughed during dinner and tapped her fan on St. Just’s arm. Seated this time midway down the table from his hostess, he sipped his wine, puzzled. After last night’s events he’d expected a more somber Charlotte, yet here
she was, determined to live up to her reputation of the wicked widow. He’d been certain that sobriquet was false; however, with tonight’s performance, he wasn’t so sure.
After welcoming him, Lady Cavendish had kept her distance, moving away whenever he tried to get close enough for a private word with her. She’d watched him, however.
He’d caught her glancing at him throughout the evening, with a frantic air of gaiety he didn’t understand.
Georgina, his dinner partner to his right, played with her wineglass. She glanced from Nash to Charlotte, her small brows puckering. “Has there been any advancement on that front, Nash?”
He shook his head and set his glass back on the table. “I haven’t seen her since . . . I went to London.” Except for the few minutes last night, when he’d seen all too much. God, but he itched to pound the blighter’s face once more. And shake Charlotte until her teeth rattled in her head. She’d said Kersey had invited himself to the party. Didn’t she know she couldn’t trust him an inch? “She’s scarcely spoken to me tonight.” Little wonder after that scene. He sighed, a chill of despair washing through him. What could he do when the woman he loved made it clear she did not love him? One of Dante’s circles of Hell would be easier to live through than his pursuit of Charlotte.
Georgina peered around, then bent her head toward him. “I believe she’s particularly upset tonight. Did you hear about the scandal?” she whispered.
“What scandal?” His blood raced at the word. He’d prayed the fight in Charlotte’s room had gone undetected. “Something happened more scandalous than last night’s little entertainment?”
“I’m sure you had more than sufficient reason to accost Lord Kersey.” Georgie patted his arm. “You really gave him a thorough grubbing. Do you train at Mr. Jackson’s?”
“Yes, I have sparred there from time to time.”
“I daresay Lord Kersey wishes he had done so as well.”
A burst of laughter from the head of the table as Charlotte giggled shamelessly with St. Just.
Nash pressed his lips together so firmly they drew inward. For God’s sake, why was the woman flirting with the marquess? He should not have come tonight.
A tug on his coat sleeve brought his attention back to Georgina.
“I heard she is breeding!”
“Charlotte?” His stomach dropped into his shoes.
“Maria Wickley!” she hissed, smacking his arm.
Nash covered his eyes briefly, relief flooding though him, then reached for his wine. “The little mouse?”
“She didn’t act very mouse-like last night, if you recall.” Georgie glanced at Charlotte. “Sometimes the mouse stands up to the cat.”
“Maria certainly did that last night.” Nash sipped some more wine. The shy widow had surprised him with her ferocious manner.
“She arrived here yesterday, distraught, and after a conference with Jane and Charlotte, retired to her room.” Georgie continued, twirling her glass faster. “She didn’t come down for dinner but left abruptly with Lord Kersey. Later, Jane told me, in strictest confidence, Maria suspected she was increasing. But she wouldn’t reveal the father’s identity.” Georgie sat back, an arch smile on her face. “I suppose that is a secret no more. I doubt Lord Kersey would have taken her with him otherwise.”
“Indeed.” Nash drained his glass. The revelation of Maria’s plight, while startling—he’d never for a moment believed that young woman to be so bold—did not weigh heavy on his mind. Kersey had come up to scratch as he ought and Maria would be Lady Kersey well before the child’s birth. A common enough occurrence for ton progeny to be born less than nine months after its parents’ wedding. Society now thought little of it.
Did he need to worry about that circumstance? He thought he’d stopped Kersey in time last night, but he couldn’t be sure. Christ. He couldn’t very well ask, although the answer would be apparent in three or four months’ time. So, the question for him became, could he take a woman to wife who bore another man’s child?
He turned his gaze to Charlotte once more and caught her attention. She stopped in midsentence, staring at him. Her deep green eyes suddenly misted. She closed them, seemed to gather strength, and resumed her conversation with Lord St. Just, once more the cheerful hostess.
Nash sighed, blowing away the weight of the decision. He could no more abandon his lady than he could set fire to Wrotham Hall. Much as he would like to deny it, she’d become part and parcel of his life, whether she acknowledged it or not. And if the unfortunate situation came to pass, he would do everything in his power to save her from the ton’s censure.
He’d look forward to the outing tomorrow, to the festival. With a little harvest luck, perhaps he could convince Charlotte that no matter the circumstance—her father, Lord Kersey, a possible child, or even her own stubborn nature—he would allow nothing to deter him from marrying her.
Chapter 28
Next morning, Nash timed his arrival at Lyttlefield Park for ten o’clock exactly. The judging of the produce, one of his major duties at the Harvest Home, began at noon. This circumstance gave him plenty of time to collect Charlotte and Georgina, drive out to the festival site, and explore some of the stalls before he had to commence his official duties. He hoped Charlotte would enjoy this rustic celebration as much as he did.
Fisk showed him into a hall that bustled with the gathering company. He nodded to Brack and St. Just, who stood talking just outside the drawing room. Fanny strolled down the stairs toward a waiting Lord Lathbury. Servants ran to and fro fetching hats and cloaks. When he entered the room, Jane, George, and Georgina sat sipping tea, unconcerned with the bedlam that seemed to be increasing out in the corridor. Charlotte was nowhere in sight.
“Wrotham.” George hastily set down his teacup and rose to greet Nash. “Good to see you, old chap.” He grasped Nash’s hand like a drowning man. “Such hubbub going on since I arrived.” George lowered his voice. “I’m glad to get out of the house today. A diversion of some sort is the very thing called for. Last night’s entertainment went off deucedly odd.”
Nash cocked his head. He’d been forced to leave immediately after dinner to coordinate with Mr. Kelliam, the ex-Bow Street Runner he’d hired to secure the properties today. The man had arrived late from London and Nash had worked with him far into the night to assure that the festival would go off without incident. Apparently, he’d missed something significant at Lyttlefield in the process.
“What’s happened now, George?” Best to ask and get it out in the open. He wanted no surprises today.
“Nothing actually happened, although our hostess has been acting deucedly strange.” George stared longingly at the sideboard, containing a full decanter, then shook his head. “You told me she was a sensible woman.”
“Charlotte? Of course she is. Why would you say that?” A sudden rush of dread sent a chill through him.
“Because after you excused yourself and left, the woman forgot to leave the table.”
“What?” Nash lowered his voice, though heads turned their way.
“She seemed to sink into her own world.” George leaned in to whisper. “At one point Lathbury had to speak her name twice before she acknowledged him, and he was her dinner companion.”
“But she did finally rise and retire with the ladies?” Damned strange behavior for Charlotte. Their imbroglio had affected her worse than he’d feared.
“With Lady Georgina’s prompting. By then the clock had struck eleven. Never wanted a drink so bad in my life.” Poor George sounded so aggrieved, Nash almost felt sorry for him. “I had Mrs. Easton on my right side and she provided little in the way of entertainment, I must say. More engaged with Brack.” George’s long-suffering look made him want to laugh, but his comments about Charlotte’s behavior were sobering.
“Did Charlotte improve later in the evening?” Nash glanced at the doorway, expecting her appearance at any second. They needed to leave soon.
“By the time we joined the l
adies, she had retired. Lady Georgina made her excuses. A severe headache.” George cut his eyes at Nash. “Same reason for her absence yesterday.” He raised his hand as if swiftly downing a glass. “Bit of a tippler, eh? Demned shame, that. Fine figure of a woman.” Shaking his head, George caught Jane’s pointed stare and hastily joined her on the sofa.
“Hmmm.” Nash knit his brows, determined to get to the bottom of this. Charlotte had never drunk to excess as far as he knew. Had she been foxed that night with Kersey?
Charlotte strode into the drawing room, her deep blue cloak already donned and a fetching brown velvet bonnet gracing her head. He stopped, entranced as always by the beauty before him.
“My dears, we must make haste. Lord Wrotham will be here any moment and we will not want to keep him waiting,” Charlotte said, going directly to the two women still seated.
Unperturbed, Jane sipped the last of her tea. “You are somewhat behind hand this morning, it seems. He is already come.” She nodded toward Nash.
Charlotte whirled about, her cloak swirling around her. She paled a trifle as she focused on his face. “My lord, I beg your pardon. I was not informed that you had arrived.” Color rose in her cheeks, dispelling the pallor. She stood silent, simply staring at him, her gaze boring into him with a sadness he did not understand. Finally, she commented, “I am sorry you were called away last evening.”
“As was I, my lady.” Nash spoke carefully, still unsure of her reaction to him. “An unfortunate necessity, I’m afraid. However, I am quite looking forward to today’s festival.” He smiled to encourage her. “I hope you will find it as charming as I do.”
“I am sure it will be as delightful as the other wonders of Wrotham you’ve shown us,” she said, then blushed and avoided his eyes. “Come, Georgie.” She turned toward the sofa. “We don’t want to miss a moment of the festivities.”
Georgie set down her cup and rose, glancing sheepishly at Nash. “I know you so generously offered to escort both Charlotte and me today.” She twisted her hands and hurried on. “However, my brother has requested that I attend with him and Lord St. Just. Would it be too terribly awful of me to renege on my promise?”
