by Sophia Nash
He obviously regretted his impetuous proposal and now was embarrassed to have to face her without the safety of others about him. Lord, he probably worried that she expected him to offer for her again now that the burial was over.
Until this morning at the church, she had not seen him since the day he had brought her father’s lifeless body back to the cottage. And today he had barely said three words and only touched her when she swayed as the earth hit the coffin. She dreaded their next meeting.
A drop of rain fell on her nose, and Charlotte looked up to find that the umbrella had sprung a leak. She sighed and turned toward the direction of the cottage. There was no escaping the future.
For four days he had planned a proper proposal, then deconstructed it, and re-planned it again, and again. The first time he had been too hasty and ill-prepared in the heat of the moment and the shock of death. This time it would be different.
As he walked to her cottage the morning after the funeral, he thought about his tactics one last time. He would not relent no matter what flimsy line of reasoning she offered. Nicholas had prepared rational counterarguments to her every possible hesitation. He must get past her pride, past her defenses, and he would do it in a much more facile manner than if it had been any other lady. He would use logic, as that is what it would take to win over a cerebral female such as Charlotte.
There was not a single doubt in his mind that he must take care of her. Her brother thought she would be able to find a good position in London as an elderly lady’s companion or nurse. Nicholas snorted in disgust. He had promised James that he would ensure Charlotte’s employment was everything good and secure. But unlike her brother, he was not willing to desert her, whether she valiantly argued against him or not. Oh, he would win her all right, as he had won almost every battle during the war. And he would do it because she had cut through his hardened shell as swiftly and easily as a surgeon with a sharpened knife She had taught him how to hope again, to never give up. Perhaps he would be able to read and write with a degree of proficiency that would live up to an abbreviated set of expectations. He highly doubted he would ever master enough to allow him to oversee the Cavendish wealth and properties. And it mattered little in his role as an officer as long as Charley stood by him. Reading was of little value in the corridors of war.
Very early in life he had, by necessity, replaced his great desire to stretch his intellectual abilities with an ironclad will to succeed in the profession his father and he had chosen for him—the military. And he had done it. He had become the top marksman of all the other officers in the 95th Rifleman’s. He had synchronized and carried out more ambushes, lost fewer men, garnered more respect and commendations than others with his high rank. Yet, he had felt little pride in these accomplishments. They were marred by the horror and omnipresent stench of death on the battlefield.
He wanted to sustain life and help fellow beings, not kill them. With a small smile, he realized all this soft living was making him as weak as a child and as philosophical as a gentleman with too much idle time on his hands.
Charlotte had given him hope, and now he must give something back to her—security. The protection of his name. And if she would not choose to follow him to whatever far-flung post he was assigned, then he would settle her wherever she would like to reside. Anywhere except here, Wyndhurst Abbey. He would keep his promise to his family by allowing his half brother to rule the roost. By staying away he would not dilute any question of Edwin’s authority.
But what of the question of possible heirs? It had been his father’s primary concern. While Charlotte might be able to teach any child of theirs who might inherit his failing to read at a rudimentary level at least, Nicholas could not bear the idea of watching a son struggle through life as he had. The taunts, the pity, the destruction of the ego. He couldn’t, wouldn’t watch it all unfold again to his own flesh and blood. And there was a good chance the flaw would be even further pronounced in an offspring. It was often the case with deficiencies.
Would she agree to forgo the physical intimacy marriage embodied? Could he? He was very unsure of his ability to restrain himself over the course of a lifetime. Could they practice methods to ensure that their relations would not bear fruit? It was the only question that gave him pause. If she desired children, his plan would fail. But then he would argue that the long-term protection offered by marriage was far superior than the often temporary comforts provided to companions of ladies in the often short, final years of their lives.
As he crested the last small hill before the little cottage came into view, Nicholas reached down and rubbed the tight muscle in his thigh. The break was all but healed, though he still experienced an achiness upon waking and occasional clenched muscles. He remembered Dr. Kittridge’s gentle ministrations and vowed to repay his kindness by marrying the daughter. The other reason he would marry her, he refused to admit to himself.
Charlotte had slept very little last night. The bleak truth of her future had taken hold while she had sorted through her father’s personal effects last evening. James had gone to the abbey instead. It had been the first time she had had a taste of what it would be like to be entirely alone. To her surprise, she felt no terrifying waves of fright. Only the grief of loss. She would recover and she would go on—alone.
She wondered, as she performed her simple morning toilette, if she would be leaving in a fortnight to live with the Dowager Countess of Livingston, whose corpulent form suffered from gout. Or possibly Mrs. Smith-Pennington, who was hopelessly deaf. The least-pleasing scenario would entail caring for Lady Sorringham, a virago of the worst sort who suffered from excellent health, despite her constant stream of complaints. At least Charlotte would be secure in that position, as she was sure Lady Sorringham would outlive her by a decade at the very least.
Her reverie was broken by the sound of a knock on the door below. Doro was talking to the visitor—a man, by the tone of the voice. Charlotte had told Doro that she would receive no more visitors today except Alexandre, who had promised to stop by to make arrangements for her departure for London. She did not have any energy left to receive more calls from the well-intentioned inhabitants of this corner of Wiltshire. She was putting the last of the pins in her chignon when Doro knocked on the door.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, it’s his lordship, come to call. Says it be of an urgent nature, it is,” said the maid through a crack in the door.
“Lord Huntington?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Please inform him that I’ll be down in a moment.” A tight knot formed in her stomach. She had not even had her morning tea. Not that it mattered. She had had no appetite for anything at all since Papa’s death.
He stood at the same window he always chose, wearing a new green Rifleman’s uniform. His striking and familiar form made her catch her breath. He was all masculine angles and muscled planes, but his expression was unreadable when he turned to face her. He was here to bid her good-bye. He was, quite obviously, leaving for Paris.
“Miss Kittridge,” he said, bowing.
Charlotte curtsied, then stood still.
Lord Huntington walked over to her and grasped her hand in his own. “I apologize for not coming earlier to formally express my sadness over the loss of your good father. He will be missed by all who knew him. I have not known anyone so willing to exert every ounce of himself in the performance of his chosen profession,” he said, pausing. “I am so very sorry.”
“I thank you for your formal call.” She halted, unsure of how to continue. “I am unpardonably early, but to be frank, I hoped to have a private word with you before others come to call.”
She looked down at his large bronzed hand. It was so warm and comforting. She was intensely aware of his body only a pace away from hers. It would be easy to take that one step into his arms. And he would hold her close to his heart, filling her with that rush of emotion she tried to force herself not to relive every day. But it would be out of pity or gratitu
de only, a poor relation of the passion she felt flowing through her veins.
“Miss Kittridge . It has been many weeks since I have found you to be one of the most admirable women I have ever known.”
Good God. His conscience had gotten the better of him. He felt impelled to do the honorable thing and propose to her once more.
“There are many, many reasons why I am here this morning, and I must be allowed the time to elaborate, for once I have explained all, it is my hope that your wishes will coincide with my own.”
She looked up to find his heavy-lidded eyes studying her face. The intensity of the feelings his proximity engendered within her breast forced her to lower her gaze to a spot just below his right shoulder. She watched his powerful chest rise and fall with each breath he took.
He squeezed her hand gently. “Charlotte. I hope you will allow me to call you that now?” She gave a very brief nod of her head, not daring to look at him again.
“Charlotte. I desire to marry you,” he hesitated, then rushed on. “With your father gone, and your brother soon to leave, you will be left on your own. And a single female, all alone in the world, is easy prey for all sorts of cruel mishaps. While I am sure you would be able to secure a post, what would befall you if that person died and your services were no longer sought by another lady? Or what if you should fall ill—too ill to perform your duties, and were therefore let go without references?”
Charlotte half listened to the continuing stream of depressing scenarios he presented. How was she to find the strength to refuse him when she desired more than anything else the possibility of being by his side always? Her pride was not that strong. Perhaps she would be able to live happily with him. She would love him more than life itself, and he would admire her. Admire her.
He would admire her but not love her. She forced herself to remember that he made his proposal because her father was dead and her brother was to leave her as well.
If she married him, she would fall deeper and deeper in love with him until she would hate herself because she would be unable to gain his love. And she would end up losing the meager amount of self-worth she had worked so hard to retain. She would go to her grave desperately wishing he loved her as she loved him. She would become a grasping female.
She shook her head slightly to rid herself of the unappealing thought. “My lord, I am aware of the great honor you do me in proposing to join our lives together. But, I fear you have taken too much upon yourself in an effort to be noble. You are not responsible for my brother or me. If you must perform a service, let James’s commission fulfill that need. That is much more than either of us ever expected.”
“Yes, well, I was aware that in securing a commission for your brother, I would be taking him away from you. I must be allowed to right that wrong. Surely, Charlotte, you must see that it is the only logical course.”
“No, my lord,” she said quietly, garnering the courage to look at his earnest expression. “It would prove to be a disastrous course. I am aware that His Grace and the duchess, as well as Lord Edwin, would never approve of a union between us. And I am also aware that you promised to never marry. I would not be the impetus for you to break your word. And you would regret your actions within a month’s time.”
“I had taken an oath never to marry. But in fact, my father never forced this promise from me. It was I who made it voluntarily. I have decided that it is in our best interests that I reverse my decision.” He tugged at her chin to bring her gaze back to his.
He looked so impossibly handsome. It was all unbearably tempting. She only had to say one word. But she could not.
“I made that promise when I was seventeen, when I had shown no aptitude for the huge responsibility that awaited me when the title and the properties would come to me. Edwin suffered none of my numerous failings. I was relieved to be unburdened by the prospect of a lifetime of tangible failures, from which my family and the families dependent on the dukedom would suffer. And so, I promised to immerse myself in military service to the Crown—or to die trying.”
“And your father allowed this? Surely it was not his idea?” she asked.
“Actually, the duchess proposed it when I told them I would not live another moment within the confines of Wyndhurst. My father did not oppose the idea when I agreed to it.” He paused for a moment to run the back of his hand along her cheek. “But Charlotte, so much has happened since then. Not the least of which is your doing. It is by your encouragement that I am trying to learn once again. Most likely I will never reach a plateau that would render me capable of assuming the duties of a duke. In fact, since I have yet to conquer numbers, I highly doubt it. But, at least I will never have to fear that I am unable to continue on as before, as an officer of the 95th Rifleman.”
“So, I would not have to live here?” she asked with wonder.
“Correct,” he said, with the glint of a smile. “I am certain that will be an added inducement. And you would have a choice as to where you would live—either in the small but quite lovely town house my maternal grandparents left to me in London, or you could follow the drum or accompany me to any postings I might receive.”
Oh, he was very persuasive. Did he realize that the offer to possibly see her brother from time to time would be an enticement almost impossible to resist? She closed her eyes, searching for the strength to deny herself.
“There is one last point I must touch on,” he said.
Charlotte opened her eyes and looked at his closed expression.
“Because this would be a marriage of convenience for you, I would not require you to perform any wifely duties.”
What? What was he saying?
“That is… any activities that would result in the conception of a child.”
Charlotte’s hands were cold, and she could feel all the blood suddenly rushing away from her head. How utterly mortifying. He found her so lacking that he could not bring himself to desire a child by her. The tiny sliver of pride she could claim her own came roaring to life.
“So let me see if I understand your offer,” she said. “If we were to marry, I would be offered the choice of living comfortably, tucked away in London, or following you about like a loyal puppy to perhaps see my brother. I would be kept away from the critical eyes of the ton and your family, but provided for like a, like a— well-cared for distant relative? With nothing expected of me in return?”
It was amazing how much she could not abide pity. And pity from the person she loved was the most painful hurt of all. It gave backbone to her resolve.
“Charlotte, no!” he replied. “You have twisted my words quite thoroughly.”
“Have I?”
“Yes. I would never classify you as a distant relative.”
“Then what would be my role?”
“You would be my wife, and as such would have the protection of my name.”
“Yes, this you already mentioned. So, I suppose that after the wedding night, and required consummation, I would be free to live my life however I choose?” she asked, then rushed on, “But then, perhaps consummation would not be required?”
His short hesitation was all Charlotte needed to form another layer of protection for her fragile heart.
“I am not sure, but I believe consummation—a one-time affair—would be required to legalize our wedding vows. If we are careful, it is highly doubtful a child would be conceived.”
“Ah .”
He pulled her into his arms. Try as she might she could not raise her arms to resist his embrace. It felt so good to be held. But she forced herself to remain stiff, her nose buried in his neck cloth. She breathed in his warm, masculine scent. Her resolve was so very weak, weaker than at any other time in her life. She wanted him so very badly. She wanted the comfort of his arms, his name, and more so, the possibility of seeing him— even if only for short periods in her life. A little voice also reminded her that she would never force him to remain by her side. It was too much. She wasn’t sure she
could refuse him, even when her pride screamed no.
“Charlotte, please say yes. I promise to take care of you. And I promise everything will be all right,” he said quietly into her hair.
“All right… yes,” she whispered, desire triumphing over pride. What was she saying? She had meant to say the opposite.
He squeezed her. “I promise you will not come to regret it.”
“I wish I could say the same to you, my lord.”
“Do you think you might be able to call me Nicholas? The occasion calls for it,” he said, pulling back to look at her. A sudden wave of shyness engulfed her. “Yes, of course… Nicholas.”
“Well, then, it is all settled. I am sorry your circumstances will force you to marry me before the proper amount of mourning time for your father has passed, Charlotte.” His tone had changed from tender to efficient. “And of course, you will still be able to wear mourning for a year or for as long as you choose.”
Charlotte felt faint. This was all too fast, too unreal. “How soon would we have to marry?”
“I am afraid it will have to be as soon as your brother accepts his commission. I would not want you to have to live alone in this cottage,” he said. “I arranged everything in London a few days ago whither I went to discuss my future position with the Military Secretary at the Horse Guards. I was also able to purchase the commission, and arrange for a special license in Canterbury.”
How mortifying. He had arranged for a special license, knowing she would accept his offer—so sure was he in his success. She swallowed her hurt. It was too late now. She had agreed to marry a man who did not love her.
“You will inform your family, then?” “Yes. They will be delighted to accept you into the family,” he said. Charlotte remembered the painful scene between Nicholas and his father when he had been near death, and felt a knot form in her stomach. “Nicholas, please let there be a minimum of falsehoods between us. I know I will not be welcomed. But, it does not matter. We will not be living here. And at least Rosamunde will accept me as a sister, I believe.”
