“Did you love her?” Charity asked. She knew that the question would be improper to most, but they now shared a kinship and, besides, she needed to know.
“I thought that I had,” he said with a shrug. “I was mistaken. Fooled by the art of deception.”
“I had no idea.”
He took a deep breath as if clearing his head. “It was a long time ago,” he explained. “I was young and not so knowledgeable. I only wish that I knew then what I know today.” He closed his fingers around her gloved hand, his fingers warm against hers.
Charity was confused by his words but he said nothing further. She was afraid to press for she was beginning to realize that the more that she learned about Lord Wentwell, the more she was drawn to him. Every detail circulated about the Ton was false, a creation of his protective barrier. She had to pick apart the rumor bit by bit to find the truth. She was beginning to see that there was much more to him than met the eye and, what was hidden, was a puzzle that she longed to solve.
~.~
Neville sat back and watched Lady Charity for a few moments as he realized she was indeed serious. She had taken his word and placed her trust in it. He would never have expected such a gift and vowed not to misuse it. In that moment, he knew that she was a different kind of woman, an honest woman in every sense of the word. He had suspected it from the moment he saw her and she had chided him, and challenged him to be better. He had watched her lips tremble as the weight of her future weighed on her. Now, as she learned the truth of him, he could see that it had turned her world upside down.
“I have acted the fool,” he said, “And I have hurt people. I thought of what you said to me many times. I have played with women’s hearts. I did not know how fragile those hearts might be until lately.” He thought of his own heart, and how hurt he had been by the Ton, and most especially by the lady beside him when his own reputation, a reputation that he had cultivated, kept her from his side. “I did not think people would so easily believe the worst of me, especially the ladies.”
“I do not believe they do,” Lady Charity said, and when he meant to disagree, she continued. “They think the worst of themselves.”
He frowned. “How so?” he asked confused.
And blushing she replied, “They ask themselves, if they were in Miss Danbury’s place or a similar situation, would they be so sorely tempted.”
The blush on her face, and the grip she had on her fan spoke volumes to him, and he smiled a secret smile that made him feel warm inside.
She did not look at him, but he looked very carefully at her, memorizing every nuance of her face, the thought that she would want him made his heart sing.
They sat in companionable silence the rest of the way to her home, and Neville wondered at her ability to be so still when most women found silence daunting. The footman opened the door and he alighted first. He helped Lady Charity to the ground and walked with her to her door. Neville led Charity slowly. He did not want to part from her. He bowed low over her hand and kissed it tenderly. When he stood back up, he lifted a hand to her face and restrained himself from kissing her there on the front step, instead he cupped her chin and stared into her eyes. She reached up, unexpectedly to touch the forming bruise below his eye. Her touch was tenderness itself, and then she let her hand drop to her side.
“Had I known earlier what I know now, Lady Charity, I would never have chosen to play the game I played. I would do naught to upset you.” He knew he had hurt her, however unintentionally.
“It can still be undone,” she whispered. “You need only allow the truth to come to light.”
He paused a moment and then continued. “Your father gave me leave to court you,” he said. “But I do not believe your father was entirely clear about my identity at the time. Still, I believe, asking your cousin for permission would be a mistake.”
“Lud yes!” she exclaimed.
“And so, I think you are a lady who knows her own mind. I would like to call upon you, to court you with intent to marry.”
Charity felt her heart leap for joy, but she nodded her assent coolly. Then she said with a twinkle in her eye, “but has that not been what we have been doing, Lord Wentwell?”
“How so?”
“I know your family secrets; you know mine…” she quipped.
“I’ve met your mother; you’ve met mine,” he countered, and Charity blushed embarrassed. “Oh, but I have never apologized for the way my mother treated you, or the awful things I said at the opening ball.” she said. Her hand went to her mouth.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said. “That was a lifetime ago, Lady Charity, and you mother was only protecting you.” He took a deep breath. “I hope to convince The Lady Shalace, that I am not a complete libertine. I might ask you to ease that path.”
Her lips quirked up in a smile. “I will,” she promised.
“Then, until the morrow,” he said with a bow. He turned with a grin. “Will it be too early if I arrive before noon?”
“I shall have breakfast set,” she promised and with that hope in her heart, Lord Wentwell was back in the carriage and it was pulling away.
Lady Charity stood watching it for a minute before entering the house. It was quiet, which meant her mother was still out, and her father, agitated earlier in the day, had retired for the night. Charity also retired to her room and spent the evening reading and waiting for her mother to return from her card playing with Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Sullivan. She contemplated the events of the afternoon and wondered how she might smooth The Earl of Wentwell’s way with her mother. She was not quite sure what she would tell her mother about Lord Wentwell, only that she must do so.
~.~
Chapter Twenty-Five
The conversation with Lady Shalace did not go half so badly as Charity expected. Her mother paced the floor of the parlor and railed at her for changing her mind from the numerous available peers that she had presented, to James Poppy to Michael Poppy and finally to The Earl of Wentwell. When Charity finally exasperated, said, “What do you want me to do, Mother? I can’t be you!”
“Oh Charity,” her mother replied. “I never wanted you to be me. Quite the contrary, I only wanted one thing for you, Charity. To be happy. That is all I have ever wanted for you.” She came to Charity and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You do not care about the rumors?” Charity said, looking at her mother, and sizing up her feelings.
“I do,” Her mother said grasping Charity’s shoulders. “I know how it feels to live your life surrounded by rumor, to fight your way through every event and know that even your closest friends are most likely close to you because they wish a scrap of gossip, not because they care about you.”
“My friends care about me,” Charity said.
“Good,” her mother said pacing away again. “I am glad, and I want you to have a husband who cares about you too. That is of the utmost importance.” She turned to face her daughter. “A woman alone in the world is a frightening prospect.”
“A husband that I love,” Charity urged.
“A husband that loves you,” Lady Shalace corrected. “It is more important that he loves you, than that you love him, and this is even more paramount now that your father is ill and cannot protect you.”
“I think both are important,” Charity said.
“And so you have found this paragon, have you? At Lady Amelia’s tea.”
Charity blushed, thinking she never even made it to the tea. “I have found him,” she said. “But you have to let him court me,” she said.
“If he is who you wish, Charity I will consider him. Who is the gentleman?” Lady Shalace sat on the settee and looked up a Charity awaiting her response.
“Lord Wentwell,” Charity said.
“The rake? Oh Charity.”
“No Mother. NO. He is not a rake. The Ton has branded him so, but it is not true. Surely you see how wrong the Ton can be. Surely you know this. They wronged you all those years, M
other. I know it. I know that you love Father. No one thinks it is so, but I see the truth of it, just as I see the truth of Lord Wentwell. Let him present himself. Please Mother. Give him a chance to prove himself worthy of my love.”
“You love this man?” Lady Shalace said, shaking her head.
“I do.”
Her mother pursed her lips, and Charity wasn’t sure which way the conversation would go, but she knew how to swing it to her favor. “I have a confession to make,” Charity said.
Lady Shalace looked at her, a frown of worry crossing her usually smooth brow.
“It is about the concert. When Father had his episode…” She sat beside her mother then, and took her mother’s hand in her own. Charity took a deep breath and relayed the entirety of the incident, including Lord Wentwell’s part of it. When she was finished, her mother had a better opinion of Lord Wentwell. Charity did not tell her of the incident with Lord Wentwell’s brother. That was not her story to tell.
~.~
Chapter Twenty-Six
The following morning, Lord Wentwell arrived at Lady Charity’s home at the earliest possible calling hour, and as promised, she had breakfast set. He decided that, he was not going to let the young lady out of his sight until she was safely his. He could not ask her to marry him so soon, but he escorted her to every event for the next week. Whispers followed him, as whispers always followed members of the Ton. Of course the first of those rumors was how he got his blackened eye. The most prevalent idea was that he had engaged in fisticuffs over a young lady. Of course, since Lady Charity Abernathy was the only young lady he had escorted in the past six days, rumor held that she was the lady in question.
“I do wish I had been left out of your rumors,” Lady Charity said without venom. “But I suppose you cannot help it. Rumor sticks to you like flies to …sugar,” she said sweetly. With that, she informed him that she had let slip to a gentleman dance partner that Lord Wentwell had not engaged in fisticuffs at all. He had simply run into a tree branch and was too embarrassed to tell the tale of how he got his black eye.
“Surely you did not,” he said. He was just a tad annoyed at the thought, and then he smiled. “They will believe anything, will they not?”
“I think they will,” she said and suddenly, it became a game to see who could make the most outrageous claims.
“I heard it was a carriage door,” he told her later in the night as they shared a waltz. “I apparently am quite clumsy.”
She giggled and told him that she had heard he had been attacked by a highwayman, fell down some stairs and was kicked by a horse.
“A horse? Surely not.” He frowned. “You do not think it had anything to do with the previous rumor about my stablemaster do you?”
Charity shook her head. “You did manage to put that rumor to rest, I think.” At Charity’s urging, he had given Miss Danbury and his stable master three good mares, and a young stallion and sent them on their way to the colonies. Her father, the baronet was boasting that his daughter was marrying a man with land, if not a title, but that was yet another rumor, growing more with the telling. Still, some of the Ton insisted that Miss Danbury had run off with the stablemaster. At least Lord Wentwell’s name was absent from the latest rumors about Miss Danbury.
~.~
As the dance ended, Lord Wentwell stood, still holding Lady Charity’s hand and asked, “What on earth was I doing, that I was kicked in the face by a horse?”
Lady Charity collapsed into giggles and Lord Wentwell just shook his head. There was no explaining rumor.
Reluctantly, he let Charity go, to dance with Colonel Ranier. Neville was not happy that he had to let her dance with others, but even married couples rarely danced with each other. As much as he wanted to keep her to himself, he had to be satisfied with only two, or perhaps three dances per event. He had managed to enlist his friend’s help to be sure that she did not dance with Michael Poppy…just in case she had any feeling for the man after all.
Now, Lady Charity was dancing with Lord Beresford who was already married to Charity’s good friend, Patience. Neville could finally relax.
“You know,” Reginald told his friends as Neville paused for a drink. “Captain Hartfield says wagers are being taken that your wedding will be celebrated before Christmas. I told Hartfield, you shall not make it until Christmas. I think you will not make it to the end of the summer. What say you, Wentwell?”
“Hmm?” Neville said. He was busy watching Lady Charity dance the quadrille. She and Lord Beresford had joined Flora Muirwood and James Poppy. He wanted to be sure that none of the gentlemen became overly friendly with her. It was irksome that he could not dance every dance with her.
“Shall I take that bet?” Samuel asked, “Or are you going to dither around for another month or two?”
Neville glanced back at his friends.
“You have not heard a single word, have you?” Reginald asked.
“I have not,” Neville agreed. “So sorry.”
“End of summer latest,” Samuel said to Reginald and I’d give odds on it. Reginald agreed, and then Reginald danced with Miss Macrum, who was doing her best to wheedle a dance from Wentwell. Behind Miss Macrum’s head Reg shot Neville a look which said he was definitely going to pay for Reginald’s rescuing him from the strumpet.
~.~
Throughout the summer, Lady Charity had managed to avoid the busy body Miss Macrum, but today, Miss Macrum had become bold and Charity was annoyed with her constant insinuations. She knew it was not ladylike to confront her, but when she next tried to speak to Lord Wentwell, in Charity’s presence, Charity exchanged a glance with Lord Wentwell, and took the lady’s arm. For a moment, Miss Macrum tried to pull away, but Charity held fast, digging her fingers in so that the lady must follow or look rude.
“Won’t you excuse us, Lord Wentwell,” Charity said with a coy smile “I want to introduce Miss Macrum to two of my dear friends,” she said.
Charity marched right past Patience, Lady Amelia and the Beresford brothers. She walked past The Baron and Baroness Fawkland and The Captain and Mrs. Hartfield. Instead, Charity stopped in front of Mrs. Thompson and Mrs. Sullivan. “I want to introduce you to Miss Macrum,” she said to the ladies. “You remember when she was all mixed up with those rumors of Miss Danbury and the stable master.”
“I do,” Mrs. Sullivan said with a gleam in her eye.
“I had nothing to do with that,” Miss Macrum exclaimed.
“Of course not,” Charity said. “But like Miss Danbury, you are marrying for love, are you not?”
“Oh, I’m not marrying,” Miss Macrum said giving Charity a narrowed look, “unless I marry an earl.”
“But I thought you were in love,” Mrs. Thompson said wide eyed. “Did Lady Charity not just say that she was in love?” she inquired of Mrs. Sullivan.
“Miss Macrum just said she was not marrying,” Mrs. Sullivan replied. “Not ever?” Mrs. Sulllivan directed her question back to Miss Macrum. “Surely you are not one of those bluestockings, are you?”
“Terrible things,” Mrs. Thompson added. “But you are not one of those I think. No. Now do tell me, who is this gentleman you love? I think it is so romantic to marry so low, below your station, don’t you, Mrs. Sullivan?”
“So you were the lady who was involved with that stable boy?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.
Miss Macrum choked. “I’m not,” Miss Macrum interrupted, suddenly frantic, but Mrs. Sullivan talked right over her, “Or was it the stable master?”
“I thought it was the groom,” Mrs. Thompson said. “The stable master moved to the colonies with the other strumpet.”
Miss Macrum choked, but Mrs. Thompson patted Miss Macrum’s back gently. “It’s okay, dear,” she said. “We can’t all marry earls.”
“As long as you love him,” Mrs. Sullivan said.
Charity turned when she realized Lord Wentwell was at her elbow. “The waltz is about to begin,” he said. “I believe the dance is mine.”
“Oh, do excuse me,” Lady Charity said sweetly to Miss Macrum. “I’m sure Mrs. Sullivan and Mrs. Thomposn will keep you entertained.”
Miss Macrum looked positively trapped. Charity smiled all the way to the dance floor. She took Lord Wentwell’s hand and they began the dance. “That was masterfully done,” he said as he twirled her around the floor.
She laughed up at him thinking she would not lose this man. “I thought I should remove temptation,” she said.
“There is no temptation,” he told her, “But I am glad you decided to give Miss Macrum a bit of her own medicine.”
As they danced Charity got lost in Lord Wentwell’s green eyes, and soon realized that Lord Wentwell had danced them out onto one of the patios so prevalent in Bath. The cool evening air was bliss after the heat of the day.
~.~
For a moment Charity could not speak. Lord Wentwell had taken her gloved hand in his. His hands were so fine: long fingered, and the nails manicured. He gripped her hand firmly but not too tightly and began rubbing his thumb along the inside of her wrist. The movement sent shivers up her spine. There was something about that grip that spoke to her of masculinity. His was a hand that would hold her forever, and melt away the shadows of her heart. He was looking at her so seriously, and she realized, this was the moment.
This was the time, when he might ask her to marry him, and she would say yes. I shall marry you, and all she asked was that he promised to be honest with her and she should do the same.
“I am all butterflies,” she said.
“As am I,” he admitted.
She laughed, a soft feminine sound.
“In your quest to share your own feelings, Lady Charity, you have denied me mine,” Lord Wentwell said, “But I must speak.”
“I thought that gentlemen were all the cool collected logic and not given to flights of fancy,” she quipped.
The Deceptive Earl: Lady Charity Abernathy: A Regency Romance Novel Page 22
