Langley smiled with a slow shake of his head. “You deserve so much better. You deserve a man who will sing your praises to all around you, and tell you that you are the only woman for him.”
He paused, looking deeply into her eyes. “Charlotte, you are the only woman for me. You see me as I am, a simple man trapped in a prestigious role. Any woman could love the duke, but only you see the man.”
A mix of emotions whirled inside her. Fear and the urge to escape the room. Excitement, tinged with disbelief. Uncertainty. What did she want?
She had been in love with the duke, and when she met the man she felt horribly disillusioned. But was that just the façade he wore? The aloof air that kept others from seeing who he really was?
And then she saw it, the pieces of the mask falling away. She looked to the books on his desk. He’d been reading them, trying to discern how to communicate with her. He was just like her, intimidated by the need to converse with others. The books were his fortress, the same as hers. Perhaps he hadn’t changed from the gallant youth who would climb a tree to rescue a doll.
Where she withdrew from the crowd and watched from the fringes, he didn’t have that option. Everywhere he went people clambered for his notice. The only way he could protect himself was to throw up his icy shield to force others to keep their distance.
They were more alike than she could have ever imagined. She’d judged him harshly, and wrongly. Her hands shook once more and she toyed with the ribbon on her gown, which was sure to fray. “It is I who owe you an apology, Your Grace.”
“Whatever for?”
Charlotte forced herself to look at him, meet his gaze squarely. “You are wrong about me seeing the real man. As much as you did not see me, I saw only the duke, not Andrew Vickers. I fear I judged you on the same sort of behavior that kept you from noticing me.”
His shoulders lost some of their stiffness, but he still didn’t smile. “I see. And who do you believe is sitting beside you now?”
“A man. A very gentle and kind man.” Glancing at the books once more, she felt her cheeks grow warm. “Did you really hope to learn something in a book to help you speak to me?”
He chuckled, his gaze turning toward the shelves. “I did. You spend so much time with them, I thought if I could learn what the men on those pages were doing that held you so raptly, I could win your heart. I feared I would need to stir up a ghost, a thunderstorm and a sea cliff to capture your attention.”
Now Charlotte laughed. “That would be a bit much. I don’t think the other guests would appreciate the melodrama.”
“I care not what the others think, only you. I can offer you a ruined castle, if it will suffice.”
She shook her head, her entire being feeling light and airy at that moment. He was such a silly man, who could have guessed it?
His expression sobered. “Being my wife will not be easy. One would have to put up with my disinterest in Society. My preferences for being at home. There will be whispers about me whenever I go out, hints linking my name to some demimonde seeking notoriety. Do you understand this?”
Charlotte continued to look into his eyes, searching her own heart before answering. “Yes, sir.”
His lips thinned when he pressed on. “I cannot guarantee there would not be another scene like the one in the maze any time we attend an assembly. But I can guarantee it will not be at my instigation, and I will end it as quickly as humanly possible.”
Her throat was too dry to swallow. Her thoughts raced ahead, knowing what he was about to ask. Was she strong enough to accept a life such as that, knowing there would be people seeking to tarnish him at every turn?
“I don’t claim to know how love works,” he continued, “but I do plan to love my wife, and would be pleased if she could love me in return. Lady Charlotte, I am not a man of poetic turns of phrase. If there were time, I would read through every book on these shelves to find just the right words to assure you of my affections, new though they are. But I fear by waiting I might miss the chance to address the woman I have chosen to spend my life with. Can you accept me with these simple words…and agree to marry me, Charlotte?”
“Why me?”
Langley blinked, his lips parting. “I beg your pardon?”
“Almost any one of the ladies here is suited to what you describe. Why have you chosen me?”
He continued to study her for a moment, then his eyes smiled as if he understood what she needed to hear. “Among all the women I have known, you are the first to attempt to discern my character. To really know me, and not simply accept what others have said. You claim Lady Eleanore mentioned me enough, but you didn’t use what she said to claim your acquaintance with me. If I have understood you correctly, you seek to marry the man, not the title.”
He reached for her hand again, squeezing it gently. “Besides, you prefer the company of a book to a ballroom full of people, as do I. It is not enough to build a life on, but we can discover the other interests we share as we go along. So, what do you think? Will you have me, Andrew Vickers, the man?”
She tore her hand from his grasp and clasped the heart pendant, which felt as if it were burning her skin. She blinked rapidly as tears began to pool. “Yes, sir. I can accept you, and I do.”
“You do?” Langley let out a rush of air and laughed. “I am surprised, I must say.”
Charlotte grinned and dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief he produced from his pocket. “That will not do. The man who asks me to marry him does not believe I would do so.”
“Ah, but I trust you to know yourself well enough to agree, now that you’ve seen me for what I am.” He stood, tugging her into his arms. “I asked you once if I frighten you and you said only a little. Do I frighten you now?”
Her eyes wide, she shook her head, but the trembling of her body argued the point.
“I wonder.” He chuckled softly. He lifted her chin and pressed his lips to hers, inhaling her gasp. He kneaded his mouth on hers, taking as much from the sweet kiss as possible before pulling back.
When he lifted his head, Charlotte’s lashes fluttered, and she smiled up at him. Her stomach still quivered, but she felt surprisingly calm and peaceful. “That was very pleasant.”
He laughed loudly and set her away from him. “I’m glad you think so, as I hope to repeat the experience often. But we should find our mothers now and relieve them of their worries.”
Chapter Eight
The ballroom at Hawking Hall was alight with the glow of many candles and lamps, and two enormous chandeliers. Every one of his mother’s friends had come to the gala event, curious to learn if the duke had finally found a fiancée.
Langley watched Brooky sweep by in a waltz, followed by Charlotte in the arms of another guest. As a wave of jealousy consumed Langley, he wondered if she would be terribly disappointed if they attended very few balls in the future. The newness of his engagement had no bearing on his level of possessiveness.
Charlotte was his.
Not to own, or control, but her pleasure and enjoyment should be because of him, not some other man. He looked forward to discovering the many ways he could make her laugh. This realization caught him off guard. The strength of the emotion threatened to choke him. How had this happened?
She looked lovely, there was no mistaking it. Her ornate hairstyle of braids and curls didn’t overwhelm her face, which radiated pure joy. Had he truly considered her plain? Her nerves or insecurities must have kept her beauty hidden. Now he could imagine no other face he wished to see smiling up at him.
Lord Pinsley, Charlotte’s father, pushed his way through the crowd to Langley’s side. Thankfully, her father and her sister Alison had planned to attend the ball, and arrived Friday evening. The two men had been able to settle the engagement details, which would be put into writing soon.
Leaning in to be heard over the music, Lord Pinsley said, “I hear the bookmakers are struggling to pay off all the wagers on your betrothal.”
Shaking
his head, Langley grimaced. “Men will bet on the strangest things.” He suddenly recalled Brooky’s offer of a wager just days prior. He should have taken that bet, as events turned out.
“Had I been a betting man, I would have never put money on this match.” Pinsley took a swallow from his champagne flute.
Langley studied the older man from the corner of his eye. Pinsley couldn’t object to Langley as a son-in-law, as he’d agreed to let Langley speak to his older daughter. Thank goodness Langley had seen Lady Alison and Mr. Foster whispering as they stood in their own little world before he’d proposed.
Pinsley hadn’t mentioned the awkwardness of that situation. Perhaps Lady Pinsley had informed him of the events that had taken place since Lady Charlotte’s arrival at Hawking House. And as far as Langley was concerned, it was too late to back out now. He would marry Charlotte in three weeks. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have wagered on myself, either. I am grateful I only have to choose a bride once in my lifetime. It’s not an experience I wish to revisit.”
Pinsley laughed. “I don’t recommend you let my daughter hear you say that. She is forever lost in her romances and believes her life should be just like them.”
The music ended, and Langley excused himself to join his fiancée. She wore a pale gown embroidered with rosebuds at the hem, the pink of which matched the color in her cheeks. Her eyes shone brightly, and her wide smile warmed him. “I believe the next dance is mine?”
“You are correct, sir.” She took his hand and followed him onto the dance floor.
“When do you propose to stop calling me sir? It is no longer required, you know.”
She tipped her head to one side. “What should I call you? I can’t call you husband as yet, and fiancée seems rather impersonal.”
“Langley will do.” The music started and he performed the first steps, speaking when he drew close to Charlotte again. “Please never call me Andrew, though. I expect to be sent to the nursery when I hear it.”
Her laughter floated up the scales softly. “I shall remember that, as I’m certain it will come in handy at some point.” She threw him a flirtatious glance and walked around the other dancers.
Such a minx! In the short time since he’d proposed, she had blossomed before his astounded eyes, finding a confidence and ease he hadn’t imagined her capable of. He was delighted to know he’d given her the opportunity to uncover that part of herself.
Charlotte floated through the dance steps, amazed she could perform them without concentration. When she wasn’t focusing on which foot went where, her limbs went there on their own.
So much had changed, and yet so little. She was still Lady Charlotte Griffith for the next three weeks, but everyone looked at her differently. Many more guests had come to Hawking Hall for the ball, and word had spread quickly the duke had chosen his bride. Those who’d been staying at the hall had probably ascertained whom Langley had chosen by his increased attentions to Charlotte, and they were more than happy to share the on dits with the new arrivals.
She was used to people speaking behind their hands as she passed by, but in the past it usually followed some gaffe on her part such as ripping her hem when her heel caught it in a dance. Now their gossip made her stand taller, hold her head high.
Another change was the way Langley looked at her. While his expression had originally bordered on perplexity in her presence, now she read pride, affection…and maybe the beginnings of love?
He grasped her hand in the dance and squeezed her fingers, a silent message that sent shivers over her skin. He was her duke, at last.
“What are you thinking?”
A flush warmed her neck and face. “Oh…nothing, really.”
“I don’t believe you. Your eyes changed when you gazed on me.”
The dance took them apart again and she fanned herself before taking the hand of the next gentleman. The music eventually wound down and their set finished. Langley led her toward the balcony. “You look warm.”
“I am. I don’t recall dancing this much in one evening.”
Langley’s arm brushed over her back as he guided her around a cluster of guests. “Everyone is so excited to meet you. They’ve spent the past few months arguing over who would win my hand.”
And she felt like she’d won the grand prize. She gazed up at him on the balcony and pondered on her luck. Was he leaning down to kiss her? Would he do so in front of so many guests? Her heart raced in anticipation.
Before he had the chance, a footman approached. “Her Grace has requested Your Grace and Lady Charlotte join her.”
Langley took her hand. “The moment is upon us. Are you ready?”
“No, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be. Let us join her and put this behind us.”
The soon-to-be Dowager Duchess of Langley stood near the musicians who were resting between sets. Footmen hurried through the press of people with trays of champagne, allowing the guests to each take one. The duchess’s face lit when she saw Charlotte and Langley approach. “Come, children, join me here.”
Langley squeezed Charlotte’s hand, and as they turned to face the guests Charlotte saw her mother, father, sister, and Mr. Foster standing nearby. The love in their expressions made her stronger.
The duchess raised a hand and quiet washed over the room. “My dear friends, you find me enjoying the grandest day of my life thus far. It is my great pleasure to introduce you to the lady who has captured my son’s heart, his future bride, Lady Charlotte Griffith. Please join me in raising your glass to their eternal happiness.”
The crowd cheered, then drank from their champagne flutes. Langley lifted Charlotte’s hand to his lips and kissed her gloved knuckles. Charlotte’s heart swelled until she couldn’t draw a breath.
It was real, no longer a girlish fantasy. The Duke of Langley had offered not just his heart, but also the whole of himself, to be hers and hers, alone. Could any girl be any happier than she?
The musicians struck a note and the crowd backed away, like a receding wave. Langley motioned to the clearing. “My lady, I believe this is our dance.” Then he swept her into his arms and waltzed her about in front of their guests.
Charlotte was unable to tear her gaze away from his, no matter how badly she wanted to see the reactions of those around her. Her duke, soon to be her husband, had eyes for no one but her. Nothing could be more perfect.
She was finally in the arms of her duke, and there she planned to stay.
About Aileen Fish
Aileen Fish, author of the Bridgethorpe Brides series, is published under several pen names, with stories ranging from historical to paranormal, and heat levels from sweet to scorching. She is also an avid quilter and auto racing fan who finds there aren't enough hours in a day/week/lifetime to stay up with her "to do" list. There is always another quilt or story begging to steal away attention from the others. When she has a spare moment she enjoys spending time with her two daughters and their families, and her fairy princess granddaughter.
Stay up to date with book releases at her website http://aileenfish.com or on Facebook.
October 1811
Nadya Pankova placed unlit candles around the tent in preparation for the evening’s fairgoers. She had already hung the beads and arranged the pillows around the table, but there was still much to do before her grandmother returned to check her progress. Nadya hoped to have everything ready when Bunică returned so her grandmother would rest before the fair opened.
Last night the elders had toasted to their sponsor’s health with pints of ale provided by the high lord, and their leader told tales of numerous houseguests milling about the duke’s lawn with sticks and balls when he arrived to meet with the duke’s man of business. Everyone in the camp was anticipating heavy pockets when the caravan rolled away at the end of their stay.
Baba Donka had arrived early that morning with gossip about the Duke of Langley. The house party and fair were a gift for the duke’s bride of one year. Apparently, he sent several e
nvoys all over England to find Nadya’s clan. No one knew the reason only her clan would do, but Nadya suspected her grandmother’s reputation as a brilliant fortuneteller was responsible.
A month earlier the duke’s man had barged into Bunică’s tent and asked her grandmother several questions while eyeing Nadya as if he had never before seen a gypsy. At the end of his interview, he had stalked from the tent without a word, but soon Nadya learned a generous offer had been extended, and the elders accepted it without much fuss.
“The duke is smitten with his wife,” Baba Donka had pronounced, nodding her head as if she’d just come from tea with the duchess and heard about the doting duke from the lady herself.
Nadya released a dreamy sigh as she placed the last candle in a tarnished holder. Call her a romantic, but she enjoyed a good love story. She recalled Luca’s clear voice singing around the campfire last night, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes. He’d sung of two lovers separated by the gods, doomed to roam the earth forever searching, but never finding one another. The song was mournful and often brought her to tears, but Luca had altered the ending to reunite the lovers. He’d given her the happy ending she’d always craved.
If only she could have her happy ending with him…
At three and twenty, she was well past the age to marry, but she had no male relations to broker a marriage arrangement on her behalf. Neither did she or Bunică have money for a dowry.
It was just as well she had nothing to make her appealing to her clansmen, or she might have been pushed to accept a match. And she only wanted Luca.
Surprisingly, Luca’s father hadn’t gone in search of a lost little cow yet, which was the men’s clever idea of announcing they were seeking a wife for their sons. As long as Luca’s father postponed the hunt for a wife, Nadya’s hope stayed alive.
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