by Susanne Lord
To a man they stood, but not one went to her aid. Lucy set the tray upon the table herself. The men resumed their chatter and Lucy sat with a secret, speaking glance at their shocking lack of chivalry.
But Charlotte understood all too clearly what Lucy did not. This was no simple failure of manners. The men withheld their aid because Lucy had married Ben, a man far below her in point of rank.
“Good afternoon,” a male voice sounded from the door.
Charlotte’s heart sank further as her brother strode into the room. Wally was a secret husband test all her own. And the most important.
“Might I join your party?” Wally stood behind the divan, turned out impeccably, as always, in a beautiful coat of superfine wool, embroidered waistcoat, and silk tie.
Oh, dash it! This was all her fault. Why did she not tell Lucy and Wally to stay away?
“Yes, of course.” She forced a smile.
As usual, the men were wary and silent, so Wally spoke first. “I was just discussing this queer weather with my valet. I wager we will have hail tomorrow and spring breezes the next, as changeable as the year has been.”
Hugh shifted on the chaise longue, Mr. Hatfield checked his timepiece, and Mr. Matteson picked at the crumbs on his plate. This cool treatment was hardly unusual. Wally was inured to the unease of men and their insults.
But she was not. In the silence, her heart hardened in an all too familiar way. No gentlemen passed this test.
Pressing on—perversely, it seemed to her—Wally stepped from around the divan and set his arms wide to present his coat. “Tell me, gentlemen, do you approve of this new collar? My tailor tells me it is quite the thing on the Continent, but I am undecided.”
But the men said nothing. Worse, they eyed Wally’s collar as if bats had converged within and would swarm the room any moment.
She couldn’t bear it. All said Charlotte Baker rarely took offense, and that was true enough.
Unless it was an offense against her family.
She surged to her feet, hot with fury at these…guests who insulted her brother and sister without compunction.
The men were startled into a flurry of movement as they stood. Lucy gaped at her from the settee, oblivious of any insult. The innocent question in her eyes wrenched Charlotte’s heart.
“Miss Baker?” Hugh reached toward her. “Are you unwell?”
How could he pretend innocence? She should let him see the betrayal in her eyes, the anger. But she lowered her lids instead.
She would not cause a scene.
She never caused a scene.
She drew herself tall and repinned her smile. “I fear I am overwarm. Would you pardon me?”
She swept into the empty hall, relaxing her fists and breathing deep. How could she have thought to marry any of them? It was impossible. They would never respect her family. Or her.
Quieting her thoughts, she conjured Will as she had last seen him, just there. Where he looked at her one last time before entering Ben’s study. And the way he looked at her…as if he’d never seen a woman like her. As if he did not entirely approve.
Perhaps she had been a trifle enthusiastic.
Please come back. Please, just one more chance.
Jacob’s running footsteps sounded from the hall and he careened around the corner, flinging himself against her skirts. “Aunt Charlotte, do you remember how you kissed my knee and made it better?”
“I do.” She crouched to speak with him, the last vestige of her upset crumbling with the sight of his pink cheeks, tousled hair, and military skeleton suit, complete with gold braiding.
“Chinese Will hurt his leg.”
She blinked at his prescient choice of topic. “Why, yes he did. How did you know?”
“Will you kiss it and make it better?”
Her heart answered enthusiastically at the idea, but Charlotte kept her countenance. “Sometimes you cannot kiss a hurt away if the injury is too big. Do you understand?”
“Come with me to Papa’s study.”
“I have guests, love.”
Jacob swung a baleful glance at the back parlor. “Please. It’s important.”
It was not like Jacob to plead, and his little face was so anxious. “All right.” She stood and let him tug her into Ben’s study.
Charlotte bent to search his face. “Is something the matter, sweetest? Do you need Nurse?”
Jacob beamed a smile and dashed out.
Confused, she straightened to follow. Until a soft clearing of the throat stopped her.
In the back by the window, bathed in a shaft of sunlight, was a golden man. He pivoted and took an uneven step.
Will!
The lurch of her heart was staggering, and she braced herself with the table. The blue of his eyes could be seen from across the room, and she was riveted. “You came,” she managed to say.
He bowed, and the bow was fast and jerky and utterly thrilling. Could she dare hope she made him a little nervous?
Her heart slowed and strengthened, and all at once she was calm.
Here he was. Here was the same joy as before, the same recognition. Familiar as…family. Though she had never dreamed Will standing in sunlight before. Not with his hair glittering such a glorious gold and that bronze flush deepening the high planes of his cheekbones.
She wet her lips and his eyes settled there. Heartened by the focus, she smiled. “I hope I am not disturbing you.”
He looked at the book he’d been reading as if wondering how it had come to be in his hands. He returned it to the bookcase. “I was waiting for Ben.”
“Oh.”
Oh dear. This blush had no business on a woman of her breeding, maturity, and happy temperament. But there was nothing to be done—the man had the most blush-inducing shoulders.
She approached his sunlit corner but stopped several feet away. Oddly, Will was looking rather cornered.
Would he smile or speak or, at the very least, look at her?
Or was this how he ensnared her heart? Denying her any satisfaction in knowing him until all that was left was to replay the moment they met over and over? To fall asleep to the memory of him, wake with fantasies of him beside her, and conjure his face all the hours in between?
But knowing what she knew of him—of his bravery and spirit and compassion—she was convinced there was no more romantic man in the entire world.
Had she truly found him? Was he the man she’d been waiting for?
Would his next words seal their destiny?
“I suppose you’re here to kiss me but I warn you, there were multiple breaks and none conveniently placed.”
Her smile slipped. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did your nephew not solicit you on my behalf?” His eyes flickered to her mouth. “A healing kiss for my leg?”
Comprehension dawned, and with more relief than humor, she smiled. “Oh, that. Yes. Well, he’s four.”
“He has your talent for fanciful notions.”
“Oh yes. He believes all horses understand French.”
Will blinked. “I meant your kiss.”
“Well, Jacob’s scrapes have all healed, so you should not discount their potency just yet.”
At that, Will actually winced.
Her smile didn’t falter, even though that particular overture usually had a different effect—oh! She had seen this before. In more than one man, actually.
He was shy of women.
Well, of course he would be. The man was not out and about in Society.
No matter. She was practiced enough in conversation for the both of them, and she liked shy men very well.
And if Will were shy, she would like him best of all.
Blithely, she ignored his deepening scowl and ventured closer, feigning interest in his books and maps on the table. She looked up, confused that they were the same distance apart.
Until she took a step…and he retreated.
No. That could not be right.
She took
an experimental step forward and he mirrored the movement in reverse. Step. Retreat. Step. Retreat. Oh, honestly.
She stood still. “You and Ben must have much to speak of.”
He tipped his head, which she took to be an affirmative.
“I cannot begin to imagine the adventures you have had. You must have felt as if you were dreaming all the while.”
At last he looked at her. A slow inspection that nearly set her back a step. “It feels London is where I’m dreaming.” He lowered his gaze. “Maybe I’ll wake when I return.”
Her heart stopped. “Return?”
“Yes.”
No! “Return to…” Please, please no. “You are going back?”
He looked sharply at her, their eyes tangling before he raised his gaze over her head. Was that a rhetorical question, then?
“I see,” she whispered. She gripped the back of a chair, alarmed by threatening tears. The pricking sensation novel and horrible. I don’t cry… I never cry.
Will cleared his throat roughly and the sound freed a word from her lips. “Where?”
He hesitated, but then edged close to open a book atop the table. A map of Asia.
“There’s a province here I aim to return to.” He leaned on the table beside her, pointing to a city on the map. His hard, muscled arm brushed against her.
And stayed there.
She stood perfectly still, not wanting the contact to end, and locked her eyes to the map. But from the corner of her watery vision she could see the strong edge of his jaw and the crisp clips of hair at his neck.
His hair had been trimmed since last week. And the shirt and coat he wore were new. The work of a second-rate tailor. The strangest pain knifed through her. She would never let him wear such unworthy clothes. And who had cut his hair? A barber? Or did he see a woman—?
Warm breath brushed her ear, scattering her stupid, miserable jealousy.
She blinked the wetness from her eyes and faced him. His gaze was lidded but his lips were so close, she couldn’t look away when they moved to speak…
“Here.” His voice was low and rasping. And commanded her attention back to the map. “By Chengdu.”
She dragged her gaze to where he pointed. “That’s…it’s so far west. You will not go into Tibet, will you?”
He stiffened and stepped back, the warm press of his arm gone. “No.” He swung the cover shut, making her jump. “Those regions are unstable.” He turned and put half the room between them.
What happened? He was back at the bookcase, retrieving what appeared to be the same book he’d been perusing before.
Her eyes stung and suddenly she wanted to throw his stupid map at his stupid, handsome head.
But of course she would not. She may have been born common, but she had been given the finest education a lady could wish for. She would not be ridiculous in her disappointment. And that was all this was. A disappointment. Her first, and therefore keenly felt.
Very keenly felt indeed.
Her friends would say it was for the best. That as notable a man as he was, he could not raise her rank. That love was a fine notion, but a frivolous one for a well-dowered, well-bred lady with everything to recommend her. Except a name.
It was for the best. Her options may have been dwindling, but in her circumstances, all men fell into two camps: those who would marry her, and those who never would.
Mr. Repton was not so perfect after all.
She drew in a breath. “And how long will you be away, Mr. Repton?”
He didn’t look up from his book. “Five years.”
The same breath rushed from her body. Five. She could not wait and yet…no one had ever unearthed her heart as he had done. Could she at least have his friendship?
“I see…I would—” She lifted her chin so she would be heard across their distance. “I would so like to hear more of your expedition. My ladies’ group meets at Lady Abernathy’s salon to discuss current events. Your expedition was our topic this month.”
His brows lowered and she rushed on. “And I have read all your reports except the last, though I am hopeful Ben will retrieve it for me soon.” Oh, bother it! Could she sound more like a child? “But you know that already.”
“And you know I recommend against reading them.”
His words were so low, Charlotte barely heard him. And then she hardly knew what to say to his disapproval.
“I do not see why not,” she said, her misery making reckless her words. “I find it disgraceful that the Geographical Society bans entry to women. It is not feasible for many people—and not just women, Mr. Repton—to travel, so if I had one adventure worth reciting—”
She cut herself off, aware her voice had risen. “Many will look to you as a messenger and teacher. A source of wisdom and inspiration and a common humanity.”
He lifted his head, and something clawed beneath that blue stare. “There’s good reason for my caution, Miss Baker. Some things aren’t fit to be read, as they’re not wise or inspiring.” His jaw tightened. “Or even human. As to the rest, I doubt there’d be much to interest the ladies of Miss Abernathy’s salon. I wasn’t collecting flowers over there.”
She stared in shock. No one had ever spoken to her with so little regard for her good opinion. Or her feelings.
“I see,” she said numbly. It was not shyness at all.
“I see,” she said more firmly. “Good-bye, Mr. Repton.”
His lips parted to speak, but a sort of blank resignation settled upon his features instead.
She spun on her heel and fled.
But not before hearing what could only be the slam of a book rammed back onto the shelf.
Three
Will tried to ignore the boy, but he wasn’t moving from the door. He was deep in conversation with Ben in the man’s study when he sighted Jacob’s face peeking at them from behind the door. Weeks of observation now had proven the boy’s nursemaid as relaxed a servant as the others.
Five minutes later, the boy hadn’t quit his position and the child’s stare was like a magnet, drawing his eyes again and again.
“Where is the schedule of deliveries?” Ben asked.
Will started, returning his attention to the matters at hand, and flipped through his papers. “The schedule, right… I have it.” He produced the pages, frowning at his own distraction. He’d secured the best cultivator in England in the form of Ben Paxton, but apparently the man’s participation was conditional upon the presence of his four-year-old spawn.
Ignore him. Don’t look at the boy, don’t look, don’t—blast it! Beaten, Will tilted his head and looked pointedly back at Jacob.
With that, Ben turned in his seat. “What are you doing there, Son? Is this important?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded.
Ben turned back to Will. “Sorry about this.” He swiveled in his seat. “Come here, then. Hurry now.”
Jacob, wearing a sailor suit, dashed to his father’s side.
Will pressed his lips against laughing. Little induced him to laugh of late. Only Jacob could startle the humor out of him. And it almost always felt a little like pain.
But he was grateful for the boy. After what had happened, the sight of children was awful to him. Their cries excruciating, screams unbearable. But Jacob was so happy and alive.
And in possession of the most eccentric wardrobe he’d ever seen.
“You know Mr. Repton?” Ben prompted.
“Hello, Mr. Repton.” The little boy cupped his small hands to his father’s ear and shared his secret words.
“I think Mr. Repton will be fine,” Ben whispered back.
“I don’t think he will, Papa.”
“Shall we ask him?”
Jacob nodded, twisting his small hands.
Ben crossed his arms and looked at Will gravely. “Will, my son is concerned that if you don’t bring a box of sweets for Charlotte soon”—Ben’s lips quivered with amusement—“you won’t have a hope of marrying her.�
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Will scowled at the once-sensible Ben Paxton.
Ben grinned. “She likes Turkish delights.”
Jacob tugged on his arm, shaking his head. “Caramels,” the boy whispered.
“Sorry, Will. Caramels are better. Charlotte shares her sweets with”—his eyes pointed to Jacob—“the household.”
Ignoring Ben’s amusement, Will shifted his gaze to the boy. Jacob never failed to remind Miss Baker to him as a potential wife each and every time he visited. As if he’d somehow forgotten the woman who plagued his every stray thought.
And all his carnal ones.
Jacob bounced closer and Will leaned back. The child had the presence of mind not to clamber atop his lap, but there was no telling where he might stop.
“If you married Aunt Charlotte, you could live here and we could play every day.”
He nodded slowly—miserably—at the boy’s reasoning. “That sounds very pleasant.”
“Aunt Charlotte knows a lot about China, and when your leg gets better, you can dance with her. And she’s almost as pretty as Mama. And she’s nice and tells stories. And even if her drawings are really bad, Mama says she tries and that’s what’s important.”
Will looked to Ben to help him.
“It’s true, Will,” Ben said soberly. “Trying is what’s important.”
Never any help at all.
A grinning Ben stood, swept Jacob under his arm, and carried him to the hall. “All right, Son. Aunt Charlotte must choose her husband without our help, and we’ll not bother Mr. Repton with any of this again, will we?” Ben set him down—mercifully on the other side of the door.
“Sorry, Will,” Ben said. “Jacob’s heart is set on you for Charlotte. It’s amazing how astute he is.”
Will’s head reared back. “I swear I’ve made no advances.”
Ben laughed. “Of course not!”
The hell? The idea wasn’t that ludicrous.
“I mean Jacob has noticed Charlotte’s suitors have been…well, culled.”
Will’s heartbeat slowed in his chest. “What do you mean?”
“We think she’s chosen the viscount.”
Will looked at his hands. The palms rubbed absently together and he stilled them. “The viscount? I don’t—which one is he?”
