Charlotte

by Virginia Taylor

  She told the servants to leave the rearrangement of the rooms until tomorrow, and she headed toward the main stairs. Nick was sitting at the bottom, a silver tray beside him holding tiny cakes, fruit, cheese, and a tall chilled bottle of apple cider.

  “You are ready to retire, my love?”

  “If my tired feet will carry me up these stairs.”

  He stood. “I will do so. I’ll come back for the food and wine.” Almost swooping on her, he took her into his arms and, as if she weighed no more than a child, he carried her up the stairs. At the top, he set her on her feet. “I suspect you’ve barely eaten tonight,” he said, smiling. “And so now I’ll retrieve our provisions.”

  “I’m too tired to eat. I’ll say good night here.”

  “Not a chance,” he said, steering her into their suite. “I’ve been waiting all night for a word with you, and I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.”

  “You won’t get any sense out of me tonight,” she said, unbearably nervous. If he wanted to say he had grown to like her or that he respected or admired her, she would shrivel into nothing when she knew she had lived a lie with him from the start, hiding her true birth from him and his father.

  “I don’t want sense from you, my love. Frivolity would suit me better, as a role reversal of sorts.” He opened the door.

  “Did Luke give you an idea of their wedding arrangements?” She paused near his bedroom door.

  “He and I settled for a quick wedding, next month if possible.”

  Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief. She could unburden herself after that. “The costs?”

  “He will bear them. He quite understands that Sarah is penniless, and he doesn’t see why you should continue to sponsor her. She said she would be happy to be married in Stirling, which will suit us all. So, your duty is done and your brief is fulfilled. Now we have our own marriage to discuss.”

  She backed toward her own bedroom. “Not tonight. Let me sleep and then we’ll…”

  He took her arm. “I was no prize when you took me on, and I was determined not to change. I had seen Clara’s desperation turn to retribution, and I had learned from that not to let a woman get under my skin.” He gazed at her, slowly kissing her fingers. “I thought I was protecting myself, but instead I was living a half-life.”

  She nodded. “I understood. Good night.”

  “I have insulted you and misjudged you.” He settled her into a loose embrace. “Your standards are so high that I know without a doubt your mother was no whore, and I apologize for the insult.”

  “Accepted.”

  “I apologize for every cruel and thoughtless word I have uttered to you. You have never done so to me, although I deserved your scorn. Not now, I hope, because you’ve changed me.”

  “I have?” She glanced into his eyes.

  He cupped her face in his palm. “You’ve also changed my life. My home is comfortable, well run, and happy. The servants hum while they work. I swear I heard Cook singing in the kitchen tonight, despite having worked harder today then she has for years.”

  She dropped her gaze. “I tricked you into marrying me, and so my side of the bargain was to be a good wife to you.”

  “You’ve been a perfect wife. You’re an amazing woman, courageous and independent, loyal and generous, although perhaps a little too generous with your allowance.”

  She tried to pull out of his hold. “So, this is about my spending?”

  “Not at all. This is about your confidence in me. You have little. You have not shared certain aspects of your life with me, and I wonder why. Have I been parsimonious?”

  “Not at all. You know you’ve been nothing but generous from the beginning.”

  “Why so secretive, then?”

  “There are certain aspects of my life you wouldn’t approve.”

  “How could you know that?”

  She closed her eyes, afraid of his response. “You have taunted me with my birth despite the fact that my mother was legally married,” she said in a low voice.

  He looked aside. “That was unfair of me. I can’t excuse myself, and I hope you will forgive me for that, too. Would it help if I told you I love you so much that I don’t care if you were born under a hedge?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “You love me?”

  He hugged her so tightly that she needed to push back a little.

  “More than my life. I wouldn’t let you go even if I discovered you were using your allowance to support unwed mothers.”

  She gasped. “You know?”

  “Unbelievably, I only found out today. I could have found out at any time if I had ever bothered to talk to Harvey, and let me say now, I will make sure I talk to Harvey every day of my life henceforward.”

  “Do you mind?”

  “Only that you struggled alone. I would have been delighted to help now that I don’t spend my money on gambling.”

  “I love you, too,” she said, leaning back to look into his gleaming eyes.

  With mock shock, he staggered back into his velvet chair, taking her with him, slanting urgent kisses across her mouth. She returned his passion, opening her lips to his tongue.

  He lifted his head. “I haven’t finished my confession.” He rested his cheek onto her hair, and she felt him shake. “You are the only woman I have ever loved,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  With her face in his neck, she unbuttoned his shirt and he rose to his feet, tipping her off his lap. His hand on the small of her back, her hurried her into his bedroom.

  * * * *

  “I know the name of my father,” she said a good hour later.

  They’d made love on his bed. She adored his wicked ways, but this evening, sharing his bed like a respectable married lady had been a new beginning. In his room, which she planned to share, he somehow used less expertise and more love. His tenderness excited her just as much as his previous words of carnal lust and choice of terrifyingly risky locations. Not that she would give up one for the other. Either would do when the occasion demanded.

  He stretched his powerful frame, while she sighed with admiration. He’d been given his strong handsome face. He’d earned his splendid body.

  He picked up her hand and gazed at her fingers. In a slow, thoughtful voice, he said, “I know the name of your father, too.”

  She tightened her fingers on his. “That’s very sweet of you, but it’s not who you think.” Leaning across, she covered his lips with hers.

  “It’s not?” he murmured, tangling her hair in one hand and rising onto one elbow above her. “That’s a shame, and Tony will be disappointed not to be your brother.”

  She caught her breath. “Really? He doesn’t mind?”

  “We thought you could be a long lost cousin. He thinks he can find a Davies on the family tree. Let’s play cards. If I win, we’ll stay in bed all day.”

  “Don’t be silly. You never win.”

  They stayed in bed all day.

  Meet the Author

  From art student to stylist, to nurse and midwife, Virginia Taylor’s life has been one illogical step to the next, each one leading to the final goal of being an author. When she can tear herself away from the computer and the waiting blank page, she immerses herself in arts and crafts, gardening, or, of course, cooking. You can visit her website at www.virginia-taylor.com, and tweet her @authorvtaylor.

  Be sure not to miss Virginia Taylor first book of the South Landers series

  Starling

  An aspiring dressmaker, orphaned Starling Smith is accustomed to fighting for her own survival. But when she’s offered a year’s wages to temporarily pose as a wealthy man’s bride, she suspects ulterior motives. She can’t lose the chance to open her own shop, but she won’t be any man’s lover, not even handsome, infuriating Alisdair Seymour’s…

  To prevent his visiting sister from parading potential brides in front of him, Alisdair has decided to present a fake wife. He lost
his heart once, and had it broken—he doesn’t intend to do it again. But stubborn, spirited Starling is more alluring than he bargained for, and Alisdair will risk everything he has to prove his love is true…

  Set against the sweeping backdrop of 1866 South Australia, Starling is a novel of cherished dreams and powerful desires, and the young woman bold enough to claim them both…

  Starling on sale now!

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/31133

  Chapter 1

  Adelaide, South Australia, 1866

  “Straighten your collar, girl,” said the sharp-faced clerk guarding the office door. His olive jacket faded into the green-papered walls of the anteroom. “Mr. Seymour don’t like to see his employees looking scruffy.”

  Starling Smith fingered the starched white cotton around her throat. She didn’t look scruffy in the Seymour’s Emporium uniform she had worn with pride for the past two weeks. She looked neat and anonymous in the plain gray. Any female lucky enough to be employed selling fabrics should be nothing less than tidy—and diligent, too.

  Yesterday, when the owner, Mr. Alasdair Seymour, had toured the emporium he stopped to inspect the materials she had ranked using the rainbow color scale, a new idea of her own. He had taken her name from the department manager, and now he possibly meant to commend her.

  His office door opened. “Miss Smith?”

  Remembering her place, she leapt to her feet.

  He glanced at his clerk. “I’m not to be disturbed. Come into my office, Miss Smith.” Broad shouldered and tall, he looked younger than he had the day before, under thirty and handsome enough to deserve those sighs from the shopgirls.

  Starling’s knees wobbled as she hastened past him through the doorway.

  “Take a seat,” he said, taking his own. He wore his dark hair fashionably collar-length.

  She perched on a carved chair upholstered in dark green brocade. The hovering red of sunset shone through the tall windows dressed with swags of yellow-striped silk. Sparkling motes floated to his desk where he sat, picked up a pen, and tapped the end on his blotter. His forehead was smooth, his nose precisely chiseled, and his jaw firm.

  “Do you enjoy your job?” He looked straight at her. His eyes, an assessing luminous gray, sent a shimmer of panic through her.

  She quickly lowered her gaze, trying to regain her breath. “I do.” Her voice sounded embarrassingly husky. “I like working with fabrics.”

  “You worked in a hotel before you came here.” He scrutinized a page lying on his desk. “They gave you no reference.”

  She had thrown away the crumpled piece of paper that described her as “a good worker,” hoping she could gloss over the six weeks she had been employed at the Star Inn, mentioned in the South Australian police records as a site of gambling and prostitution. “I didn’t think a temporary job would matter when I was waiting on the Seymour’s list for more than a year.”

  He glanced up, his gaze again causing a strange jumble inside her. “You’ve had a small amount of education? That is, you can read and write?”

  “Yes, sir. Or I wouldn’t have applied here.”

  “Unfortunately, you’ve been annoying my customers.” He set down his pen.

  She drew a surprised breath. “I sell them what they want, sir.”

  “You sell them what you think they should have.”

  Shaking her head, she stared at her fingers knotted in her lap. “I sell them what they need. It wouldn’t be right to sell fabrics not strong enough for their purpose or too heavy or the wrong color.”

  “And it seems you have decided on the colors they should have.”

  “I advise them on what might...suit.”

  “I don’t pay you to advise my customers to buy cheaper fabrics than those they choose or less material. I pay you to make money for me.”

  “I do, sir.” She leaned forward. “Just the other day, a young lady came back to buy more fabric. She said I’d given her just the right material for her ball gown, and she wanted me to help her again.”

  “Mr. Porter thinks the fabric department can cope without female staff.”

  “Female staff?” she queried, shaken. “But he told me I’m a quick learner.”

  He shrugged. “I’m sorry but I am not going to keep you at the emporium.”

  “You’re going to get rid of me? Oh, no, you don’t mean that. I get twice as many sales as Mr. Porter.”

  He shook his head, placing his pen in the holder. “I can, however, offer you a different position.” He aligned his blotter with the edge of the desk. “In my home.”

  A quick shake of her head dealt with his offer of a maid’s job. “I won’t advise your customers about colors. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Her voice rose with hope. “I would accept a position in any other of your departments.”

  “I don’t have a position in any other department. I do have a list a mile long of women wanting to work in the emporium, as you know.” He evaded her gaze.

  Focusing on her weary black shoes, she exhaled her last hope. She’d loved measuring the soft fabrics, feeling the quality, and sliding the sharp scissors across the width. She’d loved working out the profits. She stood, not caring that her shoulders drooped.

  He pushed out his chair and stood, facing her. “You could earn quite a bit of money if you accept my alternative. I’m much in need of a woman like you.”

  She straightened. A woman like her? “If you don’t want me, I will get a job at Harris’s.”

  “Unlikely, given that they don’t employ females with or without references. I won’t beat around the bush.” Pausing, he eased his black cravat with a forefinger. “You look respectable. I need a woman to pose as my wife for a couple of weeks.”

  Aghast, she took a step back. He didn’t want a maid. He wanted to tup her. “I don’t know what gave you the impression that I might do that, but—”

  “Money.” His lips tilted cynically. “Now, what would you say to five pounds for the two weeks?”

  “No.” Her jaw tense, she backed to the door. “I worked as a laundress at the inn. Not a prostitute.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You only have to pretend to be my wife.”

  “I’m not good at pretending. I never have been.” She opened the door and walked out.

  Cheeks hot with humiliation, she strode past the clerk and down to the fabric department where, with shaking hands, she grabbed the cloth bag holding an apple, a clean pair of cuffs, a handkerchief, and a few pennies. Tying her shawl across her shoulders, she took the staff exit leading to a narrow alley off Rundle Street. She didn’t have time to weep.

  First, she would need to retrieve her belongings from the emporium’s boardinghouse and next find accommodation for the night. The Star Inn might let her use the laundry room. If not, her friend Meg would find her a safe place.

  Starling’s chest hurt and her eyes prickled. As she pulled the heavy door, she noticed the purple haze hovering over the sunset. She stood staring, her dreams shattered and her life in pieces. Gathering her bag under her arm, she hurried down the cobbled alley, chased by the aroma of fresh horse manure and settling smoke. A hot wind whipped her hair across her face, forcing her to pause. Blinking hard, she tucked the strands behind her ears.

  Dashing the back of her wrist over her eyes, she cornered into Rundle Street. Mr. Seymour stepped in front of her. His high-crowned hat cast a shadow across his features.

  “This way.” He seized her elbow.

  She wrenched her arm out of his grip. “Let me be. I don’t want your money or you.”

  “I have to have you tonight.” He drew a deep breath. “I’ll give you six pounds.”

  She backed away, disgusted. “I know at least three women who would accept your proposition. Go to the Star Inn and see which you would prefer.”

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be standing here with you if I hadn’t already tried that. None could pass as a lady.�
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  “So, now you want a lady? I thought you said a wife.”

  “My wife would, of course, be a lady. I spent the last two weeks interviewing whores and actresses. Then I looked at my staff yesterday, and there you were with your careful speech, your background at the Star Inn, and your neat and plain appearance.”

  “Neat and plain.” She firmed her lips.

  “Good Lord, girl.” His voice softened. “I’m offering you real money, far more than the fourteen shillings a week you earned here, to live a life of luxury for two weeks. You don’t need to look at me as if I’m Satan. I’m giving you the greatest opportunity of your life.”

  “I had the greatest opportunity of my life—a job as a shopgirl.” She blinked hard. “And for reasons of your own, you’ve taken my best chance from me.”

  His brow creased. “I’m offering you a better one.”

  “I have plans that don’t include being anyone’s wife, real or not.”

  “Two weeks, that’s all I ask,” he said in a long-suffering tone. With a sweep of his hand, he indicated she could move in the direction he wanted her to go.

  She folded her arms.

  He gave her a sideways glint. “I’ll pay you twenty pounds.”

  “No.” She wet her mouth.

  “Perhaps you won’t suit,” he said, shrugging. “Mr. Porter said you were intelligent, but you are acting like a simpleton. I have offered you more than half a year’s wages, and all you can do is persist in your belief that I want to bed you.”

  “Mr. Porter said I was intelligent?” Her voice rose with hope.