His wife noticed an alteration in his attitude toward her, but was convinced it was more to do with her guilty conscience than a loss of regard on his part.
If anything, Thomas seemed more tender when he saw her in the mornings, and also when he took his leave of her in the evenings, kissing her hand lingeringly, and taking a more avid interest in her plans for the day.
But she caught him looking at her with the most peculiar expression on his face. If she didn't know better, she would say it was anger, but he was unfailingly polite at all times.
After Charlotte's second trip to the bank, she realized she had underestimated Herbert, and made a serious mistake. She should have told Thomas from the outset what he had tried to do. She certainly never should have given him money to keep silent. The fact that she had would only make her seem more guilty in her husband's eyes. The verification of the bank as to the sums withdrawn would further damn her.
That night, Charlotte tossed and turned, and eventually gave up the struggle to sleep. She rose, and lit a candle in the wall sconce by her desk. The spring days were gradually getting longer, with summer only a few days away.
She read until the sun peeped over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a golden glow. She looked out at the fresh, bright morning, and knew what she had to do.
Pride be damned. She had to tell Thomas the truth at last.
She was about to put her book away when she found a passage underscored in blue ink, evidently by Thomas, for the book was his. It was a passage from Saint Augustine.
"We cannot love unless someone has loved us first. The source of our love for God can only be found in the fact that God loved us first. This love is not something we generate ourselves; it comes to us through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."
She began to pace up and down in her chamber, not even noticing when it was time for breakfast. She felt sure it was a sign. It was too much of a message for her to withstand any longer. All of her doubts and confusion seemed to clear in an instant. It was a revelation of as much importance as it had been to the venerated saint.
She loved Thomas. Possibly always had. Just when and how it had happened, she could not be sure. She couldn't recall a time she hadn't admired him, been moved by him, even when she had been hurt and angry. Love was said to be a miracle. Well, she had had hers, and not even noticed it.
But she knew it now. She was in love with her husband. Wildly, passionately in love.
She wanted to ride through the countryside at full tilt, bellowing her love to the trees and hills. But she could do something even better.
She could tell Thomas how she really felt.
She dressed carefully in a dove gray gown with a high lace insert which covered her bosom modestly. She put up her hair with a simple gold fillet, and then threw a fine Turkey red shawl over her shoulders.
She went down to the library, and paused with her hand on the door latch. She threw back her shoulders and entered.
Thomas immediately rose from his desk chair to greet her. He took in her pale face and red eyes, and thought he detected guilt in her timid expression. He tried to keep his voice level as he said, "Good morning, my dear. I missed you at breakfast. I trust you are well?"
"Yes, perfectly well. I became engrossed in my reading, and forgot all about breakfast. I'm sorry if you were worried."
"And what had you so engrossed? The latest Gothic novel?" he said with an indulgent smile.
"No, not at all. It was Saint Augustine's Confessions."
He looked surprised and a trifle skeptical. "Ah, I see. An excellent choice, though I own perhaps some of the content is not suitable for the eyes of a lady. Still, he was one of the Church Fathers, and so we must just take the gold with the dross."
"None of it was dross, or improper," she said in all sincerity. "I know there is evil in the world. I do not always have to be shielded from it, though I thank you for trying to protect me. If people don't know villainy exists they cannot fortify themselves against it.
"In Augustine's case, he had outward temptations, but his own character was the main obstacle to his own happiness and salvation. He knew he was behaving wrongly, but chose for some time to remain in sin rather than take the harder road and give up his worldly desires."
Thomas nodded, pleased. "An apt summary, my dear."
She began her own confession hesitantly. "I've been thinking of myself too, Thomas. That I have willfully clung to ignorance and error, when I should have trod the path of truth and justice. It was my pride, I'm afraid."
"What was?" he asked softly.
"That has stopped me from speaking about the one point in my life upon which I have cause for grave concern."
He looked at her. "And that would be what, pray?"
She took a deep breath and uttered the truth at last in the most direct way she knew how.
"I want to be your wife."
He laughed shortly. "Very touching, my dear, but we're already married."
"No, I mean-" She felt herself blushing prodigiously. Hare and hounds, how could the man be so obtuse? "I mean, you've been more than patient with a young wife. But we've been married nearly four months now. If you do not find me too repellent, do you think we could possibly explore some of the pleasures of marriage that we have spoken of in the past?" she asked shyly.
Thomas looked at her carefully, trying to detect any sign of internal conflict, or any particular motive for the sudden request.
At length he replied with caution, "It is indeed a more than attractive offer and proposition. However, I would be fearful of the consequences. I'm afraid we have not been married a long enough time for you to have got over your, er, past disappointment. I would also not like any child of ours to be born too soon after our wedding for many reasons. Not the least of which is that you are very young, and have not yet become accustomed to being a wife, let alone a mother.
"It is for your own protection as well. I will not have any wife of mine talked of in that manner, should your friend choose to be less than gentlemanly and boast of his near-conquest, or speculate on the nature of our marriage, coming as it did so soon after. In the eyes of the world, I would like for us to appear to have a happy marriage."
Charlotte began to defend Paxton automatically, though even as she said the words she knew what a fool she had been. "He would not..."
"Permit me to disagree with you. Where there is a question of money, it is likely he would," Thomas said curtly.
Charlotte did not want to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him even when she knew how right he was. That Paxton was indeed blackmailing her for whatever he could get out of her. She couldn't believe Thomas was so callously rejecting her.
But it was her own fault. She was the one who had told him she had given her heart irrevocably to another. She had spent the past months pining like a lovesick fool over 'what might have been' rather than appreciating all she actually had, which was wondrous in every way. And could be even better if she could simply get past this last hurdle.
Thomas had told her he had married her for her fortune, but she had seldom met with such kindness and consideration from any man, whether he professed to be in love with her or not.
She took his point about the care they would have to take over their children in case of gossip, but enough time had passed, surely. And he certainly had not taken her money. So why on earth had he married her? The most obvious answer eluded her.
He might at least have admitted the offer was a tempting one, she thought angrily. Did he really only wish for a household ornament? Honestly had no care for her whatsoever?
She lifted her chin and pivoted on her heel to go. "In that case, I'm sure you're very busy. I shall trouble you no longer with a matter of so little consequence."
He rose again and blocked her path before she could depart the library. "I did not say I was busy. The matter is of the greatest consequence to me. But I need to know your motives, your expectations. Why did you make the
request you just did out of the blue like that? Why now, why today? Have you something perhaps that you wish to confess to me?"
She was tempted to tell him that she loved him, that she knew that now. But what had prompted the revelation? Should she tell him that Herbert was back in the neighborhood? She had given her word she would never see him.
Thomas was looking at her so mistrustfully, it would only add fuel to his obvious suspicions if she admitted she had met with her former beau, even though it had not been intentional. It would be hard to convince him that her former feelings of antipathy for her husband were now directed at Herbert.
As for Herbert, he was an unknown quantity. She assumed he would just give up and leave, find another target for his blandishments. She was a decent married woman, and could not care less if she never saw him again.
It was not that Herbert's presence was tempting her to sin, as Thomas suspected. It was that she felt a fool for having been so obstinate in keeping a barrier between her and the husband she had desired ever since their first kiss in the carriage the night of her birthday.
"What would I have to confess?" she asked nonchalantly.
"I don't know." His green eyes were as sharp as glass. "Has someone been, well, making improper advances?"
"Not at all. Why, are you accusing me of making advances to you because any man will do?" she demanded, her eyes flashing fire. "I am no common trull, sir."
"I never said you were," he returned sharply. "It's just that you have been so cool and aloof these past few weeks. Now you come to me to tell me you're ready to consummate our marriage. But instead of a declaration of passion, of regard, you couch your suggestion in the form of a business proposal. Are you after a new gown, a trip to Bath?" He frowned angrily. As soon as he uttered them he wanted to kick himself for letting such harsh words pass his lips.
"Unhand me," she insisted, jerking her arm free of his grasp. "It is not I who have been cool and aloof. Sometimes we are so cozy with each other, during our evening readings, for example. Other times you act like I'm not even in the room! I'm not trying to bargain with you for favors. I wanted..." She clamped her mouth shut and reddened.
"Go on. What did you want?" he encouraged when she remained silent.
She hung her head in despair. "What does it matter now?" she said in a tone which bespoke utter defeat.
Thomas lifted her chin with his right forefinger. "It matters to me. I want you to be happy. Anything that is in my power to give you, you have only to ask."
Gazing into his emerald eyes, she could feel the familiar longing surging within her, just below the surface.
"I want you to love me. To fall in love with me," she said breathily.
He quirked one ebony brow. "So you can have power over me?"
She shook her head in vehement denial. "No, not power. So you can return the love I feel for you."
"Love?" he whispered.
She met his gaze levelly. "Love."
"I see. And when exactly did this come about?"
She laughed shortly. "I sound a fool for saying it, but I think it might always have been there. Love is akin to hate, is it not? I was furious with you when you took me over like some prize, a trophy of war, and told me that you had only married me for my fortune.
"I thought I wanted one thing. I've ended up with another, and it's proven an unexpected gift. Your generosity, your kindness toward me, an awkward, ignorant girl..."
Thomas merely stared at her as though she had sprouted three heads.
She sighed. "You have shown great forbearance. I now know that any interest I felt in the other man was a foolish infatuation. And he was no gentleman, I see that now."
"Ah, so now we arrive at the truth at last!" Thomas scowled blackly. "Despite my express wishes, you have seen him. I thought you knew there could be no love without trust. Without honesty. So now I discover your former lover is back on the scene. Has he asked you to go away with him? Are you trying to prevent yourself from giving into temptation by throwing yourself upon my tender mercies?"
It was a stinging accusation, but Thomas was so furious, he could not help himself. Where Herbert was concerned, he simply could not think rationally.
"No, not at all." she denied with passionate fury. "I never want to see him again!"
"Ah, so he rejected you. Or perhaps you found out that he was really after your money all along? Or that he was more than happy to have his way with you, without benefit of marriage? Or better still, you are indeed a virgin, but that small impediment needs to be overcome before the two of you can freely enjoy each other, and you fear what I will say if I do not find I am the first? Or perhaps your maidenhead is my consolation prize for not having your heart?"
Charlotte slapped him hard, straight across his cheek. The livid white marks began to turn red as they stared at each other with cold glittering ire. She was horrified at what she had done, but unrepentant as well.
"If that is what you think of me, then there is little left to say. I shall remain in my room until such time as you're satisfied that I haven't betrayed you, and give me leave to go about my business."
Charlotte shouldered past her husband as though she could not bear to touch him, and ascended the stairs, where she locked all the doors to her room. Then she threw herself on the bed and began to weep as if her heart would break.
Thomas stood rigidly frozen in place, hardly believing what he had said to his wife in a fit of temper. What he had so spitefully accused her of.
His love for her was driving him mad, yet he had just thrown away any chance of happiness with her that he might have had. He debated the idea of telling her the whole truth, but pride and fear held him back.
How could he ever be sure of her love? And how could he tell her he loved her, when he was still so furious that he could not trust himself to touch her?
He threw himself in the nearby armchair, and buried his head in his hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Charlotte was determined to make Thomas sure of her love, and certain he could trust her. She could not make up for the past, but she could do something about the future.
So he simply declined to leave her room for any reason whatsoever. Anything she needed, she sent a servant for, and took all her meals in her room. But she was determined not to brood. She would show Thomas what she was made of, that she was worthy of him.
She embarked upon a scheme of improvement for herself and society along the lines of which she felt sure Thomas would have approved. She knitted, sewed, mended, and made clothes for the poor. She overhauled her wardrobe, altering or getting rid of anything which she considered to be unsuitable for the wife of a respectable and morally upright man. The maids were overjoyed at her cast-offs.
Charlotte took to rising one hour earlier in the morning and dedicating herself to the study of Italian and French. She declined all visitors except Thomas's sister Elizabeth, and her father and cousins, who began to call once a week now that he their honeymoon period was deemed well and truly over. That was the only time that she ever went downstairs, and only into the small wine colored sitting room.
When she did leave her room, she had one or the other of her maids in attendance upon her at all times, so she could never be accused of slipping away onto the grounds for an illicit liaison.
Her aunt tried to see her repeatedly, but was turned away, and all her missives went unread. She knew only too well what she would write. Fulsome and false praise of Paxton, and nasty things about the husband she truly loved.
The rest of the time she spent reading, or writing letters to the newspapers, or pensively staring out the window. The letters addressed to the newspapers she left unsealed, so that she could not be accused of carrying on a secret correspondence with Herbert.
Thomas read them, and had to admit he was rather proud of her elegant turn of phrase, and the fact that her ideas were similar to his own, though she had some refreshing notions uniquely hers also.
He longed
to spend time alone Charlotte, to get her to come out of her self-imposed prison, but he told himself it was for the best. For one thing, it would keep her out of harm's way, for he did not trust Herbert as far as he could throw him.
But he could not move against the man without absolute proof of wrongdoing, or else he was no better than a criminal himself. Nor did he wish to stir up a hornet's nest when he had every reason to fear that Herbert intended to harm his family in any way possible. No matter what innocent victims he preyed upon...
Thomas was also not sure how much longer he could tamp down his desire for his wife. Yet his reasons for not consummating the marriage were valid ones. He did not trust Herbert to keep silent for one minute.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 1 Page 58
