Charity Falls for the Rejected Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  A dreadful thought occurred to him. Could it have been this woman who was responsible for the deaths of Mary and Freddie? Could this wicked crime have been inflicted by a woman? And if so, was this same woman still roaming the grounds of Lawley Hall?

  Chapter 30

  A week passed from the day that Mr. Harding and Mr. Edwards had met under such unfortunate circumstances. Charity did not see hide nor hair of Mr. Harding and, indeed, there was no reason why she should.

  Mr. Edwards, however, took to calling nearly every day.

  He always professed the purpose of the visit to be the discussion of some matter of scripture with her father, but Charity always found herself called in to take tea with the two vicars, or else her father contrived some little excursion that they might all take together.

  The Reverend seemed to be doing his best to find some excuse to leave Charity alone with Mr. Edwards, but thus far, she had been successful in thwarting his efforts.

  Mr. Edwards, for his part, was always courteous and attentive, and never behaved in a way that gave Charity any cause for serious alarm. She wondered if perhaps he was feeling the pressure from her father just as much as she was.

  She knew in the eyes of the village, they were a perfect match. He a vicar, she a vicar’s daughter; they were perfectly suited to one another in terms of status, and to the village, those were the only terms that mattered.

  She also was starting to wonder if there might be specific merits to the life that she might have if she were the sort of person to marry a man like Mr. Edwards.

  But, alas, she knew full well that she was not that sort of person, and that no amount of self-persuasion could force her to be so.

  * * *

  When her father called her into his study after many days of Mr. Edwards’ visits, she thought that she knew what he was likely to say. Nonetheless, she did not expect the bluntness with which he said it, nor had she anticipated the rigidity with which he clearly approached the situation.

  “Let me be quite clear with you, my child,” the Reverend began, speaking in a low, smooth, silky tone, so controlled that one almost could not hear the rumble of anger thundering beneath it. “I know that when Mr. Edwards comes to speak to you today, his intention is to propose marriage to you.”

  Charity knew that her face was whitening. It was not that what her father said had caused her to be fearful, after all, she had no reason to feel fearful of Mr. Edwards. One of the things that she liked very well about him was that she suspected when it came to her refusing him, he would understand and take the blow very well.

  The same, however, could not be said of her father. There was an expression on the Reverend Miller’s face that she truly found frightening.

  “And,” he continued, “I wish you to know that if you do not choose to accept him, then you are no longer any child of mine.”

  Charity did not look up at her father for a while. She continued to sit where she was, her breath coming very evenly, her demeanor calm.

  Yet, when she did look up, her father gave a double take, seemingly checking himself from stepping back in alarm. She suspected that never before had he seen such a depth of fire in his daughter’s eyes, which had always been cloaked with compliance until now.

  “I understand you perfectly, Father,” was all that she said in response.

  The Reverend continued to look at her, and if she was not mistaken, she believed that he was even a little frightened by her demeanor, the way that defiance radiated from every line of her body.

  “Very good,” he said, at last, swallowing in the hope that it might alleviate the tension that was so evident in his body. “I am very glad to hear that we are in understanding with one another.”

  “Of course,” Charity replied. She smiled a smile that seemed sweet yet was somehow without the duty and affection that had always lit her previous smiles. “You have conveyed yourself with admirable clarity, Father.”

  “Good.”

  * * *

  That morning seemed to last forever.

  Charity thought back to all the times, as a child and young woman, that she had wished away all her little chores and duties. What she would have given for some small task or other to occupy herself with that morning so that she would not be forced to contemplate the prospect that was ahead of her.

  But, at length, the appointed hour came, and she was sitting in the drawing room when she heard Mr. Edwards’ voice in the hall. Her father had already made an ostentatious show of retiring to his study, so Charity was alone when Mr. Edwards was shown in. It was all by design, of course, but there was an enormous pressure on Charity to make the whole contrivance seem natural.

  Mr. Edwards entered the room. He looked a little pale but quite resolved. Charity wondered whether he was as nervous and uncomfortable as she was, and gave a small smile, intended to reassure him. She regretted it almost immediately afterward, hoping that he did not take it as a sign of encouragement.

  “Good day to you, Miss Miller,” Mr. Edwards said. “I hope that you are quite well.”

  Charity responded in kind, for what else was there to say? She smiled at the gentleman as warmly as she dared and encouraged him to take a seat before they continued. This was likely to be a wretched experience in every other way; they may as well be physically comfortable, at least.

  “Miss Miller, thank you for seeing me,” Mr. Edwards said. “There is a matter of great delicacy upon which I must speak to you.”

  Charity took a great breath and drew herself up, folding her hands demurely in her lap, taking her battle stance for the difficult matter that was sure to come.

  “I spoke to your father the other day,” Mr. Edwards said, clearly deciding that it was incumbent upon him to speak frankly. “I cannot truthfully say that it was I that instigated the conversation. Your father reproached me for the fact that I remain unmarried, and laid out all the reasons why he believes that you would be a suitable wife to me.”

  Charity was not surprised by the content of what he said, but she would have to own that she was a little taken aback by the flatness of his tone. Perhaps she had expected him to speak more animatedly.

  The peculiarity of his manner was soon to make perfect sense, however, although what he said next astonished her.

  “I come to tell you, Miss Miller, that I cannot in good conscience make the offer to become your husband. The first reason for this is that, despite the degree of duty that is inherent in my vocation, I must profess to having something of a romantic heart.”

  Charity said nothing, but she looked up sharply. This was not at all what she had expected to hear, and at present, she had no notion of what she ought to make of it.

  Mr. Edwards blushed as he spoke as if admitting to something very shameful. The expression in his face touched Charity, and made her feel very sorry for Mr. Edwards, for apparently, he was every bit as discomfited by their conversation as she was.

  “Possessing this trait,” Mr. Edwards continued, “I am bound to admit that I cannot offer marriage to one woman when I love another, nor can I ask for your hand when I know full well that your own heart is elsewhere.”

  For a moment Charity felt as though the very breath had been taken away from her. She could feel her cheeks flooding crimson, but thankfully her mind supplied her with sufficient words that she did not make herself foolish.

  “I do not know what you can mean, sir,” she said carefully. “If you have heard some idle gossip in the village concerning me, then I pray that you do not take it as a reflection upon my own character. I have done nothing to make the general community believe that I am attached.”

  “It is not from the general community that I gained my information,” Mr. Edwards said hastily. “Rather, this knowledge comes from one who knows you very well, and has only your best interests at heart.”

  Charity continued to look at him, perplexed, until he clarified at last.

  “Your friend Miss Campbell told me of your situation on the very f
irst day we met,” he said. “She told me, if I may put it plainly, that you have a profound and mutual attachment with Mr. Harding, and that I would do both you and myself a great wrong if I were to come between the two of you.”

  Charity felt herself coloring with embarrassment, but Mr. Edwards hastened to reassure her.

  “I would wish you to know, Miss Miller, that your friend conveyed your situation with the utmost delicacy, and explained to me most tactfully and kindly that I would be unwise to seek happiness with you, despite the fact that your father would be very likely to encourage the match.”

  “Esther is very compassionate,” Charity murmured. She was slightly dazed by the memory — that day when she had claimed that her boot needed re-lacing so that she might hide her tears and had been alarmed that she was forcing Esther to entertain a man with whom she did not care to speak.

  “Indeed she is,” Mr. Edwards said warmly. At that moment, it became crystal clear to Charity what he had meant when he said that he could not ask for the hand of one woman when he loved another.

  It seemed that her own perception of the matter had been entirely at odds with the reality.

  She thought back to the way that Esther had behaved when she was in the company of both Charity and Mr. Edwards. Ever quiet, ever watchful, always ready with a reassuring smile. How she must have suffered, Charity realized, seeing the way that the Reverend Miller had attempted to force Charity and Mr. Edwards together.

  Well, she thought, if there was some good consequence to come from this strange and desperate tie that seemed to exist between Mr. Harding and herself, then she could think of nothing better than the idea that the circumstances might have brought her own dear friend a measure of happiness.

  Mr. Edwards was still standing by the fireplace, regarding her with an expression of uncertainty. After a few moments, he broached the silence.

  “So, Miss Miller, I sincerely hope that I have not made you uncomfortable in this interview. Your father was very eager that I have the opportunity to speak with you alone, and I believe that he considers the matter to be entirely settled.

  “After I spoke to him yesterday I found myself torn between my own sense of duty and the fact that I knew such a marriage would destroy both your happiness and mine. Therefore my heart was ultimately victorious over my head, and I am very glad of it, although I believe that it will anger your father greatly, and for that, I am most regretful.”

  “You have nothing to regret, sir,” Charity said. She allowed her features to break into a smile — the first unreserved smile that she had felt able to bestow on Mr. Edwards. “I am very grateful to you, sir, that you are aware of my unhappy situation and have not tried to turn the matter to your own advantage. I fear that not every man would do the same.”

  “My conscience would allow no less,” Mr. Edwards said. He bowed. “I hope that you will forgive me, but I believe that given the nature of this interview it is for the best if we keep our discussion brief. I hope sincerely that we shall remain friends for a very long time indeed.”

  Charity smiled back at him. She had felt the need to be reserved around him for so long, perceiving him primarily as a prospective suitor that must be warded off at all costs.

  But now, he was something else altogether. He was the prospective lover of her dearest friend, and in that endeavor, she wished him only joy.

  He took his leave of her, not just with courtesy, but with a real warmth that assured Charity that, despite what else might happen, they would indeed remain good friends.

  As he went away, Charity watched him go. Perhaps, she thought, she ought to have been filled with despair. After all, if her father were to make good on his promise, then she would very soon find herself cast out without a friend in the world.

  But she could not help but find her heart warmed by the knowledge that Esther, her dearest friend, had done everything in her power to ensure that Charity was not forced to acquiesce to the proposals of one man when she loved another.

  She was blessed, Charity knew, to have one such friend in all the word. And she was delighted by the thought that that very friend had received her just deserts from Providence, and earned the evident devotion of a man as upright and decent as Mr. Edwards.

  She knew that the two of them would be very happy together, and could not hold herself back from smiling.

  She realized, gradually, that she would be forced to take heart from Mr. Edwards’ example. If he was able to discard the pragmatic questions of life, and put love first, then she was realizing that she owed it to herself to do just the same.

  * * *

  “Have you lost your mind, daughter?”

  The Reverend Miller seemed as though he was fit to explode with fury. When most men of his age became angry, they reddened, as if having partaken of too much port. The Reverend Miller was not of the same constitution as most men of his age, however, and his sallow face had grown quite grey, as though the life had been extracted from it. “What can you possibly mean, when you say that you are not going to marry Mr. Edwards?”

  “Precisely what I say, Father,” Charity replied coolly. For once, when talking to her father, she did not feel as though she was required to defend herself, and that liberation was clearly demonstrated in the posture of her body. Her shoulders were flung back, and her chin raised in defiance. Her eyes were quite clear, and it was evident that the Reverend Miller was quite alarmed by the sight of her. He was not used to his daughter appearing so manifestly unafraid.

  “How could you possibly have refused such a man?” the Reverend spluttered, his hands striking at the arms of his chair as if to provide some relief for his vexation. “What pride is this? What insolence?”

  “I did not refuse him, Father,” Charity replied calmly. “How could I have done when he never asked me?”

  “You lie!” her father thundered, his voice cracking upon the accusation. “I spoke to the man only yesterday, and it was quite evident that his mind was made up. Everything was settled. Either you are being untruthful, or there was something in your behavior that dissuaded him from his original intention. Tell the truth, girl!”

  Charity had a moment of realization that this must be how Mr. Harding felt, to be accused of falsehood by one’s own father. It was a cruel feeling, an enraging feeling. She felt her hands curl involuntarily into fists as they hung at her sides.

  “I do not lie, Father,” she said, endeavoring against the odds to keep her voice steady, to keep the rage from inflecting in it and preventing her from speaking with full force. “You did not raise me to lie, and I would never do so, particularly to my own father. It is the truth that Mr. Edwards expressed no wish to marry me, which was fortunate, because if he had asked me, then I should certainly have refused.”

  “Insolent strumpet!” her father exclaimed, arising from his chair in a movement that was at one with the level of his voice, and then falling back into it, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. “After all that I have done for you, all that I have sacrificed and endeavored, you choose to behave in this ungrateful fashion? It is quite beyond belief, my girl. I am at a loss to explain it.”

  “It is not so difficult to explain,” Charity said. She wanted to shout out in anger at his words — after everything that he had sacrificed for her? He had never sacrificed anything for her, never considered that she might wish for some other future than the one that he planned for her with such clinical plotting. She could not believe that he was behaving as though she had acted in an effort to personally wound him.

  “It is not difficult to explain at all, Father. You have always wished me to pursue a path in life that I had no desire to go down, and so I have exercised my independence of mind and chosen not to allow an attachment to develop on the part of a man whom I know I could never love.”

  For a moment a wave of compassion overwhelmed her anger, and she went to stand closer to her father’s chair, bending down so that they might look one another in the eye.

  �
��Can you not comprehend that? Did you not love my own mother very dearly? So dearly, in fact, that you have never recovered from her untimely death? Do you not wish for me to find the same profound attachment in marriage, the same felicity?”

  “Do not use your mother against me, girl,” the Reverend replied gruffly, refusing to meet his daughter’s steady gaze. “Your mother was a sober and dutiful woman, and she knew how to do right by her husband and her family. You seem not to have inherited her sense of honor.”

  “I believe I have inherited her sense of honor, indeed, Father,” Charity said. “For it is my own honor that prevents me from entering into a marriage with a man for whom I feel only friendly fellow-feeling. I do not believe that I could make Mr. Edwards happy, and so my feelings forbid me from behaving falsely, from giving him hope where there is none. There are not many opportunities for a woman to prove that she has a sense of honor, Father, but there was one here, and I have certainly acted in accordance with my conscience.”