by Christi Caldwell, Eva Devon, Elizabeth Essex, Anthea Lawson
“Your mother is a courtesan. You grew up in the same house in which she plied her trade. It seemed reasonable to assume you might have a certain level of…”
“Experience?” she demanded, eyes glassy with hurt. “I do not. Now you know.”
He let go of her hem.
She shoved him away. One arm covering her chest, she lurched out of the bed and over to her valise, where she snatched up a mud-colored gown and marched behind the folding screen to don it.
He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes. Blast it all. He’d meant to make her feel better, not worse. To show her how much she mattered.
If someone who cared about her could hurt her so carelessly… How much worse would it be when they reached London, and other people began to put her in her place on purpose? And how much worse would it be if he was no longer there to protect her?
Chapter 16
Charlotte stood just outside the door of their last inn before London. A hired hackney awaited them at the curb, its door flung wide and inviting. Her legs shook.
She could not have wished to run away more.
London was going to be dreadful. Her chest constricted with dread. After last night, anywhere would be terrible. She could resolve to keep to herself all she wished, but the truth was Anthony was already inside her heart.
And breaking it from the inside out.
It was not wholly his fault. His assumptions were identical to those of every other man she’d ever met. She’d just hoped, with him, it could be different.
Charlotte realized he might not have consciously thought of her as a whore, as a prostitute who received coin in exchange for her favors. But he had seen her as easy pickings all the same.
He had clearly been shocked to learn she was still a virgin. That she hadn’t followed in her mother’s footsteps. In his experience, a proper debutante guarded her maidenhead because it was the most valuable social currency she owned. Someone like Charlotte, on the other hand, possessed no social currency. A whore’s illegitimate child would never be on the marriage mart. Her purity was meaningless.
Even the butcher’s son, the street sweepers, saw in her only the opportunity for a quick, forgettable tup. They had neither believed in her virginity nor cared in the slightest. They weren’t going to marry her. They weren’t even planning on asking her name.
And now Anthony. Wed to her. Kind to her. The closest she’d ever come to feeling like she had somewhere she belonged.
Yet even he had only seen her through the lens of what her mother had been.
Charlotte’s chest tightened in despair. He had once said his goal was to deserve her. She had always known she was the one who would never deserve him. Now they both knew.
He couldn’t help but identify her as a courtesan’s daughter. To associate their bed-play with her knowledge of her mother’s trade.
It wasn’t his fault. Had she not done the same? Associate him solely with Society because he moved there freely? Identify him as a rakish ne’er-do-well because that was she had assumed all men like him would be? She swallowed thickly. How could she blame him for returning the favor? Why should she expect, or deserve, anything else?
She lifted her chin in determination. Nothing would make him forget her past. But she didn’t want whore’s daughter to be what he saw every time he looked at her. She was not her mother. Thanks to Anthony, Charlotte was more of a person today than she had been before she met him. “Holding court” as an impromptu advisor in travelers’ inns had made her realize she did have value. Her mind was just as important as her body.
If she wanted her husband to see her as more than the product of her past, she would have to show him her future. And her courage.
Even if that meant returning to London.
She was returning to that cursed city not for herself, but for her husband. If there was any possibility of her father’s bequest helping to keep Anthony out of prison, utilizing it would be worth any amount of suffering.
He stepped out of the inn. Despite a rather tense breakfast—after the morning’s upset, she hadn’t wished to speak to him until she’d had the opportunity to collect her thoughts—he offered his arm without hesitation.
“Ready?” he asked.
Of course not. Taking a coach into London was like taking a hackney straight to hell.
She gripped his arm. “Ready.”
“I apologize for leaving your side for such a long moment,” he said as he helped her into the carriage. “I ran into an old friend as I was settling the account. Were you terribly bored?”
She shook her head. At this inn, at least, her face had become synonymous with a sympathetic ear. She was never alone for long.
“I met a woman seeking to hire a new governess. Based on what I learned speaking to the one who was desperate to leave the children behind, I think I was able to offer the woman a few sound suggestions for questions to ask during the interview.”
“I’ve no doubt your advice was on the mark.” His eyes sparkled. “Was it another wealthy old biddy? Did she shower you with pound notes, too?”
“She offered to. She said I’d saved her hours of time and the wasted salary of hiring someone unlikely to stay.”
His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Then why didn’t you accept her money?”
Charlotte took a deep breath. This was the future she wanted him to see when he looked at her. She smiled hesitantly. “I told her my name was Mrs. Fairfax, and the best way she could repay me would be to tell all her friends to schedule a consultation any time they found themselves in need of an impartial confidante or good, sound advice.”
His eyes widened with respect. “Darling, that’s brilliant. Such a reply should cement you in her mind all the more as a woman wise beyond compare.”
“Those were almost precisely her words.” Charlotte’s cheeks heated. She had never been called darling before. And had rarely been complimented.
“Then she was an excellent judge of character.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Every day, I discover yet another reason to be amazed that you are mine.”
She leaned into his caress. From this moment on, she intended to only give him positive surprises.
She was well aware of the irony in helping others improve their lives whilst she hadn’t the slightest inkling what to do with her own. But that was no longer true. She now had a purpose. Slowly, she was starting to have worth.
Rain streaked against the dusty glass as the carriage rattled ever closer to London. With Anthony at her side, the fear that had knotted her stomach began to ease.
Anthony didn’t see her as nothing more than a mirror of her mother. As far as he was concerned, she was the product of her own actions, not those of her parents. Her value came from within.
Now that she was Mrs. Fairfax, women unaware of her past spoke to her like an equal. An entire magical week had passed without being insulted, rebuffed, or propositioned even once.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed in sleepy contentment. It was definitely a life she would love to get used to. Her eyes drifted shut to dream.
“Charlotte?” Anthony pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “This is the final posting-house. We’re in London. Once we eat, we’ll head to my parents’ townhouse.”
London. She lifted her head and winced at a crick in her stiff neck.
Dusk was falling. The rain had eased. They had stopped in front of a posting-house. “You don’t want to go straight to your family?”
“I want food,” he replied, his expression shuttered. “My parents’ pantry has something of a capricious nature. Come. Let’s have a hot supper.”
She took his hand and let him hand her out of the carriage. A cold wind swept through the street, taking rubbish—and Charlotte’s loosened bonnet—with it.
Some yards up the street, an inebriated gentleman with a glass of some murky drink in his hand managed to swipe the bonnet up as it tumbled past. He swaggered unsteadily in her direction. “T
his yours, lassie?”
She snatched the now grimy bonnet from his hands. “Thank you.”
He frowned and leaned forward to squint at her. “Don’t I know you?”
Suddenly aware of the curl of her freshly washed hair and the setting sun illuminating her telltale face with rosy light, she hurriedly shoved the dirty bonnet back onto her head.
It was too late.
“You’re the dead spit of Judith Devon.” His cracked lips curved into a lascivious grin. “Had her a time or two before she got too old. You must be her daughter. Bet you like to shag just as much as your mama, eh?”
Before Charlotte could do more than stare at him, frozen in panic at having to face one of her mother’s many clients this far from London, a fist shot out and slammed into the man’s cheek, knocking him to the ground.
Anthony’s voice was icy with fury. “No one speaks to my wife with disrespect.”
“N-no, sir,” the gentleman stammered, wiping blood from his split lip. “I didn’t know she was yours.”
“Now you do.” Anthony wrapped his arm about Charlotte’s trembling shoulders and led her toward the posting-house. “Let’s leave the rubbish in the street.”
A thousand emotions assailed her whirling mind at once. Shame at even a drunkard being able to identify her for what she was. Humiliation that Anthony should witness it happening. Shock that, for the first time in her life, someone had come to her defense. Amazement and wonder at the realization that Anthony was her protector—in the true sense of the word.
He didn’t pay her for the use of her body. He respected her and required others to do the same.
Warmth began to ease back into her limbs. She took a shaky breath and leaned closer to Anthony to catch her breath. This wouldn’t be the last time she was accosted on the street.
But this time, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Chapter 17
By the time their hack rolled to a stop in front of his parents’ townhouse, Anthony was a jumble of nervous anticipation.
From the moment he’d first snuck into a gaming den at the age of fourteen, he had done his best to only darken his parents’ door when his pockets were heavy with gold to share.
His parents’ world revolved around money. When they had extra, they were buoyant and gay. But when they were in arrears… Anthony swallowed. He did his best to keep his family afloat. Despite his spendthrift proclivities, he was the closest to reliable breadwinner they’d ever had. His parents were too focused on blending with the ton.
This time, he had brought an even bigger surprise. Today he would present them with a daughter-in-law. His chest lightened. Charlotte was worth more than gold.
In high spirits, he swung her out of the hack and on to the short pathway leading up to the front door. After flipping the jarvey an extra farthing to follow with the trunks, he took Charlotte’s hand and marched up to bang the brass knocker. His entire body was giddy with energy.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
He straightened his waistcoat and adjusted his cravat. Charlotte’s blue eyes were fixed on the door, her cheeks pale with trepidation. He frowned and banged the knocker anew. Even if his parents were not at home, certainly a servant would answer the door.
Unless, of course, his parents had once again run out of coin to pay the staff.
His elation dimmed. The difference between his parents with money and his parents without money… He rubbed his temples. Perhaps he and Charlotte should reserve an inn for the night and come to call another day.
The door cracked open. Moonlight lit a sliver of his mother’s nervous countenance. She flung the door open wide.
He sketched a bow. “Good evening, Mother. Miss me?”
“Anthony,” she squealed. She grabbed his lapels and kissed both his cheeks. “You are just in time.”
“Supper?” he asked in surprise. “At this hour?”
“What? No. There was barely enough roast duck for your father and I to share. Not to mention that it was half burned.” She fanned her throat. “You’re just in time to pay the maid-of-all-work. Scruggs is the only one we have left. She cooks a terrible duck, but you know how doing work of any kind ruins my fingernails. She’s in the kitchen now. I told her she wasn’t to come out until she’d scrubbed every speck of black off those pots, and only then would we discuss her salary. Thank goodness you have arrived, so as not to make a liar of me!”
Anthony’s shoulders tensed under the weight of his responsibilities. His parents needed his cash. They always did. But how could he rescue them when he couldn’t even save himself?
“Can we discuss overdue wages once we’ve come inside, Mother?” He slid his arm around Charlotte’s waist and pulled her closer. “I’ve someone I would like you to meet.”
“Oh!” his mother gasped. “I am mortified. Discussing finances is terribly vulgar. Come in, child. Enter.” She turned her head toward the kitchen. “Scroggs! We have guests!” She turned back to Anthony with hopeful eyes. “That maid has been dreadfully overworked. Might we employ a butler?”
Embarrassed, he pulled Charlotte and their traveling trunks into the townhouse and shut the door firmly behind them. “Charlotte, this is my mother, Mrs. Margaret Fairfax. Mother, I’d like you to meet my wife, Mrs. Charlotte Fairfax.”
“Your what?” his mother screeched. “Anthony, how could you? You know how much I love a wedding. Your sister was such a disappointment in that regard, what with having a private ceremony in the Duke of Ravenwood’s London estate and not even inviting us—I shall never forgive her—and you’ve gone and done the same. Can’t you try to be thoughtful?”
“See?” he asked Charlotte with a straight face. “To my mother, a private wedding being held at a ducal estate is far more scandalous than the reason for the secrecy. My sister was eight months pregnant.”
“Closer to nine, I should think,” his mother mused as she led them toward the sitting room. “The twins came right after.” She sent a horrified glance toward Charlotte’s midsection. “She’s not—You didn’t—”
“No, no,” he assured her. His sins were many, but they were always crimes against himself. His mother need not have worried. “Any grandchildren will arrive after the nine-month mark. Where’s Father? I would like to present Charlotte to him, too.”
“At his club, I’m afraid.” His mother gave a long-suffering sigh. “I wish he wouldn’t drink so. Anthony, if you could dash over tomorrow perhaps, and settle your father’s account at White’s, he would be ever so grateful.”
“Mother…” He eased onto the sofa and pulled Charlotte down beside him. “Listen to me. I’m afraid I’m well into dun territory and have little coin to spare.”
His mother perched on the edge of a wingback chair opposite them and waved his words away. “Who isn’t stretched thin these days? You should see the lengthy accounts just for keeping properly attired for the Season. To order new gowns, I had to switch modistes just so I could start a new account! You cannot imagine the humiliation.”
Guilt squeezed Anthony’s chest. He leaned forward, his voice urgent. He had to make her understand. “Mother, please hear me. I’m all to pieces. Up the River Tick. Knocked into horse-nails. I haven’t got a spare ha’penny. If I don’t pay my creditors within a week, I’ll spend the rest of my life in Marshalsea. Do you understand me?”
She blinked, cast a sidelong glance at Charlotte, then fixed him with a wounded look. “If that excuse were remotely true, mightn’t you think it an inopportune moment to take on the responsibility of a bride? If you don’t wish to help your parents, just say so. When the lease runs up, we’ll go back to the country and…and manage. We always do.”
Anthony’s stomach clenched. How he wished her suspicions were true. He had never been able to turn them down when they needed a bit of blunt. But this time, he would have to.
“Charlotte and I had a somewhat unplanned elopement,” he said carefully. “I found out how dire my situation was the following
morning. You are right. It was the most inopportune of moments. But right now, every penny I can find must go toward keeping me out of prison. Or at least reducing the length of my stay.”
“It’s true?” His mother’s wide eyes focused not on him, but on Charlotte. “They can take Anthony away?”
“They will take him away,” Charlotte corrected grimly as she slid her hand into his. “Unless we can raise enough money to stop it.”
“I got myself into this scrape,” he started to remind her.
Charlotte held up her other palm. “I’m your wife. Now it’s our debt.”
He winced. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. He was the man. The provider. The law bestowed ownership of all property on the husband because the husband was meant to use his resources to protect his wife. Not leave her abandoned and penniless.
How on earth would he be able to take care of his family from prison? The reason his parents loved him so much was because he indulged them at every opportunity. Once he was gone, they would lose their home. They might even end up in debtors’ prison alongside him.
“We can’t let that happen.” His mother wrung her thin hands, eyes wide with desperation. “We sold everything of value last year, when we were evicted from the old townhouse. Your father hasn’t got a single book left in his library. The most expensive thing in this house is the one gown I intend to wear all Season. I commissioned a host of interchangeable trims and lace so that no one will realize I’m always wearing the same dress.”
Anthony blinked. He hadn’t realized his mother had ever taken any cost-saving measures, much less that she actively thought ahead to try and minimize debt. Her complaints about his father’s visits to the club were now colored in a different light. Perhaps it was not the drinking she objected to after all, but rather the associated account they could never manage to settle. And the extra burden on her son.
