by Jane Charles
“No, no,” Wynn said, standing. He waved her over to where he stood behind his desk. “Come, Charlotte. I don't bite.”
Charlotte swallowed and forced her feet to move forward. “Here.” She extended the letter toward him.
He didn't take it. Gesturing toward one of the chairs, he said, “Would you like to sit?”
No. “Have I done something wrong?”
He frowned. “No. I just thought we might chat.”
“Chat?” Had she heard that right?
Wordlessly, Wynn came around the front of his desk and gripped the backs of both of the wing-backed chairs that faced his desk. Looking straight at Charlotte, he began dragging the chairs in her direction. “If you won't come to me, I shall come to you.”
A nervous giggle caught in Charlotte's throat. Did he truly expect them to just chat?
Wynn stopped and turned the chairs so they were at a forty-five degree angle to each other. He sat down in one and patted the blue velvet cushion of the other.
Apparently so.
Charlotte obeyed. “Here,” she said, trying to give him the letter again.
Wynn pushed the edge of the letter. “No, I don't want to read it. I'm sure whatever you wrote will get that fool to spill it.”
Chills ran up Charlotte's spine and she stiffened. “Are you saying only a fool would wish to compliment me?”
Wynn's brown eyes flared wide. “No!” A light pink Charlotte had never seen before touched the top of his cheeks. “Charlotte.” He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “I know I haven't been the husband young girls spin their dreams about, however, I didn't mean my statement as an insult to you in the least.” He reached his hand forward almost as if he were about to touch her, then pulled his hand back and clapped it over his knee. “You're a beautiful, desirable young lady and if that simpleton could only think to compliment the lip color you occasionally smear on your lips—” his left shoulder went up in a lopsided shrug— “he's fool enough to give himself away.”
Charlotte gaped at him. Had he recently suffered a brain fever she was unaware of? “Th-thank you.”
“You're welcome.” Wynn stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles, then folded his hands over his waist. “Is there anything you'd like to talk about?”
Yes, he'd definitely suffered some sort of ailment. “No.”
Wynn pursed his lips and made a series of noises. “Hmmm.” He glanced out the window. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”
Charlotte shook her head.
“Tomorrow?'
Why was he suddenly so curious? “Lady Atherton is hosting a musicale tomorrow night,” she offered.
“Brilliant.” Wynn grinned. “I shall be delighted to accompany you.”
“Will you be just as delighted to accompany yourself? Because I do not plan to attend.”
Wynn's face went blank. “No. The delight-ment ends when you're not on my arm.”
“You're jealous!” Charlotte burst out. Immediately, she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, but it was too late.
“Perhaps a little,” was Wynn's simple reply. He stood, not meeting her eyes, and then straightened his coat. “Now if you'll excuse me. I need get back to the correspondence Baxter sent over. I'll have Dulcey send a man over to let Lady Atherton know we will both be attending the musicale tomorrow night then.” He reached for her hand and brushed a kiss across the top of her knuckles. “Until then, I'll be looking forward to tomorrow night.”
“And the letter?” she asked, unable to pull her hand from his.
“Give it to Dulcey. He can give it to the messenger the next time Lord Smitten sends you a missive.”
Chapter 8
James was jealous, dammit, which was bad enough. But for Charlotte to know it… Well, it made him just that much more vulnerable. Did she think it an amusing tidbit to share with her family? Or did it make her more drawn to the man behind the letters?
That reminded him of what he needed to do at present.
“Dulcey,” he said.
“Yes, my lord.”
“What is your post here?”
“The butler, my lord,” Dulcey said with a bow and a stoic expression.
“Good, then. I won't need to remind you.”
“No, my lord.”
“You shall bring all of the countess' correspondence to me until further notice.” James held out his hand.
As if he knew exactly what James wanted, Dulcey excused himself for a moment and came back with the letter Charlotte had written to Lord Smitten. He placed it in James' open palm.
“Thank you,” James murmured. “Now send a man over to Lady Atherton's to let them know both Lord and Lady Wynn will be attending their musicale tomorrow night.”
“Yes, my lord. Anything else?”
“No. You're dismissed.”
“And you're besotted,” came a deep voice from behind James.
James spun on his heel. “Danby,” he greeted through a brittle smile, catching a glimpse of a somewhat amused-looking Dulcey from the corner of his eye. Why the blazes did the duke keep sneaking up on him? James lifted his eyebrow and Dulcey sobered.
“Wynn, I was afraid I'd have to hire a Bow Street Runner to track you down.”
“Well, then I guess I just saved you a small fortune,” James said dryly.
Danby harrumphed and tapped his cane on the floor. “I'll need every pence to purchase a more comfortable pair of boots with how long you make a man stand.”
Reluctantly, James invited the man back to his study, then grimaced the whole way as Danby groaned and grumbled about the long walk and James' hospitality, or rather, the lack thereof.
James knew the man was just trying to be cantankerous. On more than one occasion he'd been behind the man as he climbed three flights of stairs at the opera house without muttering a complaint.
“Please, make yourself comfortable and I'll ring for—”
Thwack. The door to James' study flew shut by the end of Danby's cane. “No need to order anything I don't plan to stay long.”
“Are you sure?” James feigned overwhelming concern. “You have to make the same trek to leave the house. I'd hate my face to be the last you see before you meet your maker.”
“I'm sure you would,” the duke muttered, crossing his arms.
“Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad thing,” James said thoughtfully. “I just might be lauded a hero.”
“The way you're trying to be one in Charlotte's eyes,” Danby asked, a smug expression on his face.
“I'm not trying to be her hero.”
“Just her husband,” Danby concluded.
James remained silent. There was no use in refuting the man's words and they both knew it.
Danby uncrossed his arms and idly polished the top of his cane. “For as much as all of my young family members pretend to hate me, they all have one other thing in common: happiness.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I think it's time I help you and Charlotte.” The twinkle in Danby's eyes made James' stomach flip.
“Thank you for your concern, but I don't think we need any help.”
Danby sorted. “Part of your statement was correct—you don't think.”
Were he anyone else, James would have delivered him a facer. “If you're done insulting me, I have somewhere else I need to be,” James lied.
“Begging for entrance at your wife's bedchamber door?” Danby frowned. “Wynn, I don't mean to be so harsh, but gads, boy, you've been married to Charlotte for three years and I cannot abide to go another Season seeing the two of you— Wait, that's just the thing. I never see the two of you anywhere!” he blustered, thumping his cane again. “I'm an old man, I may not have many years left and it will torment me from the grave if I know I exited this world without making sure my favorite niece wasn't happy.”
James doubted Charlotte was his favorite, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. If he didn't do something, and quick, he'd h
ave the Duke of Meddlesome, as James had heard him oft referred to among some of Charlotte's cousins, poking around his house more than he already was.
“Your Grace, please rest assured, I have this well in hand and you'll be able to go to your grave—whenever that might be—in peace where Charlotte is concerned.”
“Yes, I know,” the man said quickly, too quickly. “Our conversation this afternoon has convinced me that I must make sure of it myself.”
“Pardon me? Not five minutes ago you were accusing me of being besotted with her, then you suggested to help me gain her esteem, and now you're declaring that the only way for you to die in peace is for you to meddle where you're not needed!”
“Welcome to the family, m'boy,” Danby said, tipping his head toward James, then without another word, he quit the room.
James poked his head out the door of his study, noting how quickly—and quietly—the old codger made his exit.
As soon as the man was out of his line of sight, James pulled out the missive burning a hole in his chest.
Dear Sir,
Flattery does not do justice to my knowledge that you've taken notice of me. Dare I ask where it was that you lost a little piece of your heart upon glimpsing me in my green dress?
Your Lady Fair
James gripped the edge of his desk, his mind reeling. Charlotte had been willing to show him this? How much more provoking would it have been had she known he wouldn't see it? He wouldn't think about that now, he'd write her another letter.
Chapter 9
Charlotte took a step back and took in her appearance in her full-length mirror. From her perfectly coiffed hair to her perfectly pressed purple silk gown all the way down to her cream slippers Charlotte was dressed to the height of fashion and should have all the confidence of a queen.
Unfortunately, she did not.
She forced a wider smile that resembled a grimace more than anything else.
“Mazie, can you have Lord Wynn informed that I won't be able to go?”
“And what reason would you have him believe?” asked the man himself, poking his head into her bedchamber.
Charlotte started and her hands flew to her chest. “You frightened me.”
“My apologies,” he murmured. “The door was open so I assumed…”
Charlotte wasn't sure how much she liked this new, more familiar version of her husband.
“Did Lord Smitten pour his heart out to you again today?” Wynn asked as soon as the carriage door was closed.
Yes, this more familiar Lord Wynn would take some time to get accustomed to. “No.” She flashed him a smile. “Did he send one to you asking for your blessing?”
“No, he did not,” Wynn said in mock-indignation, shocking Charlotte to the toes. “Was that not the response you were expecting?”
Charlotte shook her head.
Wynn's lips formed a thin smile. “You'll find out a few more surprises about me, if you'll give me a chance.”
Numbly, Charlotte nodded. He was trying. Genuinely trying. “I'm sorry. I'll try to control my tongue.”
“And change what I enjoy best about you? You wouldn't dare!” Wynn's lips thinned and he crossed his arms. “Never mind that. Of course you would.”
Charlotte kicked his knee with the toe of her slipper. “You're incorrigible.”
Wynn's hands flew to his chest. “I am?”
“Now who is the one dripping sarcasm?” she asked, wagging a finger at him.
“I learned from the queen.”
Charlotte grabbed the sides of her skirt and bent her head down.
Wynn laughed at her antics. “Is my queen ready to go be serenaded by London's finest musicians?”
Charlotte choked on her laughter. “Don't repeat that or it'll be obvious to everyone in the room you've never attended one of Lady Atherton's musicales.”
Wynn helped Charlotte down from the carriage. “Should I have brought cotton?” he murmured.
“I'll let you ponder that while we wait for the performance to begin.”
Yes, he most certainly should have brought cotton.
A whole bale at minimum.
The screeching.
The scratching.
The clanging and banging.
The missed notes.
The notes that went on and on for measures without seeming to end only to abruptly stop with a long, high-pitched squeal of the horn.
Oh, the misery.
James looked longingly at the little puff of white cotton in his wife's ear. His fingers itched to pluck it from her ear and cram it into one of his own.
Just then, she turned her head and winked at him then faced the musicians and smiled widely at them.
In the front of the drawing room, the little row of musicians stood and took their bows, then another group came up to play. James wanted to groan. How much more torture could one man endure?
To his utter surprise, the quartet who took the stage possessed far more talent than the last. It didn't hurt that their instruments contained strings rather than horns. Another boon in their favor was that they had a pianist off to the side who banged so loudly on the keys, it was hard to hear much from the two violins and the oboe. Where had this pianist been when the other group was torturing the masses? She could actually play her instrument.
James narrowed his eyes on the pianist. She looked vaguely familiar, but James couldn't see her well enough around the pianoforte.
Around him, everyone started standing and clapping.
James looked at Charlotte to make sure she knew to stand but she was already on her feet, clapping and smiling in a way that could make a man weak in the knees.
“Thank you all for coming,” Lady Atherton said. She made a sitting gesture and everyone took their seats. “Let me introduce all of our musicians.” The older woman rattled off a list of names, waving her bejeweled hands wildly about. “And not without notice, Lady Holbrook on the piano,” she said with a little starch in her tone.
Ah, that's who she is. Charlotte's hoyden chaperone who had convinced her to break into James' house that fateful night. He craned his neck around to see if he could spot Holbrook. It didn't take him long. He was sitting right behind James with a very amused look stamped on his face.
James nodded to him. “Holbrook.”
“Wynn. I hardly recognized you sitting there next to my sister.”
“You mean my wife,” James said, piercing the man with his stare.
Holbrook cocked his head to the side. “Are you claiming her these days?”
Charlotte did not bring enough cotton. Claiming her. What exactly did Michael mean by that?
“Pardon me, gentlemen,” she said, whirling around in her chair so she could see both of them. “If you must speak about me, could you wait to do so until I'm not within hearing distance next time?”
“I'm sorry, Charlotte,” Michael said automatically.
“I'm not,” Wynn declared, meeting her eyes. “Is it considered unkind to let him know that you're my wife?”
“Do you truly want her to answer that, Wynn?” Holbrook whispered with a slight chuckle.
Wynn wanted to box the man's ears. “I've made a lot of mistakes where Charlotte is concerned these past three years but I can only make things right from today forward, I cannot undo the past. Reminding me of it does not change it.”
Those words were more for Charlotte's benefit than her brother's, she was certain of it.
Michael's eyes darted back and forth between Charlotte and Wynn. “I do believe that's a good thing,” he said quietly. He offered Charlotte an encouraging smile, then winked.
Charlotte felt her cheeks warming, but refused to break eye contact with her husband. “Did you enjoy your first musicale, my lord?”
“I daresay I savored every note twice as much as you did,” he commented. “Shall we visit the refreshment table?”
“O-of course.” Didn't he want to leave and go insist on his husbandly duty now that he'd suffered a mus
icale with her and all but declared himself in front of her brother? She placed her hand in his open palm and allowed him to help her to her feet, then placed her hand in the crook of his arm.
“Would you like a sliver of spiced cake—” Wynn scanned the sparsely covered table, frowning “—or two bites of spiced cake?”
Charlotte twisted her lips into an overdone frown. “That's a hard choice, to be sure. Hmm.” She made a show of bringing her free hand up by her face and tapped her index finger against her jaw. Sighing, she said, “I do believe I'll settle for the sliver of spiced cake and pray I don't regret not selecting the two bites of spiced cake.”
“Indeed,” Wynn said with a slight chuckle. He handed Charlotte a plate with a piece of cake the size of two fingers on it. “What would you like to drink?”
“A teacup of lemonade.”
Wynn's eyes narrowed to slits and he slowly turned his head in the direction of the drink table and groaned. “Yes, there seems to be significantly more lemonade in each glass than the thimbles of champagne.” He shook his head and it sounded oddly like he muttered something about the Athertons being the cheapest people in all Christendom.
“I usually take two,” she admitted.
“Only two?” His incredulous expression made her nearly lose her composure. “Do you mean two dozen?”
“Now, now,” she chastised, wagging her finger at him. “We wouldn't want anyone to think the Earl and Countess of Wynn are greedy, would we?”
“No, but it wouldn't be remiss for us to expose that we're not mice who've come to steal a nibble in the kitchen.”
“So you're the one Cook has been complaining to Mazie about.”
Wynn shot her a sheepish smile. “I'm afraid you've caught me.”
“Have you replaced me so soon, Wynn?” pouted a young woman with more brightly colored feathers in her hair than were on a rooster. She came up beside Wynn and ran her crooked index finger along his jaw. “I haven't seen you about Town this Season. I was afraid—” She broke off and made a show of blushing and biting her lip.
