by Sara Reinke
* * * *
After breakfast, James invited Charlotte for a walk through her mother’s garden. Charlotte did not want to go, but she was in Lady Epping’s house, and any disregard of courteous protocol would be unaccepted.
She did her best, however, offering the excuse of the damp morning chill, but neither James nor Lady Epping proved dissuaded.
“Darling, draw a redingote on and tuck your hands in a muff,” Lady Epping said. “It is only October, not the dead of winter.”
Charlotte hunkered her shoulders in miserable resignation. As she drew her redingote about her in the foyer, she spared Reilly a glance. Help me, she tried to impart with her eyes. The corner of his mouth hooked in a smirk that conveyed, Would that I could, Charlotte.
James offered his arm genteelly to her, and she rested her hand against the crook of his elbow as they strolled together along the cobbled pathways twining through the garden. Most of the flowers and decorative shrubbery had already been uprooted or trimmed back in anticipation of winter months, but Charlotte pretended even leaf-barren nubs or overturned patches of soil absorbed her attention. He accepted her silence for a while without interruption, but she could feel his gaze upon her and knew he would not let her so easily escape for long.
“Do you know how precious you are to me, Charlotte?” he asked at length, pausing in mid-stride, and drawing her to an obliging halt alongside of him. “Do you know how desperate with worry I was?”
She looked up at him and tried to find something polite to say in reply. “That… that is very kind of you, James.”
“When I think of that scoundrel highwayman touching you,” James whispered, his brows pinching. “Laying his filthy hands against your soft flesh, the innocent swell of your bosom in such savage fashion, I…” He lowered his face to the ground. “You do not know what swells within me to think of it, Charlotte.”
Charlotte had her ideas, but kept them to herself.
“This would not have happened if I had accompanied you properly,” he said quietly, looking at her. “If in addition to Mr. Cheadle, I had seen a full appointment of grooms to escort you.”
“James, there is no way to have anticipated what happened,” Charlotte told him. “It was unfortunate that we encountered the Black Trio and blessedly, none of us were hurt or killed for the incident. No one is to blame, least of all you.”
He turned to her, draping his hands against her muff. “Your words make sense to my mind,” he said. “Not to my heart, Charlotte. I promise you, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if only…if only you will let me.”
Charlotte blinked at him. She knew what he was saying, even without him uttering the words. “James,” she said. “We have spoken of this before.”
“I know,” he said, nodding. He stepped toward her, drawing very near, and his hands moved from her muff to her shoulders. She felt his palms slide against her throat, and she tried to shrug away from him.
“James…” she said, frowning.
He cradled her face between his hands and leaned toward her. “You are so beautiful, Charlotte,” he whispered. “Do you know how much I long for you?
How mad you drive me with need?”
His mouth lowered toward hers, poised to settle in a kiss. “James, stop,” she said, ducking her head. “My mother can see plainly through the windows, if she wishes.”
She pulled away, and he let her go. “Must you always be so insufferable in your persistence?” she asked.
“If it will yield me your hand, yes,” he replied.
“It will not, James,” she said. “I have told you.”
“And I have told you,” he said. “It is not right that you should refuse me. We live in a society unsuitable for a woman on her own.”
“I am hardly on my own,” Charlotte said.
“You are unwed,” he said. “And of an age when such a status is no longer considered proper or agreeable. You are meant to be married. That sweet chamber of your womb is meant to welcome a husband’s seed, to bear him children. Your days should be spent without the pains and tribulations of worry or complicated thought. You busy yourself with such nonsense all the time, Charlotte, and being unaccustomed to it, you work yourself into a state whereby rumors peg you shrewish. It is not ill temper that causes such within you, Charlotte, and I know that. It is confusion, and you need not burden your sweet, delicate mind with such bewildering matters. That is not your place, Charlotte. Your place is with me, by my side as my wife. Can you still not realize this? I would present you proudly as my bride, a magnificent adornment on my arm.”
“I am not a cufflink, James,” she said, her brows narrowing. Her ire amused him, and he chuckled.
“It is only your stubborn resolve that keeps you refusing me,” he said. “You have not even stopped to consider that marrying me would be for your own good.”
He stepped toward her. “I am the son of the Earl of Essex,” he said. “Any noble daughter would fawn upon herself to see my attentions turned to them. Yet mine remain fixed upon you. You are pristine and proud; your beauty takes my breath.”
“And you know nothing else about me, for all of the years we have been acquainted,” Charlotte said.
He blinked at her in surprise. “What else is there to know?” he asked. She frowned at him and he laughed. “Oh, now, un-knit that threatening, unkind brow,” he said. “I was teasing.”
“No, you were not,” she said. She turned and walked back toward the house.
“Charlotte…” James called, his tone of voice suggesting he humored her as she pitched an unnecessary fit. “Charlotte, darling, come back. I am sorry. I meant no disregard. I spoke in fun.”
“Some fun,” she muttered. “And do not call me ‘darling’!” she snapped without turning around.
“Charlotte, of course I know more about you than your beauty. It is just your beauty that strikes me the most. Is that such a crime? If so, I plead my guilt gladly. I throw myself willingly against your gallows! Throttle me from your sweet Tyburn tree!”
She did not turn. She followed the path back toward Darton Hall. She could hear him laughing behind her, as one might at the histrionics of a malcontent child. The sound made her fume, and she balled her hands into fists.
