by Sara Reinke
Chapter Seventeen
By the time they returned to Darton Hall, dusk had settled. The collective mood on their coach ride home was considerably lighter than during the journey to Heathcote, as the women chatted together, sharing smiles and discussing Caroline’s new infant son. This fond cheer continued upon their arrival at Darton, and Charlotte even managed to endure graciously her mother and aunt’s company in her chamber as she tried on Caroline’s wedding dress.
Caroline had insisted her sister wear the gown, a simple but elegant dress of heavy white satin overlaid with ivory embroidered flowers. The skirt was buoyant but not too broad. Its modest design and shape suited Charlotte’s tastes, while the well-tailored dress fit like it had been made to her form.
She had not come up with a plan to avoid marrying James. Charlotte found that over the course of that day, she no longer possessed the desire to fight her mother. Not because she had changed her mind, or her feelings for Will had lessened any within her heart, but simply because she felt like she and Lady Epping had come to some manner of mutual understanding. They had not declared a truce by any means, but the tension that had been drawn so painfully taut between them since her return from London had at last slackened. Charlotte could plainly see now that her mother was not trying to hurt her. As she had insisted all the while, Lady Epping only acted as she thought best suited Charlotte. It was no one’s fault that mother and daughter shared diametrically opposing viewpoints on what constituted “best” for Charlotte; or that they both shared the same stubborn resolve to their own mindsets.
Lady Epping smiled at Charlotte as she stood in Caroline’s gown. Charlotte watched lamplight flicker off tears in Lady Epping’s eyes, and she could not summon the heart to protest. “You look so beautiful,” Lady Epping whispered, her hands fluttering against Charlotte’s cheeks. “Would you wear the diamonds Lord Roding gave you? They would look so lovely with the dress.”
This was Lady Epping’s concession as much as Charlotte’s lack of objection was hers; she had not demanded one thing from Charlotte since they had returned from Heathcote. She had asked her daughter’s opinions on things; did she like the gown? Did she want a broader pannier beneath? Would another petticoat suit her? There may not have been surrender on either woman’s side, but there was that subtle peace nonetheless.
“Yes, Mother,” Charlotte said, knowing it would please Lady Epping. “I think you are right. They would suit it well.”
She tried not to look miserable. The day had been so joyous otherwise, and she did not want to impose with her own unhappiness. She kept thinking of what Caroline had told her about James doomed for debtors prison. She tried to find some measure of comfort in the thought that perhaps her sister was right, and she could satisfy her mother, and see to her own happiness in the end by marrying James and taking Will as her lover.
She knew what Will would think. It would hurt him beyond measure, just as it would pain her to ask it of him. However, Will was the type to resign himself readily to circumstances, as he had so aptly demonstrated.
Charlotte tried to tell herself that Will was logical and reasonable. He would understand and be forgiving, conceding in her pleas. He might not like his place in the ultimate result of matters—as Charlotte did not—but he would likely commiserate that there was no other alternative.
Lady Epping took her by the hands and stepped near her, kissing her cheek. “My darling girl,” she murmured. “You must be exhausted. I will leave you to Una. Sleep well, Charlotte.”
“And you, Mother,” Charlotte said, returning her mother’s kiss.
Lady Epping and Lady Chelmsford took their leaves, and Una helped Charlotte loose from the gown and underpinnings, offering her nightdress to her. “You are certainly being agreeable,” Una observed, as she unfettered Charlotte’s stay.
“I am too tired to argue anymore,” Charlotte replied, shrugging herself out of the confines of the corset as Una pulled it loose. She took her nightgown in hand and slipped it over her head.
“There is a first,” Una said in surprise. “What is the purpose in arguing anyway?”
Charlotte asked glumly. “There is nothing I can do or say to prove James so ill in Mother’s regard to change her mind. Caroline told me he is in debt—damn near in prison for it—but his father is so fixed on seeing me saved from even this, it would be no argument against Mother.”
She walked toward her bed and sat wearily on the side of the mattress. “Caroline said I should marry James and keep Kenley for a lover.”
Una made a thoughtful murmuring sound as she hung Charlotte’s wedding dress. “Such things are not unheard of, I have been told. I suppose it depends on your point of view.”
Charlotte glanced at her. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, there is a decided difference between a lover and a love,” Una replied. “Though it is not always indistinguishable, it remains. You should ask yourself which you want more: a lover? Or a love?”
Charlotte blinked down at her lap, feeling the stinging warmth of tears in her eyes. A lover had been nice enough, wonderful, even, but that was not why she wanted to be with Will. “How do I get out of this, Una?” she whispered, feeling a teardrop trickle slowly from the corner of her eye, sliding along the side of her nose.
“I do not know, lamb,” Una said. She walked over to the bedside and stroked her hand gently against Charlotte’s hair. “But you are not wed yet, and God sometimes takes after such matters in His own fashion.”
Charlotte looked up at her, and Una smiled, brushing her fingertips beneath the shelf of Charlotte’s chin. “And no matter what, I am with you,” she said. “We will make do together, whatever comes to pass.”
A soft tap against Charlotte’s doorframe drew their attention. The door stood open, and Reilly was at the threshold. “Pardon my intrusion,” he said, dropping a polite nod to Una.
“Of course, my lord,” Una said.
“May I… may I speak with you a moment, Charlotte?” Reilly asked, looking toward his sister. “I know you are tired, but I… it will not take long.”
“Of course, Reilly,” Charlotte said. She watched him walk into the room as Una took her leave, closing the door behind her. Reilly moved slowly, his footsteps shuffling, and Charlotte was moved with pity for him, remembering the vicious damage Cheadle’s fists had delivered.
He approached her, slipping his hand into an inner pocket of his justicoat. He pulled out a small sack, bulging to near overflowing with its contents. He tossed it to Charlotte, and she blinked in surprise, her hands darting upward reflexively, her fingers closing about the sack. She heard a loud jangling at the impact; the pouch was filled with coins, and she blinked again in bewilderment.
“Take it,” Reilly said. “What?”
“Take it,” Reilly said again. “Take my horse and go to Theydon Hall. Leave here, Charlotte. Take Kenley, and the two of you go.”
Charlotte stared at him, stricken. “There are at least twenty pounds there,” Reilly said. “More than enough to buy whatever you might need—a home, lands, a new life. Ship fare if you choose. Whatever you will need.”
“Where did you get this?” she whispered, although she knew. It was his portion from the Black Trio robberies. Charlotte did not doubt for one moment that Reilly had likely harbored an idea such as he had just described for him and Meghan, to use the money to buy them a new life where they could be together. He was giving away the life he wanted with Meghan so that Charlotte could have one with Will.
“It does not matter,” Reilly said. “James Houghton is a rotted bastard, and I will not stand by any longer while you are forced against your will to marry him. You told me you love Kenley. Do you?”
“Yes,” Charlotte whispered.
Reilly nodded once. “Take it, then,” he said. “Take it and go.”
“I… I cannot do that,” she said.
He blinked, surprised. “Of course you can,” he said.
“You know I cannot,
” Charlotte said. His brows narrowed slightly. “Do not be stubborn about this, Charlotte,” he said. “Not now, not with me. I want you to have the bloody coins. Take them and go.”
“You know I cannot do that, Reilly,” she said again, rising. “You know what will happen if I do not marry James.”
Reilly stared at her, the moderate aggravation in his face fading to abrupt, stunned realization. As she stepped toward him, he drew back, his eyes bright with alarm. “It is all right,” Charlotte said softly. “Please, Reilly. It is all right.”
“I… I do not know what you are talking about,” he said, but it was a terrible attempt to lie. He knew fully well; it was apparent in his stricken expression.
“I will not let James or Cheadle hurt you again,” she said. “And I will not let them hang you, Lewis, or Will.”
Reilly recoiled as if she had just kneed him in the groin. “Will?” he gasped, his eyes widening. “How… how do you…”
“Cheadle found me at Hudswell Hall,” she said. “I ran from the party to the stables and he was there. He told me he had struck a deal with you to insure I married James. I did not understand it at the time, but then I heard you talking to Meghan, and I saw the bruises on you…”
“Cheadle spoke to you?” Reilly asked, and anger flashed in his face, cleaving his brows. “That bastard—did he hurt you? Did he touch you? By my breath, if he lay his hands on you—”
“He did not hurt me,” Charlotte whispered. She touched Reilly’s face; he tried to flinch, but she settled her palm against his cheek. “He only frightened me. He told me James would see you hang—you, Lewis, and Kenley if I did not marry him. I did not understand, but I do now, Reilly. Last night I went to Theydon Hall, and Will told me. He told me everything.”
He stared at her, visibly anguished, his breath hitching as though he thought to speak, but his voice failed him.
“I know,” Charlotte said. “I know who you are. I know why Cheadle said you would hang. I know where this money came from, what you did and why you did it, Reilly. I know you did it for Meghan.”
She stepped against him, and he stiffened uncertainly. She drew her arms gently about his waist, mindful of his injuries as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “It is all right,” she whispered.
She felt him tremble against her, and his arms wrapped slowly about her. He lowered his face toward hers, and uttered a pained gasp. “I never meant for it to be like this,” he said. “It is my fault. All of this is because of me. I have brought this on you—on us all—and I … I am so sorry, lamb!”
“It is all right, Reilly,” Charlotte said again, holding him.
