by Erica Ridley
“You thought I was a whore?” Her eyes filled with shame and fury.
“No, I… I just assumed…” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Of course he hadn’t believed her a whore—but nor would he have imagined her still a maiden. He had only meant to give her pleasure. Instead, he had insulted her.
Devil take it. His mistake had thoroughly ruined the moment—and quite possibly the peace they’d found in their relationship. He’d thought she wanted the same thing he did. Never would he have believed one day he would be shocked to discover his wife was a virgin.
“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 bare 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. Instead, he’d reinforced her belief that there was no escape from being judged by her mother’s actions. Not even with him.
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. Her legs shook. A hired hackney awaited them at the curb, its door flung wide and inviting.
She could not have wished to run away more.
London was going to be horrid. After last night, anywhere would be terrible. Her chest constricted with dread. She could resolve to keep a shield about herself all she wished, but the truth was Anthony was already in her heart.
Breaking it from the inside out.
This morning’s misunderstanding was not wholly his fault. His assumptions about her chastity—or lack thereof—were identical to those of every other man she’d ever met. She’d just hoped, with him, it could be different. That he wouldn’t view her as an extension of her mother.
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. You grew up in the same house in which she plied her trade.
He had clearly been shocked to learn she was still a virgin. To him, why should she be? 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 courtesan’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. The men she knew 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 as though she had somewhere she belonged. As an equal.
Yet once he knew the truth, 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. But she had no wish to share her marriage bed with her mother’s shadow.
If she wasn’t even her own person with someone as kind as Anthony, what hope was there at all?
Perhaps it was simply human nature. After all, had she not done the same to him? Identify him as a selfish, self-important scoundrel 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 straightened her shoulders 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.
“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. Thanks to Anthony, she was more of a complete person today than she had been before she met him.
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 and facing the wrath and disgust of her father’s real family. The ones that mattered.
Her father was dead. She would have to accept whatever role he wished to give her. Even if it was that of a mistake. Even if she was forced to return the rubies to their rightful home.
She stared straight ahead at the yawning maw of the hackney cab and tried not to run away. She was returning to that cursed city not for herself, but for her husband. London was where Anthony would have his best chance of prying himself out of his tight situation. That it would be as miserable as ever for her did not signify.
Now they were a team.
They would find a way to save him from debtors’ prison. Somehow.
At that moment, Anthony 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 nonetheless offered his arm without hesitation.
“Ready?” he asked.
Of course not. Taking a coach into London was like taking a hackney straight to hell. But if it helped him, the sacrifice would be worth it.
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 and he would not cease nattering on about the latest Grenville musicale. Were you terribly bored in the tavern room?”
She shook her head. At this inn, at least, her face had become synonymous with a sympathetic ear. She was never alone for long.
“Before I stepped out of doors, 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 as he helped her into the carriage. “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?”
“I wanted something else.” 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 practical solution should cement you all the more as a woman wise beyond compare.”
Charlotte’s cheeks heated. She had never been called darling before. And had rarely been complimented. Today was full of firsts. Perhaps he did see her differently. “Those were almost precisely her words.”
“Then she is an excellent judge of character.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek in wonder. “Every day, I discover yet another reason to be amazed that you are mine.”
Hope bubbled through her. Those were exactly the sort of words she’d dreamed of so
meday hearing. Pleasure warmed her cheeks as she gazed back at him.
She leaned into his caress. Butterflies filled her from the warmth of his smile. She was the one who was amazed to have him. From this moment on, she intended to only give him positive surprises.
Rain streaked against the dusty glass as the carriage rattled ever closer to London. The fear that had knotted her stomach began to ease. She had misjudged him. At least in one area.
Anthony saw her as more than a mirror of her mother. As far as he was concerned, her value did not come from the circumstances of her birth. But then, from where? No matter how well he treated her, she would never be a highborn society lady. He might be able to look past it, but other people would not. The truth was too big a chasm.
Now that she was Mrs. Fairfax, women unaware of her past spoke to her like an equal. An entire blissful week had passed without being insulted, rebuffed, or propositioned even once. She must remember that.
She leaned her head against his shoulder with a sleepy sigh. If only being accepted by others were as easy as being accepted by Anthony. That would definitely be a life she would love to get used to. Her eyes drifted shut as she let herself dream.
“Charlotte?” Sometime later, Anthony touched her shoulder. “This is the final posting house. We’re in London. Once we eat, we’ll head to my parents’ townhouse. They’ll have dined hours ago.”
London. She lifted her head and winced at a crick in her stiff neck. She’d slept for longer than she had realized.
Dusk was falling. The rain had eased. They were 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. He turned back to fetch their luggage.
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. “This 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 myself. You must be her daughter. Bet you like a good shag just as much as your mama, eh?”
Before Charlotte could do more than freeze panic at having to face one of her mother’s many clients, a fist shot out and slammed into the man’s jaw, 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. “We’ll 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. Not the demeaning one.
He didn’t pay her for the use of her body. He respected her and required others to do the same. Her heart pounded.
She took a shaky breath and leaned closer to Anthony to catch her breath. Warmth began to ease back into her limbs. 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. Not because he didn’t know how his parents would react to his unexpected arrival. But because he knew all too well.
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.
From the moment he’d first sneaked into a gaming den at the age of fourteen, he had done his best to come home with his pockets heavy with gold. 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. Something far more lasting than a mere gaming purse. Today he would present them with a daughter-in-law.
Anthony’s chest tightened. His mother would not be pleased at the prospect of one more mouth to feed. Providing for a wife would have an impact on his ability to provide for his parents.
His mother and father had to realize that, at some point, their son would take a wife… but they undoubtedly did not expect such a change to be imminent.
Neither had Anthony.
But although the timing was less than ideal and his pocketbook had never been poorer, Charlotte herself was worth more than gold.
He swung his wife 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 her 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. Nothing happened. He adjusted his cravat. Still no answer. Charlotte’s blue eyes were fixed on the door, her cheeks pale with trepidation. He frowned and banged the knocker anew. His elation dimmed.
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. He rubbed his temples.
The difference between his parents with money and his parents without money… He checked his pocket watch. It was after ten. Perhaps he and Charlotte should reserve an inn for the night and 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, incredulous. “At this late 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. Scroggs 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!”
Poor Scroggs. Anthony’s shoulders tensed under the weight of his responsibilities. His parents needed his ready money. 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 in front of an audience is unforgivably 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 is dreadfully overworked. Might we employ a butler?”
Embarrassed, he pulled Charlotte and their traveling trunk
s 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 in horror. “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 told Charlotte with a wry 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 at the time.”
“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 well after the requisite 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. He has precious little credit left.”
“Mother…” He eased onto the sofa and pulled Charlotte down beside him. “Listen to me. I’m afraid I’m well into dun territory, myself, and have little coin to spare.”
His mother perched on the edge of a chaise longue opposite them and waved his words away. “Who isn’t stretched thin these days? You should see the lengthy accounts I accumulate just by keeping properly attired for the Season. I had to switch modistes to order new gowns 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. Empty pockets, Mother. I haven’t a spare ha’penny. If I don’t pay my creditors within a week, I’ll spend the rest of my life in Marshalsea. The situation is deadly serious. Do you understand?”
