How Not to Chaperon a Lady--A sexy, funny Regency romance

by Virginia Heath

  She had broken his heart all over again.

  And was completely oblivious of that tragic fact. A state of affairs he intended to maintain even as he begged for her forgiveness later tonight.

  Later...

  Even now he was being a coward when it would be better for everyone present if he got it over with now. He glanced warily at Charity who still adamantly refused to look his way and steeled himself for the unpleasant conversation. While he dithered, struggling to find the right words to say, his sister gave him a small reprieve.

  ‘What if it is bad news?’ Dorothy was now staring at her letter like a cobra as the servants deposited the covered dishes holding the main course on the table. ‘What if Captain Sinclair has become engaged to someone else in my absence and this note is merely to appraise me of that fact in case I come home with false hope?’

  ‘If he has, he wasn’t worthy of you to begin with and good riddance to him.’ Charity’s curt reply seemed a tad callous and his sister’s face fell. Not that she noticed. She was too busy stabbing a lamb chop with her fork and doubtless imagining it was his face. ‘The last thing a woman needs is a fickle man whose affections change like the wind.’ That barb was clearly aimed at him and it stung, because the affection he felt for her was a very different sort from the affection she had for him. Hers was resolutely platonic. His most definitely wasn’t.

  ‘And I’ve said all along you can do better than a mere captain, Dorothy, and I still stand by that.’ And there was the cruellest blade of all and the stark reminder that she was deserting him for the peer of the realm she had had her beady eyes on since his return last year. A mister couldn’t compete with a lord and an apparent brother certainly could never attempt to compete with a future duke. Not that he would be daft enough to try. He had already made things unbearable with his outburst, never mind fuelling those flames with an unwanted declaration of his unrequited love.

  ‘Accepting the first man who asks, simply because he asked is ludicrous. If I’d have done that I’d have been shackled to that dashing but dim-witted Lieutenant Hopewell since I was seventeen.’ Charity gave a theatrical shudder to punctuate her point. ‘Can you imagine how awful that would have been? Or Lord Keswick—another dud who originally showed promise. Or that Italian count who turned out not to be a count at all.’

  If she was trying to rub salt into his wounds by reminding him of the many lovesick men who had proposed to her over the years, she was doing a very good job. If she wasn’t, the reminder merely highlighted the fact that she knew full well that she was a catch and had every reason to be choosy.

  It was also quite an unnecessary dig at Dorothy who was yet to receive one proposal, let alone three.

  ‘Open it.’ Putting his own misery aside, Griff smiled and squeezed his sister’s hand in reassurance, not wanting her friend’s blunt and depressing warnings to spoil her moment. ‘Because I sincerely doubt he would have wasted the cost of the postage to tell you something you could read just as easily for free in the announcements section of a newspaper.’

  She nodded, buoyed by his words and his approval, then clumsily tore open the seal, holding herself as still as a statue, only her eyes moving across the text as she took it all in. Then, all she did was blink.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He loves me.’ Shock turned to awe as the beginnings of a smile played with the corners of her mouth. ‘He loves me, Griff... Isn’t that wonderful?’ She clutched the letter to her heart and sighed. ‘He said that the last month without me has been pure agony but he is glad for it because it has made him see that he should have declared his feelings sooner, and that he is kicking himself that he hadn’t because he cannot bear to be without me for this long ever again...and...and he has asked...’ She was beaming now, grinning from ear to ear, excited little hiccups popping out of her mouth like champagne bubbles. ‘He asked my permission to speak to Papa the second I return to request my hand in marriage. Isn’t that marvellous?’

  Griff nodded, happy for her even though he was in the bowels of hell himself. ‘It is—if that is what you want, Dottie.’ For her benefit and to prevent Charity from interfering further, he stared at her seriously. ‘No matter what anyone else has to say on the subject, this is ultimately your decision to make and yours alone. Is that what you want? Do you want to marry Captain Sinclair?’

  ‘I do not think any decision needs to be made on the matter now!’ Charity dug the serving spoon into the potatoes with more violence than the task warranted, then glared defiant, her lovely face pinched and her golden eyebrows raised in their twin shock at her abrupt tone. ‘Or am I the only person present who believes that a proposal should be delivered in person rather than via the mail coach?’

  ‘And no doubt he will, Charity, as soon as we get home.’ He tried to convey she was being churlish with his eyes, which of course made him a complete hypocrite when he had done far worse to her only a few hours ago and still hadn’t made any amends for it. ‘If Dottie is happy with her letter in the interim, we should be too.’

  It was obvious she was bristling at the chastisement as she stared at her plate, closing her eyes briefly before blowing out a controlled breath. ‘I am sorry, Dorothy... If that is what you want, then I am happy for you. Congratulations...he is a good man. I am sure you will be very happy together.’

  His sister beamed with relief. ‘Thank you, Charity. We will be... I am sure of it.’ Then she stared at her letter again. ‘I suppose I now have a wedding to plan...’ Completely oblivious of the tears swimming in her friend’s eyes, Dottie got carried away on the excitement. ‘A trousseau to buy, wedding clothes. Of course, you must be my bridesmaid, Charity, and perhaps you would sing for us too at the wedding breakfast...which will necessitate some musicians too. A string quartet perhaps and a harpist. I do love the romance of a harp and maybe some lovebirds too...’

  Charity’s chair screeched back as she tossed her napkin on the table. ‘If you will excuse me... It has been a long day. I have a sudden headache and must retire early.’

  Griff kicked himself as he watched her leave while poor Dottie blinked at the abruptness, convinced she was the cause. In not apologising straight from the outset before giving his sister her letter, he had now successfully ruined dinner and his sister’s engagement all in one fell swoop. Yet as much as the bulk of that was, without question, his fault, Charity still had no right to steal his sister’s thunder in quite the way she had. Especially when her grievance was entirely with him.

  ‘I am sorry, Dottie.’ More guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders. ‘And I am sure Charity didn’t mean to be so rude to you either.’

  She nodded, pity in her eyes. ‘She’s hurting, Griff. I know she acts as though she is impervious and always gives as good as she gets, but all those things you said in the carriage today have cut her deeply. I’ve never seen her so distraught as she has been since. Or so quiet and withdrawn. She’s hardly said a word to me all afternoon and seems lost in her own thoughts. It’s like her light went out and I have never seen her like that... Not once in all the years I have known her.’ And just when he had thought he couldn’t feel any worse, he had apparently killed Charity’s ever-present sparkle.

  ‘I’ll talk to her before she goes to bed.’

  ‘Don’t just talk to her, Griff. Make it right. You did a great deal of damage today. Senseless, cruel and selfish damage which I cannot, for the life of me, fathom.’ Although by the odd look in her eyes, it was obvious she had an inkling. ‘And while you are prone to the odd sulk and always have been, it’s not like you to behave so irrationally. Unless there is something else at play here that you are not telling me...or her. Is there something else at play here, big Brother?’

  ‘I’ll go talk to her this very instant.’ He pushed his chair from the table in case his own eyes gave him away. ‘I was tired and I was grouchy and she caught me at a bad time, that is all.’ Lies, damn lies and h
e suspected his canny sister knew it. ‘But I’ll fix it, Dottie. Right this minute. I promise.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Charity sank on to her mattress and stared blankly at the walls. She hadn’t admitted to Dorothy that Lord Denby wasn’t hosting a house party at his country estate this week, because she couldn’t bear to admit that the prior engagement which prevented him from doing so was the announcement of his own engagement back in town.

  To an earl’s daughter no less.

  All prearranged long ago by his parents, of course, and timed to coincide with his thirtieth birthday. Because such things were expected from a gentleman of his rank and stature when they reached that momentous age, and heaven forbid such a man ever dared to contemplate choosing his own wife and marrying beneath him.

  She supposed that explained his reluctance to court her and why he blatantly ignored all of the increasingly unsubtle hints she had dropped over the last year. He was happy to use her as a diversion, would have been delighted if she had agreed to one of his countless invitations to engage in more than a kiss, but she wasn’t in any way, shape or form suitable marriage material and he had clearly never considered her as such. However, and this had been the part which had stung the most, his parting words before he signed off had put her firmly in her place and let her know, in no uncertain terms, exactly what he thought about her.

  But do not fear, despite my marriage I am still eager to pick up our special relationship exactly from where we left off.

  He had underlined the words exactly in case she failed to remember that the last time she had seen him had been in Lady Bulphan’s orangery where he had made no secret of the fact he was there to lift her skirts.

  She would have been furious at the unbelievable nerve of the man if she hadn’t been so devastated by Griff’s cruelty.

  A whole year wasted flogging the dead horse which she had hoped would give her the same happiness as her sisters. But at least to herself she would be brutally honest. It hadn’t only been her sisters’ happiness which had unsettled her then, it had also been him. Griff’s return and his heightened disapproval had shaken her too—and perhaps more—and she had been determined to prove once again that he was wrong about her. How better to do that than to snag a future duke under his disapproving nose?

  It was funny, she had thought Denby’s decisive rejection would hurt more than it did, which she also supposed said a great deal about the flimsy strength of her own feelings for the man beneath the title. However, Griff’s rejection was like a body blow, and that too spoke volumes. It had never really been Denby that her foolish heart wanted. It had always been Griff.

  But neither of those revelations detracted from the unfortunate fact that Denby’s engagement now left her in a terrible predicament. With no house party to hide at, she was stuck here with Griff for the duration. She was feeling broken and rejected and not quite good enough again and she hated that he held that power still. The next seven days stretched before her like an ordeal—and one she no longer had the strength for.

  Unless she lied outright and pretended there still was a house party and holed herself up at another quiet inn somewhere off the beaten track to lick her wounds in private. A gross falsehood which would require the deceitful co-operation of at least Lily and Evan to pull off.

  She could ask them, she supposed. Confess as much of the situation as she could to garner their pity without humiliating herself completely with the whole painful truth. Lily and she had always been close, and her and Evan’s loyalty was to her family and not the Philpots, no matter how much they might like them. If that failed, she could pull rank and remind them who paid their wages...which was about as fair as taking out her despair on poor Dorothy downstairs.

  She wasn’t proud of herself for that either. Pouring scorn and doubt on her friend’s happiness simply because she had a man head over heels in love with her whom she wanted to marry and Charity didn’t was a low blow. When Captain Sinclair looked at Dorothy as if the sun rose and set with her and her friend looked the same way back at him. It was both sad and pathetic that despite all her new fame and her abundance of suitors, she still hadn’t found the same because her stupid heart had apparently made up its mind and steadfastly refused to be budged.

  She sensed Griff outside before he knocked and instantly felt worse.

  ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘Go away.’

  The door clicked open anyway, forcing her to twist so that he wouldn’t see that she had been crying. ‘I hate that we are fighting, and I hate more that I am the cause.’

  Even with her back to him he still dominated the room because she could feel him everywhere, but desperately wished she couldn’t. Of all the people to fall for, her silly heart had chosen Griff, and there was every chance it had gone and done so seventeen years ago. That would certainly explain why no man had ever been able to worm their way into that fickle organ since. Not even one as eligible and titled as Denby.

  ‘I came to apologise properly for earlier. I was out of order, Charity. Crochety, unreasonable and in a temper so I said too many things that I didn’t mean.’

  He had meant them.

  Everything he had said echoed what she had always suspected he felt. Opinions so deep rooted she would never change them, no matter how hard she tried. And good grief, how she had tried. She had spent a lifetime trying to impress him and had always, always failed. At best, Griff only ever gazed upon her in exasperation, not in the special and spiritual mutual adoration that she craved. What a hopeless fool she was.

  She sighed at the futility of it all. ‘Your apology is accepted.’

  ‘Just like that? I don’t believe you...’ A floorboard creaked as he came closer. Not that she had needed that sound to confirm it, when the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck fidgeted at his proximity. ‘We really should talk it out properly.’

  ‘To what point and purpose, Griff?’

  ‘To clear the air...’ The door closed softly before his footsteps moved towards her again. ‘To get things between us back to normal.’

  She stood before he was close enough to face her, rushing to the window as an excuse to compose herself before she eventually turned. Her expression bland. Arms tightly folded. Supremely grateful for all the theatre training which meant she could don the mantle of someone else. The better version of Charity who wasn’t dying on the inside.

  ‘Let us not continue with this pretence when we are in private, Griff—because it is as false as it is exhausting. You said exactly what you felt, what you have always felt about me. You consider me spoiled, vain, selfish. A seeker of attention with the morals of an alley cat and a bad influence on Dorothy.’ Perhaps saying it aloud would be cathartic? Like lancing a boil to release the poison, vocalising the true state of their relationship, acknowledging it warts and all, might miraculously prevent his censure from hurting her in the future. ‘You believe all the gossip about me, and you are convinced what they print isn’t the half of it. What was it you said a while back? That I had kissed significantly more men than a proper young lady ever should. How many legions of men do you believe I have dallied with?’

  ‘Charity, I...’

  She stopped him with her raised palm. ‘Spare your platitudes, Griff, for they are hollow. I have always been a disappointment to you, and I am at one with it. After seventeen years of trying to be your friend, trying to gain your approval and trying not to care that I shall never have either, I have decided to accept our relationship for exactly what it is. We are adults now, the both of us, and if we couldn’t get on as children, nor in all the years since, and have absolutely nothing whatsoever in common, then it stands to reason that it wasn’t meant to be.’ She choked back the emotion, knowing her out-and-out bitterness at the truth would be a sign of weakness when she was determined give him one final, virtuosa performance of strength.

  ‘Irrespective of our family’s unbre
akable connection, you are you, Griff, and I am me and I fear that never the twain shall meet. In a strange sort of way, it is actually quite liberating to be able to say that at last, as I feel as though I can finally close that interminable book which I have laboured over for too long and begin a fresh chapter in a new story where you are blessedly not one of the main characters.’

  As off-the-cuff speeches went, she was rather proud of both the content and the delivery and by the stunned expression on his face, it had more than hit its mark. She stood proud as he now sank to her mattress, raking an agitated hand through his dark hair before he stared at her wounded.

  ‘That sounds like a goodbye, Charity.’

  ‘I suppose it is, of sorts.’ She just wished it didn’t hurt so much. Wished her stupid, misguided heart hadn’t plighted its troth to him. Not that she would allow him to ever witness that particular window into her soul. Right now, for the sake of her own pride, all he would see was the woman who meant business. Who had come to a difficult decision but intended to stick to it and not the one he had the power to cut to the quick with only a few careless words.

  ‘For the sake of our families, of course, and for Dorothy especially, I feel it is best if we keep this between us, Griff, and on the odd occasion we do collide, we should probably behave politely so as not to cause anyone else’s discomfort.’

  Setting out the rules and boundaries might make her feel more in control, the victor rather than the defeated. ‘But in private, if ever it is just us again, I see no point in pretending things are otherwise as it clearly makes us both miserable and it is unsustainable at any rate, as today’s nasty quarrel was testament. And on a purely personal note, after seventeen turbulent years, I am sick and tired of trying.’