To Bed or to Wed (13 page)

“I should say so. There is nothing to complain about.” One of her full eyebrows arched.
“I hope you’ve faired the same.”

“When all is said and done, I can overlook the complications.”
He offered her his arm. “May I accompany you somewhere?” He might as well escort her to a destination. He owed her that much for nearly knocking her flat on the street.

“That would be lovely.” She glanced over her shoulder. “We’re walking with the
marquess for a bit, Aunt Beatrice,” she said in an overly loud voice. When she turned back to Nathan, she explained, “Aunt Beatrice doesn’t hear very well.”

“Ah, I see. Where shall I drop you?” He patted her hand as she settled it on his arm.

“Not far. Almost to Cork Street. We’re meeting my brother there as he is having a new suit tailored.”

He chanced a peek
at the elderly woman trailing them. Widow’s weeds enveloped her slender body, but she kept pace well and stayed back from them several feet. “You should come to dinner and let us catch up. I’m sure Alexandra would be pleased to see you.”

“Silly man, you and I both know she won’t be.
I’m certain she still holds a grudge that I stole away a viscount she had her eye on. Not that anything ever came of the flirtation.” Her tinkling laughter caused a grin to tug at the corners of his mouth. She’d always been such a light-hearted individual.

“Her sights are considerably loftier now.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Ah, a social climber, eh?” She shook her head. “No matter. Dinner won’t be possible as our household is currently in flux. My brother and his wife have decided to relocate to Brighton for Aunt Beatrice’s health and my sister-in-law’s peace of mind dealing with said aunt. This is all to the good as I do not care for London.”

“Oh? Why is that?” He nodded to an acquaintance on the street as they strolled.

“It’s dirty and loud here. At least Brighton affords quiet and a slower pace though its Society leaves much to be desired, I suppose.” She was silent for a time. Finally, she said, “I must say you look much younger and vastly more approachable than you did the last time I saw you. It’s almost as if you have decided to live again and relinquish some of that legendary temper. Is there a romance you’d like to tell me about?”

At the last second he recalled her penchant for plain speaking and shocking revelations. “Me in a romance? What a silly thing, Miss
Hawthorne. You know my history. A decent woman would want nothing to do with me, and besides, I’ve a mind to pass the title to my nephew.” Would she see through the lie?

“
Really, my lord. A man who dithers about whether he’s in love or not almost certainly means he’s tip over tail.” She linked their arms and smiled. “Tell me the truth.”

A heavy sigh left Nathan’s lips. “You
are good at badgering secrets. I pity the poor man who falls for you.” He nodded. “Perhaps I am, though what I should do about it is beyond my ken. It would seem the situation is extremely convoluted. She might be involved with someone else.” Though he could have sworn sincerity and honesty had been in Charlotte’s voice when last they’d spoke.

“Poor Lord Ravenhurst. Hasn’t anyone told you that matters of the heart are always complicated?” She laughed again. “Fear not though. There is only one fix.”

“Well, if you have the answer, please share. Perhaps my life will unravel itself.” His heart pounded to hear the sage advice from this cheery bit of womanhood.

“Court the woman in question and enjoy yourself heartily while doing so
, regardless of her situation. If there’s no announcement, she’s not claimed. Neither are you, I might add. Love is what life is all about, my lord. And most people only find it once. Nothing else matters.”

“While I might respect and admire the woman, I rather doubt what I feel is love.” What a preposterous assessment.

“Men can be so naïve at times. Even a fool can see you’re besotted.” She patted his arm. “If you’ve been lucky enough to fall in love, why not do it up in style or scandal, depending?”

Nathan laughed. It surprised him that it felt good and reminded him of doing so with Charlotte. “I shall take your advice to heart. Perhaps I
’ll do something memorable, and soon.”

“I look forward to hearing about it.
With luck you’ll land in the gossip rags. That’s when you know you’ve really arrived in style, my lord. Saves on the expense of the post, you know.”

They traversed the streets in the gentle snow for many minutes before Nathan broke the silence. “If you
’re such a proponent of romance, Miss Hawthorne, why haven’t you married?”

A snowflake landed on her lower lip as she smiled. “I merely haven’t had an attractive offer yet. There must be more to a match than wealth, position or knowing you must procreate to secure a line.
Do not discount laughter, amusement and the feeling of rightness when you are with that wonderful person who sets you aflame.”

That was exactly it.

Being with Charlotte, touching her, kissing her, hearing her voice, all set his insides on fire and captivated his mind. “Interesting.” He drew them both to a halt, regardless of the pedestrians flowing around them. “Then you think, if I marry, it should be for love?”

“Who mentioned anything about matrimony?” Miss
Hawthorne smacked him playfully on the arm. She pulled away from him. “And yes, even in this day and age, I believe every relationship should begin with love—however you’d like to enjoy it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.
Safe travels to you and your family. Perhaps I shall see you if I happen to travel to Brighton.”

“You and I both know if you leave London it will be for your country estate and nowhere else. You prefer your own home and hearth, my lord.
Go forth and enjoy life. You deserve it. Even a growling wolf needs companionship. But that is all to the good. Wolves mate for life.”

“Indeed
they do.” Nathan let Miss Hawthorne and her relative continue on their journey, but he stared after them for many minutes before he resumed his course to the Parliament buildings.

Chapter Eight

“Mother, for the tenth time, it’s the opera, not an outing with Prinny. What does it matter what color I wear?” Charlotte couldn’t keep the annoyance from her voice as her parent dithered between two gowns laid out on Charlotte’s bed.

Roberta clicked her tongue. “It
’s always important to present yourself the very best you can, regardless of who you’ll see or expect to. Who knows what gentlemen will talk to you tonight?” She glanced at Charlotte, who stood off to one side in her stays and petticoat. “How do you plan to wear your hair, dear? I suppose we should decide once we settle upon a gown.”

Oh, good heavens. It’s as if I don’t exist at all!
Charlotte flounced into an overstuffed chair. “Why do I even try to tell you what I want?”

“I’m as baffled as you are,” Roberta returned.
“You’ll see that I’m right eventually.”

“I’m not in the mood to attend the opera tonight, Mother. I had already planned to occupy myself with reading while you and Felix
and Clarice go without me.” Charlotte traced the delicate lace at the edge of her petticoat with a finger. “I’ve been looking forward to a bit of quiet.”

“Filthy French novels are not as exciting as actually living your life.” Roberta instructed the maid to hold up a gown of deep purple velvet. “And you certainly won’t attract a nice gentleman by burying yourself in your room all the time.”

“Perhaps I’d fair better if I started entertaining men here then.” The words were out of her mouth before she could recall them.

The maid’s strangled giggle cut through the silence. “I beg your pardon, ma’am,” the servant gasped.

“Think nothing of it,” Roberta soothed, but she took the gown from the maid’s fingers. “That will be all for the moment, Cynthia. I’ll ring if I need your services again.” After a curtsey, the maid fled then Roberta turned her attention to Charlotte. “Don’t be ugly, dear. It doesn’t become you.”

“Perhaps I should practice my delivery of humor then, if you misunderstood, for I wasn’t trying to be ugly.” Charlotte indulged in a small smile even as her pulse raced. Where had this obstinate attitude come from? It wasn’t like her to willfully antagonize her mother. “I’m sorry. I’m simply out of sorts tonight.”

“I sincerely hope you’re not still moping about the marquess.” Roberta sniffed as she hung a lavender silk gown back in the armoire. “For the last two nights I’ve heard you crying into your pillow and could only guess that man was the cause. You’ve never been so emotional over any other beau.”

If only he were a suitor. The way things stood, she had no idea exactly what they were to each other, even after three very different and very lovely kisses. “No, I’ve given up the dream that he and I will ever find ourselves together.” She frowned as she crossed the room then sat on a sturdy, upholstered stool near a cheval mirror. “For whatever reason, too many people are keeping us apart. I suppose I have nothing else to do except accept fate’s decision and concentrate on other men who are better suited.” Her throat constricted but she fought back the urge to cry. No matter how much she sympathized with Nathan’s trials through life or how much she longed to see him finally happy, perhaps the timing wasn’t right. He’d go on to marry Lady Sophia while she—Charlotte—would eventually stop crying over him and settle for a vastly less appealing man. Her life would become bearing children and making due with a watered-down version of domestic bliss with no room for heart-pounding, breath-catching memories.

Oh, dear heavens. I cannot bear an outing in public just now.

“Excellent way of thinking.” Roberta approached from behind with the purple gown draped over one arm. “It doesn’t do any good setting your heart on the wrong man. In the end, they know their duty and will see it through.”

“Felix was the exception to that rule.” She retrieved a brush from the nearby vanity. “Now, he has the best of both worlds and is quite happy.” Why shouldn’t I aspire to that? She drew the brush through her tresses. If she were to see Nathan tonight, how would she dress her hair? Just as quickly, she dismissed the thought. Chances were high her path and his wouldn’t connect again. Especially not after the dressing down he’d given her.

“He is, but Felix took a chance and went against my wishes. It was an exception and not everyone is as lucky in life.” Roberta handed the gown to Charlotte then took the brush from her hand. “Dearest, I only want the best for you because I know how hard a loveless match can be. A marriage should have at least that for a foundation to ease the tumultuous times you’ll encounter.”

“And you don’t think I could find love with the marquess if a miracle were to somehow occur?” She wanted to argue more strenuously but didn’t have the heart.

“Charlotte, don’t be difficult.” Annoyance hung on her mother’s voice.

“Not everyone has the match you and Father had in the beginning. There are couples who truly love each other from the start. Chemistry can easily burn steady as coal into love.” Charlotte rubbed her fingers over the soft velvet material of the gown. “Why can I not want that?”

“No one is stopping you, but you won’t find it with Ravenhurst. My decision on this is final.
Besides, even if he doesn’t wed Lady Sophia, one of my friends saw him the other day, escorting a pretty, young blonde down the street. He doesn’t lack for interested females.” Roberta gave Charlotte’s hair an efficient brushing. “Now, let’s dress your hair. I’m thinking upswept with perhaps ribbons or flowers tucked within, and you’ll wear amethyst ear bobs, the ones that dangle. They’ll drawn attention to your lovely neck.”

So it was all but settled then. Nathan had moved on, hadn’t seen anything interesting in her beyond stealing a few kisses.
Charlotte gave in without a whimper. After all, what good would it do when her mother was determined? Yet something her mother said resonated within her.

Felix
had taken a chance…

She swallowed. Well, if that was all that was needed to secure a person’s fondest dreams in life, surely she could manage such a feat. Besides, didn’t Oliver encourage her to do just that? It was the how that still alluded her
, and the dull pain around her heart on the chance being daring failed.

An hour or so later, Charlotte, her mother, Felix and Clarice settled into
the Earl of Swandon’s box at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. Located on the second tier and in the middle of building, it afforded a fairly decent view of the stage, especially when making use of a lorgnette. Charlotte’s viewing glass was tucked inside her reticule, for there was nothing to observe at the moment.

“This should be a nice evening,” her mother said from Charlotte’s left side. “After the dramatic readings there will be a comedy performed.”

“I suppose there will be refreshments between?” Charlotte didn’t much care what would be on the stage. No doubt whatever the entertainment was, she’d be bored to tears. The thought of the scandalous French novel sitting buried beneath her bed pillows filled her with longing to return home. She much preferred seeing a story unfurl in her imagination instead of watching someone else’s interpretation of a tale while on stage.

“I believe so. And when we partake of punch and cookies, you will put a smile on your face and appear cheery. I’ve heard there are several eligible
men in attendance tonight.”

“God, Mother, stop haranguing me.”
She slumped deeper into her chair.

“It’s my right as a parent, I’m afraid, until I can safely push you from the nest and someone else can take up my reins.” Roberta patted Charlotte’s hand. “Buck up, my dear. You’ll enjoy it.”

Charlotte had no idea if her mother meant the dramatic readings or going through life badgered by various people.

Felix leaned forward from Roberta’s left and grinned at Charlotte. “Or, you could use this as a grand opportunity to nap. That’s what I intend.”

At the other end of their short row, Clarice admonished him. “You will not! This is a public place and these performers have worked very hard to provide you with a show.”

“They won’t know that one person has nodded off, my love,” Felix rejoined.

Charlotte rolled her eyes. She simply wasn’t in the mood for married couple antics right now.
Bah! I’m beyond the age of a good, docile daughter. Why must I be made to do things against my will?

Clarice stood. “I wish to sit by Charlotte for a bit.” She edged past her husband and Roberta then dropped into the empty seat at Charlotte’s right side. She leaned close and whispered, “You are hoping to see a specific man tonight, yes?” The slight French accent made the question seem more scandalous than was the intent.

“Perhaps, though the likelihood of that happening or of him taking notice of me is slim,” Charlotte answered in an equally soft voice. “There are more appropriate ladies to occupy his time.”

“
Nonsense. You are just as good as the others. It’s grand when one finds the perfect man.” Clarice grinned but said nothing more.

“He’s not perfect. Perhaps that’s the problem.” A chill moved down Charlotte’s spine. Too many problems meant a tough road. Perhaps heeding her mother’s advice was the wisest course.
“They say he’s too damaged, too haunted.”

“What do
you
say?” Clarice’s dark eyes twinkled.

“I say he’s misunderstood and looking to belong, the same as everyone.”

By the time the lights in the theater dimmed and a male actor strode onto the stage and uttered his opening lines, she had to remind herself not to slouch in her seat. She fiddled with her fan until her mother yanked it from her fingers. A quarter of an hour passed in slow agony, Charlotte was desperate for a diversion. With nothing else to do, she pulled her lorgnette from her reticule and raised the mother-of-pearl glasses to her eyes. She might as well pass the time by observing her fellow attendees.

Everyone wore such rich and festive clothes. Jewels sparkled from ladies’ necks, ears and fingers. Even the gentlemen sported gems in the snowy folds of their cravats. The London
ton
truly was a spectacle to see when on display. She focused her gaze directly across the theater from her location. The Duke of Amherst’s box was located there. Her breath caught. Her heartbeat accelerated and her insides warmed. Staring back at her was Ravenhurst himself. What was he doing there? Then her heart plummeted into her toes. Of course he’d be at the theater with Lady Sophia and her father. That fact proclaimed them a couple as much as an announcement. The duke’s daughter sat beside Nathan’s sister. Undaunted, she watched him. It hadn’t been an accident his regard landed on her and not her family box. His head didn’t turn to the left or right. His gaze simply remained trained on her through his own pair of glasses. Quickly, she whisked her lorgnette from her face and glanced around the darkened box. No one appeared to notice her discomfort.