Chapter 22
“I think it would do you good, my dear, to have a few weeks with your Aunt Gwendolyn,” Lucas Cunningham said with a warm smile. “A change of scenery is a good thing for a person.”
“I remember very little of my Aunt Gwendolyn, Papa, and cannot even say if I like her or not. It is all very well sending me away for a few weeks, but what are you sending me into?” Charlotte said waspishly.
“Dear me, but you have become sour,” the Baron said and laughed heartily. “And I can tell you most faithfully that Gwendolyn Dearborn is a very sweet creature, every bit your mother’s sister. And she is a widow now, so she will be sweeter than ever.”
“Papa, you do say the silliest things,” Charlotte said and finally gave in and laughed. “There is nothing to say that a woman who has become a widow looks more favourably upon the world.”
“They do if their husband was tiresome, which I seem to remember hers was.” Lord Cunningham chuckled.
“This is why I cannot take you out into society, Papa,” Charlotte chastised him playfully, thoroughly enjoying his irreverent sense of humour. “The things you say.”
“At least Ruth finds me amusing, do you not, my dear?” He turned to look across Charlotte’s chamber to where Ruth was packing her mistress’ things into a large wooden trunk.
“Always, My Lord,” Ruth said ambiguously, and the Baron roared with laughter.
“I cannot tell who is the cleverest of the two of you. Perhaps you are as clever as one another.”
“We are, Papa, that is why we get along so well,” Charlotte said truthfully.
“And you will have your dear Ruth with you over in the south of the county, so you are guaranteed a very nice time, are you not?” the Baron went on.
“You are quite determined to have me gone, are you not?” Charlotte said teasingly. “I cannot help thinking that you are up to something.”
“The only thing I am intent upon, my dear daughter, is to see a smile on your face for once. You cannot hover around this house as if you are haunting it like a determined ghost, my dear.”
“I am not as bad as all that.” Charlotte laughed although her father’s comment certainly rang true.
Charlotte had spent the last three years avoiding any attachment whatsoever. Now at three-and-twenty, every person she ever met in society volubly wondered why it was that such a fine young woman was not yet married.
She had her reasons, of course, but they were certainly not something she could give to the inquisitive ladies and gentlemen of society.
But whilst she had, indeed, been out in society with and without her father, Charlotte had expertly kept any potential suitors at bay.
For a while, her determination made her something of a curiosity, a challenge even, and she had found herself perpetually courted by an array of inordinately suitable young men, even men of title whom other young ladies would have jumped at the chance of attracting.
But Charlotte had been, as far as she was concerned, the object of a challenge once before, and her determination never to be so vulnerable again had not waned by even half an inch over the years.
The truth was that she still thought of James Harrington, even though she had not set eyes on him since the night of the ball on Lord Morley’s estate. The night they had kissed.
If she had realized that it would be the last time she would ever see him, Charlotte would never, ever have allowed him to kiss her. She would have turned away from him and walked smartly back through the French windows, out of the seductive night and back to the safety of the ballroom.
She had, in fact, done just that time and time again in her own imagination. And every time she had turned her back on the Duke’s son, her spirits soared. That was how it should have ended, with her the victor instead of him.
And that was why she would never allow herself to become a part of any challenge again, for she had come to know that was exactly what she had been to James Harrington. She had known it all along, and yet she had chosen to dismiss it in favour of falling in love with him. Well, she would never be such a fool again.
Despite her determination never to make herself vulnerable, still, she could not always think of him so angrily.
There were times when his handsome smile, his immaculately clipped dark hair with the sprinkling of silver, and those mesmerizing, bright green eyes, came into her mind without invitation.
She always, always indulged the image for a moment or two, remembering what it felt like to be so excited, to be so in love, to have such high hopes for the future.
Charlotte had filled her time well enough in the last three years, playing bridge with friends, reading, walking, and the usual daily conversations with Ruth.
But it was all wearing a little thin somehow, and her idea of finding a sensible man of reasonable wealth whom she would never risk falling in love with was proving a little more elusive than she had ever imagined.
The problem was that when speaking to some young man or other who was intent upon courting her, Charlotte’s tender heart always found something about them to like.
And whilst she had not yet set eyes upon another man who rendered her as helpless as James had done, she knew that where there was like, there would undoubtedly, one day, be love. Or at least there was a risk that one day love would follow, and she knew it was a risk that she would never take.
Surely, she would be as vulnerable with a man she had slowly fallen in love with as she had been with the man who had taken her heart almost instantly. Love was love, was it not? And as such, it was a thing to be avoided in all forms and at all costs.
“Perhaps not as bad as a real ghost, but surely not far behind,” her father went on, snapping her back into the here and now.
“Well, since I am not engaged in any other way, perhaps I should take this little trip to see my mother’s sister. As you say, it might do me good. And if it does not do me good, surely it will not do me harm.” Charlotte shrugged.
In truth, the idea of a change of scenery did appeal to her just a little. Gwendolyn Dearborn lived in the south of the county, and so Charlotte did not imagine that she would find her path crossing with that of Lord Harrington. At least that was what she hoped.
Charlotte had been very determined to find out nothing about James in the last three years, however much she had been tempted to do so on occasion.
From that night at Hanover Hall when Hector had received word from a messenger that his friend would not be coming, Charlotte had chosen never to bring up the subject of James Harrington again.
She had, of course, been in Hector’s company more than once in the last three years and knew very well that Hector was a regular visitor now to Sandford.
But she had determined never to make herself vulnerable again, and searching for details of James Harrington’s life could only serve to make her so.
It would do her no good to hear of the woman he had undoubtedly turned his back on her in favour of, nor would it do her any good to hear that he was now married and had children.
Of course, she did not know that any of this was true, but she thought it best to imagine the worst so that she would never have expectations again of a love of such intensity.
And she had never found a reason other than that which would adequately explain James Harrington’s behaviour towards her.
“Well, that is good news. At least now I will not have to write to your aunt and tell her that you cannot make it. Especially after I went to such great pains to secure your visit in the first place,” Lord Cunningham said with a smile. “And I suppose you ought to start packing yourself, my dear Ruth.”
“I am packed, Lord Cunningham,” Ruth said with a smile.
“Then you did not doubt that my daughter would relent in the end?”
“No, Sir; I did not doubt it,” Ruth said and turned her broad smile upon Charlotte.
“Well, it is always a good thing to travel with a person who knows you better than you know yourself,” Charlotte said and laughed.
“Indeed, it is, Miss,” Ruth said and closed the lid down on her mistress’ packed trunk.