Chapter 15

 

Charlotte rose on the morning of her wedding, not knowing if the groom would arrive. But since the clock chimed seven when she opened her eyes, startled from a nightmare, the ordeal was over, one way or another.

Surely if he had perished, someone would have been here before this to tell them? Or maybe not. Maybe he had fled after killing Hervey. That would be murder, and the authorities would want to speak to him. Most duelists got away with the contest, but sometimes, especially with a death, the killer would have to be brought to justice.

She remembered that day at Tyburn and the way the crowd had howled for blood. Would they howl for Val?

Lying against the incredibly soft sheets on the feather bed, Charlotte cursed it. She’d meant to rise early. She always rose early to ensure the servants prepared her father’s breakfast the way he liked it.

Her father did not belong in her life any longer. He had ejected her from it. She had her sisters back, though. Hearing from Sarah, learning how happy she was had soothed her. Before, she’d had her suspicions. Sarah’s letters might have been her sister putting a brave face on her affairs. After all, once Sarah left home, she’d had little choice but to marry her suitor and make a life for herself. But Sarah was truly happy with her Sam. She could not have feigned the way they moved together, talked, and held their accord.

Would she have that with Val? She doubted it. Where Sam was kind and generous, Val was careless, kind when he remembered to be, and generous when he recalled his responsibilities, of which she would be one.

If he was alive. If he came back to her in one piece. He could be badly wounded, lying in a bed somewhere bleeding to death, or crippled. She would love him anyway.

A jolt made her sit up. Charlotte drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. She stared at the portrait on the opposite wall. The painting showed a brown-haired woman with bright blue eyes, dressed in the costume of the cavalier era. From the shape of her face and the shade of her eyes, she was an ancestor of Val’s. But it wasn’t the portrait that roused her. The word, used unthinkingly, did that. Love. She loved him.

It had happened, that event she’d fought so hard to prevent, and she’d had no say in the way it had crept up on her. Or had she loved him from the first minute she set eyes on him? Her father had coolly informed her of the match, and she had accepted it, because she had no option to do anything else.

Then she’d seen him and her nightmare had begun. Of course she had fallen, but she’d put it down to Val’s good looks and his address. He’d charmed her, devastated her senses and moved on. That was when she’d tried to put him at a distance, but every time they spent time together, he unknowingly swept her concerns aside. After their betrothal, he treated her as he would his sisters, or perhaps a more distant relative. His careless affection became dangerous, because she longed for it and wanted more. He would be kind to her, the only kindness she knew in her life, and she craved him.

She had assumed that was the nature of the hold he had on her—that she wanted more affection, and the minute she received it from someone else, the magic would fade.

Charlotte buried her face in the quilt covering her knees. Nothing had faded. She’d wanted Val with increasing desperation but hidden it because of her fear that she would be in thrall to another man, this time of her own free will.

Hervey did not have that effect on her. She liked him, but her feelings for him were far more controllable. He was handsome, thoughtful, and kind. Or she’d thought he was until he’d lost his temper and tried to hurt her. Before that, he’d appeared as her savior, a man she could share her life with but not become overwhelmed by.

Now her path was set and because of her, either Hervey or Val could be lying dead on the cold ground.

She could not know. She had to go ahead as if this were her wedding day and she was joyfully awaiting the event.

Sweeping the covers back, Charlotte got out of bed and went to the door of her chamber. The silk oriental rugs caressed her feet, a sharp contrast to the cold boards of her own chamber or the ragged rug that covered it. In the winter she’d kept her outdoor shoes close to the bed so she could wear them when she rose, although they were often cold, too. Her father didn’t believe in fires in any bedroom but his own. She’d woken up some mornings with ice on the inside of her window.

At the moment there was no need for fires or of shoes, especially with the rugs, so she padded to the door and opened it, wondering if she’d have to wash in cold water. She did not. A can with a lid stood there, the steam rising from it testament to the hot water within. She picked it up but almost dropped it when a maid scurried toward her. “Oh, ma’am, my lady, I meant to be here much earlier. I had no idea you had woken! Let me help you. Her ladyship wants to know if you will take something to eat in your bedchamber.”

“Shouldn’t I fast?” She had never attended a wedding before, much less one that involved a special license. She knew she would be marrying in the drawing room here because the terms of the license allowed for that, but this was a sacrament, and shouldn’t she fast for that?

“Her ladyship wondered if you would think that. She says to tell you that she refuses to allow the bride to faint from lack of sustenance in her house.”

“Ah.” But she was not hungry. She couldn’t think of anything but Val and his fate.

Downstairs, a door slammed, the reverberations shaking her. Before the maid could protest, Charlotte flew out of her room and hung over the balcony, trying to see who had come in.

The voice she heard made her hurtle down the stairs, her hair flying behind her as her nightcap fell off, her feet striking the firmer carpet on the stairs. She raced along the landing on the main floor and down the stairs again to the marble-floored hall.

“Val!”

Laughing, he caught her headlong rush, halting her and drawing her close.

Charlotte did not allow him to speak but put her hands on his shoulders and drew him down, pressing her lips to his. He returned the embrace, his arms going around her, locking her to him. His soft gasp when he came into contact with her scandalously thinly clad body made her moan and move closer. His warmth enveloped her and she lost her terror as she met his lips and the magic of his embrace.

He drew away gently, drawing his thumbs under her eyes. “Why, sweetheart, you weren’t concerned, were you?”

She thumped his chest weakly. “What do you think? I could not tell them—”

“Could not tell them what, Valentinian?” His mother’s voice echoed from the floor above. “What have you been up to now?” Her voice was more resigned than angered. “Child, get back to your room before people think I allow women to wander around my house half naked.”

Val drew her closer and stroked her shoulders. “Beautiful,” he murmured in her ear. “I can’t wait for tonight.” With great reluctance, he set her aside, his hands lingering on her near naked skin. “Unfortunately, the reckoning is upon me. Darius, the coward, stayed away until I confessed the whole. If I do not, they will hear. There were nigh on fifty people present this morning, all betting on the outcome, so the word will be around town by breakfast time.”

“Hervey? Did you…” She licked her lips.

“Do you care so much?”

“Only that you do not get into trouble.”

A wicked smile curved his mouth. “I will not. I proved my point, but he is not badly hurt. At least, I don’t think so. At any rate, I haven’t killed him.” He lowered his voice again. “It does me good to hear you care more for me than for him.”

“How could I not?”

He kissed her again, a hard buss that sent her senses reeling.

“Val!”

His mother’s sharp reminder brought her back to earth, and she glanced up, quailing at the sight of the marchioness, resplendent in gauze nightcap and a fetching lace-trimmed wrapper leaning over the stairs.

“In my chamber, now!”

Taking Charlotte’s hand, Val led her upstairs as if she were a great lady. The maid allotted to her waited. With a last glance at her, he touched his fingers to his lips in a fond gesture and meekly, or as meek as he could ever be, followed his mother to her rooms.

* * * *

Charlotte wore the gown that Val had bought for her for her wedding. In fact, she had little choice. Her possessions had shrunk drastically in the last day.

Standing before the mirror in her borrowed bedroom, she couldn’t remember ever being happier about her appearance. She wore no powder, and the maid had arranged her hair in a softly flattering style. Her gown had been enhanced with petticoats and a fine lace edge, and the fichu was sheer, so her skin glowed through. It didn’t strangle her, either, which had to be an improvement. The maid stood behind her, wreathed in smiles.

Did other people really live like this? From the family’s obvious fondness for each other and the informal way they conducted themselves, Charlotte was still unsure. She did not know what to do in many situations. Before yesterday, she’d considered herself well trained and capable of behaving appropriately anywhere. She was very wrong. She would have to learn spontaneity, for one thing.

She would learn, because there was no going back, even if she wanted to.

Except that her husband was a two-edged sword. He could hurt her badly if he lost interest in her. That had stayed the same. He had rescued her, seen her as a damsel in distress, but now that was over, would he move to the next challenge, the next mistress, the next adventure?

Her fears were not unfounded. She had seen him do exactly that a number of times. Even before they had become betrothed she had watched him move on, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him.

Would hers become yet another?

Last night the maid had brought several items to her—necessities like shifts, stockings and neckerchiefs—but even they were of a finer quality than she was used to. The kindness of her hosts overwhelmed her, but she had a feeling she could get used to it.

A gentle tap came at the door. Was that the summons for her to go downstairs?

It appeared not. The maid returned with a small parcel wrapped in silver tissue paper. “I’m to inform you that this is a betrothal gift.” She looked up with a smile. “His last, I am bidden to tell you.”

Val had given her gifts in the past, not least the clothes she stood up in, but until then they had been careless, even thoughtless in nature. This was not. When she opened it, she caught her breath. A large sapphire surrounded by small diamonds hung from a delicate gold chain. This exactly the kind of jewelry she’d have chosen for herself, simple and understated, though fine. The stone reminded her of the brilliance of his eyes. She would recall them every time she looked at it.

The maid removed the ruffle of lace around her neck, replacing it with the necklace. Then she was ready. The stone grew warm, because she had touched it so often, before another tap came on the door. This time it was the summons for her to go downstairs and be married.

Charlotte felt no hesitation. Well, only a little. Her stomach tightened and her mouth dried. She had tried for a calm existence with Hervey, but that was denied her. Life with Val would be anything but smooth and untroubled. And to her utter shock, she discovered she wanted that.

Adventure stirred something inside her, gave her a feeling she barely had words for. Excitement was the nearest she could get, but it wasn’t quite that. Anticipation, the thrilling pleasure of not knowing what would happen next—that fed into her emotions.

She had no time to explore further. Picking up her skirts, relishing the fine silk under her hand, she quit the room and went downstairs to meet her fate with a joyful heart.

The drawing room was filled, at least it appeared so to her dazzled senses. Every Emperor in London stood or sat, all waiting for her. The son of the Duke of Kirkburton, the startlingly handsome Lord Winterton, stood behind his wife’s chair, holding a carefully swathed bundle that she guessed was their newborn son. The presence of a child surprised her, even though the baby was a much-loved and anticipated one.

Charlotte had avoided Lord Winterton for years. He’d always unnerved her, with his foppish appearance and perfect manners; even though he was all male, easily discerned by the powerful musculature under the pale green satin he wore today. But his expression when he gazed at his wife and child was one she had never seen on him before. Fond, not to say loving, the man appeared changed. Or maybe it was because he was en famille, clear of the society mask so many people here habitually wore. While not as rigid as hers had been, they all preferred to keep part of their lives private.

When she dared to glance in the direction of her intended husband, she found him similarly shockingly openly affectionate in expression. A new revelation shook her. She was about to become an Emperor of London, a member of a close extended family. She had never known anything like that before. She had heard that the reason her father was not more influential, despite his status, was this lack of a large family, but she had only thought of it in terms of influence and power. Not in personal relationships. Her future husband had five brothers and sisters. He had so many cousins Charlotte didn’t know where to begin counting them.

At last someone she knew. Her sister, sitting next to Lord Devereux and his wife, her husband standing behind the sofa. Sarah smiled and nodded. Next to Aunt Adelaide sat her admirer, Sir Lucas Shapcott. Charlotte was glad of that. In time, perhaps they would marry.

As she faltered, unsure of this new world and where she would fit in it, Sam strode to her side. “I would be honored to escort you,” he said, his characteristic smile firmly in place. Her father was, of course, not present.

Swallowing, Charlotte put her hand on his arm and let him take her the few steps to where Val waited for her. He nodded to Sam, who stepped back.

The cleric smiled benignly and began the service.

Twenty minutes later she was Lady Valentinian Shaw, with a gleaming gold band on her finger to prove it. She made her responses with heartfelt earnestness, while Val was quiet but clear when he spoke. The event she never imagined would actually happen was here, and it had passed flawlessly.

Val shook hands with the celebrant while his brother and Ivan signed the registry after they’d had their turn. “Thank you, Uncle Frederick.”

So even the man who had married them was family. Val introduced them, and she learned that Uncle Frederick, the marquess’s brother, was also the Bishop of Carrick. Then Val took Charlotte by the hand and led her around the room, introducing her proudly as his wife. By the time they had greeted everyone, and Charlotte had received a number of flattering compliments, she was beginning to accept the situation. The knowledge sank into her being and settled deep.

Outside in a larger drawing room in the enfilade of public rooms a group of guests waited for them to go in to their wedding breakfast. As they moved to the door, Charlotte saw a group of pleasant welcoming people turn into grand society lords and ladies.

She felt a strange reluctance to do it herself. She longed for a new mask, one that reflected her current state, not the old worn one that no longer fitted her properly. But she would need time to find it and discover how to use it. What would Lady Shaw be like? Even she didn’t know yet.

Her old, rigid polite cover would do for now. It would have to, since she had no intention of parading her feelings for her new husband in public. If her heart broke, that would happen in private. As far as anyone else was concerned, she and Val were fulfilling their contract, and her father was having another of his pets.

They went up the short corridor. At their approach, two immaculately attired footmen flung open the double doors of the dining room. This was not the room where the family generally took their meals. The spacious room, half-paneled in mahogany and half in red damask, with a huge mahogany table in the center was for dining in state. The table could hold fully fifty guests with all its leaves in place, which they were today. People stood when they entered, and Val took her to the head of the table.

Turning her head to greet the other guests, Charlotte received a severe shock. Sitting at her right was her father. He gave her a tight nod and she managed to return it. She could tell nothing from his appearance, but then, she never could. Her father would insist on the correct protocol even on his deathbed. Not that she wished that fate on him. He had treated her cruelly, but she would not respond with the same behavior.

She offered a slight smile. “Welcome,” she said.

“Daughter.”

That was the extent of their personal conversation. The rest was the usual comments on other members of society and political matters. However, certain remarks taught her one thing as her acute sense of reading the currents under what was actually said took over. Her father wanted the Emperors on his side. His acute awareness of the title and what he owed it had triumphed over his personal feelings, whatever they were. He was here for public show.

That knowledge did not hurt as much as it should have, but how could it? Affection was a foreign concept to the Duke of Rochfort.

The meal took forever. She lost count of the number of courses laid out, but she only took from four. Her appetite had gone at the first sight of her father.

Only her experience kept her smiling and conversing, as if this were yet another normal meal. Her husband’s parents sat on the other side, but the contrast between them could not have been greater. While the marquess and his wife displayed entirely proper behavior, the private touches remained. Lord Strenshall clearly knew the dishes his wife preferred and ensured they were sent her way. Every now and then he paused to smile at her with every signal of pleasure.

Charlotte longed for a marriage such as theirs, one where the participants loved and respected each other, where the wife did more than obey her husband or receive him between mistresses. She did not subscribe to the view that when a husband strayed, the wife was at fault. Some wives openly encouraged infidelity, for it put less pressure on them to entertain their husband’s carnal desires.

Would she, Charlotte, feel that way? From the kisses and caresses she had exchanged with Val, she thought not, although that would save her.

The toasts started. First the King, of course, and then the happy couple, and then the exalted guests, of which they were many. Charlotte took a bare sip at each one but privately wondered how long this would take. Then she would go to the drawing room and they would go through the tea serving. Would she ever be alone with her husband?

The meal ended midafternoon. From where she sat, Charlotte could not see the hands of the clock on the elaborate mantel, and the chimes were consistently drowned out by the chatter. However, years of attending formal functions had given her an internal clock, and she assessed the time to be around three in the afternoon when the marchioness rose and gently indicated that the ladies would withdraw.

To her surprise, her husband rose with her and escorted her from the room. Outside, he embraced his mother. “We’ll leave now, Mama,” he said.

The marchioness did not appear the least disconcerted but smiled and nodded her approval. “Have a good journey.”

“How did you persuade the old man to agree to appear?”

Nobody needed him to explain who he meant. The marchioness gave a particularly smug smile. “He could not afford to continue his objection.”

“Ah.”

They had bribed him, or perhaps offered him a business proposal. At least Charlotte had the semblance of respectability for her marriage, something that seemed fadingly distant when she’d woken that morning.

“We’re leaving?”

Val caught her hand in the impulsive way he had. “I’m taking you away for a while. Somewhere we can be private. Unless you object?” The raised brow promised much.

Her heart beat quickened. “Of course not.”

“There’s no ‘of course’ about it. If you want to stay, perhaps speak more to your sister, we will wait.”

Now she knew Sarah was well and happy, and Louisa too, Charlotte was content to leave them for a while. She shook her head. “I’m delighted to do as you ask.” More than delighted, if she told the truth.

The part of her marriage that she anticipated with both fear and excitement loomed. Like a badly trained horse, she wanted to rush at it. She would most likely fail the jump, but she wanted it done, so that she knew what she would be contending with.

She knew very little about what would happen next, what he would want. Her father had, naturally, never discussed the matter with her, and her aunt had as much idea as she did. Perhaps if she’d been in touch with Sarah, she could have asked her, but she did not. Sarah was there, of course, but she sat farther down the table. Louisa and Aunt Adelaide sat by their side, honored guests. Louisa smiled at everyone and behaved much better than Charlotte had expected, considering her lack of experience and limited understanding. Charlotte’s heart eased to see her beloved sister so content.

She smiled as a maid helped her into gloves and her hat and kept smiling as her husband helped her up the steps into a sleek post chaise. The coachman touched his whip to his hat as they climbed in, and then they were off.

“Where are we going?”

Val frowned. “Hmm. It’s a warm day. I want you out of these.” He started work on her gloves. “We aren’t going far, only to a house I own by the river at Richmond. The journey shouldn’t take above an hour.”

He cast her gloves aside without noting where they fell and gathered her hands in his.

“I didn’t know you owned a house by the Thames,” she said numbly. She wanted to ask other things, but she didn’t know where to start.

“We still have a lot to learn about one another, despite our long engagement.”

That brought a tremulous smile to her lips. “Yes, we do.”

“The fault was entirely mine. I did not listen to you or take notice of you.” He bit his lip.

Charlotte had never seen him so uncertain.

“I regarded you as a convenience, someone who allowed me to get on with my life without hindrance. After our betrothal, I could spend more time doing what I wanted to. I had fewer obligations.”

His mouth tightened, in a way she’d seen when he was exasperated or angry. But with her?

“I was a fool. I looked everywhere but at you.”

She blinked. “You looked at me often enough.”

“Not in the way I saw you the first night I kissed you.”

“That was just after we were betrothed.” She remembered that night. Her father had held a ball in her honor, although in reality he had used it to progress a business arrangement with the Duke of Kirkburton, Val’s uncle. She understood, but the highlight of the evening for her had been when Val raised her hand to his lips and actually kissed it. Men generally kissed the air an inch or so above the skin. The contact had thrilled her.

“Not that time.” His voice thickened. “Like this.”

Despite the streets they were passing through, he tugged her hands so she lost her balance. He slid his arms around her and brought his lips down on hers. The broad brim of her hat caught on the upholstery behind them, but that did not stop her returning his kiss. Shocked and thrilled in equal measure, she met him, and when he opened his mouth against hers, she followed suit.

He tasted her, licked in deep, and explored her at his leisure, occasionally teasing her tongue with the tip of his. When her hat loosened, she let it fall. He must have watched where the maid put the pins, for he drew them out without hesitation before tugging the bow under her chin undone and letting the hat tumble to join her gloves.

Now she could rest her head on his shoulder while he drew her into the shelter of his arms and delved deeper. He enticed her into a kiss more lascivious than anything she had experienced before. He kept his hands still, but despite that, she felt the imprint of his fingers on her breast, where they had been once before, and she shuddered with half-understood longing. As the kiss went on, her body tingled, and she yearned to get even closer to him.

He changed the nature of his caress, gentled her, and changed the kiss of yearning into more playful, affectionate caresses, small kisses, touching his lips to her mouth, her nose and her cheeks, before returning to her mouth. “Am I forgiven?”

“For what?” She was breathless, as if she’d run a mile.

“For nearly losing you. For taking you for granted.”

“I wasn’t aware that you did. You were always kind to me when we met.”

He snorted. “My mother urged me to persevere and set a date. She never stopped, and now I know why. She has known great happiness with my father. She wanted me to experience the same thing.”

“Happiness?”

“You make it sound like an unattainable ideal. Has it been so bad?” He brushed his lips over her forehead.

She frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.” Happiness was an aspiration, not a natural state. She had rarely known it, and treasured the few times she’d attained it.

“You were not always happy. I shall try to change that.”

She basked in his attention. Even if his concentration on her turned out to be ephemeral, she would enjoy every minute of it while it was hers. “I am happy enough. I never wanted for clothes or food, unlike the poor in the streets.”

He toyed with the pendant at her throat. “Happiness is not having enough to eat. Or it should not be.” He kissed her softly. “You deserve much. I should not have turned my back on your plight for two years. I will never forgive myself for that.”

She did not like the turn this conversation was taking. Straightening up, she folded her hands in her lap and faced him. “I was not a poor creature. I managed to create enough for my sister and myself. I even have savings—poor, I am sure, by your standards—but I made plans. When Louisa came of age, we would leave. The only reason I did not was because of her.”

“I know. I know.” When he tried to pull her back, she resisted.

“I am not to be pitied. I am not so unusual, either. Plenty of women in my situation put up with more, and worse.” She spread her hands, palm up. “I came to London every season. True, I provided my father with a useful hostess, but he would have brought us anyway.” Because he liked to have them under his eye, but she need not tell him that. “Did you marry me because you felt sorry for me?”

He shook his head.

“Because I am not a charity girl.”

He regarded her in silence. She was forced to reach for the grips when the carriage jolted over a rut, but he caught her instead, and she found herself back in his arms.

“You are right, of course.” He kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps I overstated my case. I have often done so. I still curse myself, thinking of what I could have missed. If Kellett had been a more admirable man, I might have released you. I agreed to do so, after all.”

He must have felt her shudder, because he held her tighter.

“Is it over then? Has he gone?”

“Yes. This morning I drew blood, but that is all. Honor was satisfied.” He grunted. “I would have preferred to put an end to his existence, but then I would not have met you at the altar. I would not come to you with a man’s life on my hands.”

“What will he do next?”

“What can he do? We are married. He can hardly argue with that.” He paused. “He was angry, but if he has any sanity at all, he’ll let us alone now and hunt down another heiress.”

“I’m not an heiress.”

“You were.” He kissed her forehead. “You will probably be again. Your father has settled a considerable amount on you, and as matters stand, I doubt he will renege on that. Does it count that I married you when you were penniless?”

She laughed. “I think it does.”