Chapter Twenty-Eight
Charlotte paced in her cell. Six days. Six long, boring days of pacing, crying, cursing, and telling Lord Barton at least once a day that she would rather go to the worst jail in all of England than grace his bed.
She dropped to the cot and held her head in her hands. Her beautiful wedding gown was a wrinkled mess. She’d been given cold water once a day to wash. Her food had started off appetizing, but the last two days she’d been given no more than stale bread. He was trying to break her, and with no one to help her, fear grew that Lord Barton would win.
He’d visited her every day, and every day she’d told him to leave her alone. It had reached the point where she was almost afraid of him. He did not like to be crossed, which was why he had the entire town under his thumb. The few people over the years who had tried to stand up to him had met with unfortunate accidents. Nothing that could be proven, of course, but a burned-out barn, a crippled horse, and water supplies diverted from much-needed plots of land had taught intended lessons.
“Mrs. Pennyworth, you have a visitor.”
She continued to hold her head in her hands and shake her head. “Go away. Tell Lord Barton I do not wish to see him. Just leave me alone.”
“I am not Lord Barton.” Her head snapped up at the familiar voice.
Her heart thumped, and she had to grip the sides of the cot to keep from flinging herself into Elliot’s arms. He looked as bad as she felt. He appeared to have suffered many a sleepless night. His hair was a mess, as though he’d endlessly run his fingers through it. His normally perfect tie was askew, and his clothes were as wrinkled as her gown.
He eyed her with caution, almost as if he were holding his breath. She bit her knuckles as she returned his regard. Oh, how she’d missed him.
The cad.
“What are you doing here?” She raised her chin, glorying as he cringed at her icy tone.
Elliot turned to the guard. “Leave us, if you will, please.”
“Since his lordship said it was all right, it’s fine with me.” The man turned and headed down the corridor to the main room. The sound of a door closing told her he’d left them completely alone.
“How did you do that? No one does anything without Barton’s permission.”
Elliot took two steps into the cell and attempted to reach for her. “Charlotte.”
She stood and raised her hand, her palm facing him. “Don’t. Don’t come any closer.”
He stopped, his hands dangling at his sides. “Just let me say, before we talk about us—”
“—there is no us.” She hugged her middle and turned her back on him. “Just go away, Elliot.” But she didn’t want him to go away. Not really, and that was frustrating. She still loved him and had cursed herself over that for days. Damn his hide.
She jumped as he touched her shoulder.
“Before we talk about us—and yes, my love, there is an us—I want you to know that all charges against you have been dropped, and you are free to go.”
Just like that.
She’d spent two years worrying about being found, had been dragged off to jail on her wedding day, sat here for six days while that vile man had attempted to coerce her into his bed, and then Elliot appeared, and the charges were dropped.
She turned to face him. “How?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at his feet. “Once I realized what a bloody arse I was to send you off with the Inspectors, I met with Scotland Yard and got more information about your so-called charges.”
She raised her eyebrows. “So-called?”
“Yes. It was obvious from the start that you were set up.”
A very unladylike snort escaped her. “You certainly didn’t think so when I was dragged away on our wedding day.”
“Yes. And I told you I was an arse.” He took her by the shoulders and stared at her, his eyes full of pain. “If you had only told me about this, it could have been cleared up a long time ago.”
“How dare you say that?” She drew back and walked away from him, her hand itching to slap his face. “You didn’t believe me when I summoned you for help. Why should I think you would have believed me if I had told you before then?”
When he didn’t answer, she said, “Then I am free to walk out right now?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” She marched forward and swept past him, down the corridor, to the unlocked door. She opened it, and the guard sitting at the desk ignored her. Expecting Barton to accost her any minute, she hurried out the door into the bright sunlight, raising her hand to block the sun from her eyes. She strode about twenty paces and stopped.
What am I to do now?
…
Stunned by Charlotte’s quick exit, it took Elliot a minute to react and follow her. Where the devil did the woman think she was going? She had no money or way to return to London. The guard was once again sitting at his desk when Elliot entered the front room of the jail. “Where did Mrs. Pennyworth go?”
He waved at the front door. “Out there, somewhere. She’s no longer my problem since Lord Barton said she could leave.”
Elliot tamped down the urge to flatten the man’s nose. “You are a disgrace to law enforcement.”
The man flushed and did not respond, but shrugged and went back to flipping the cards he played.
Charlotte had come to a dead stop halfway up the block. He caught up to her, making sure she saw him so he wouldn’t startle her. “Sweetheart, we can stay overnight at an inn or take the next train to London, which is in about two hours.”
“Pardon, sir, but please do not address me in such a familiar manner.” She glared at him, enough to have him stepping back. “If you would be so kind as to purchase me a train ticket to London, I will see that you are reimbursed.”
“Charlotte, I would suggest we stay at an inn tonight. I don’t wish to disparage your person, but you are not properly dressed for a train ride.”
She glanced down at herself, and her shoulders slumped. “Perhaps you are right. If you would also lend me money for a room, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Certainly.” He attempted to take her arm, but she pulled away from him and continued on down the street.
He shook his head. “Charlotte, the inn is the other direction.”
She turned and headed the other way, her head raised, as she tugged her dirty, smelly skirts closer so she would not touch him. He almost laughed but knew that would not be the best way to get back into her good graces. So, instead, he trudged after her.
Since he had given up the room he’d been using since his arrival in Melbourne Station, anticipating they would make a quick return to London, he led her to an inn closer to the train station. As he had pointed out to her, with the dishevelment of her appearance, she would need to tidy herself up before she was fit to ride the train.
The Great Slaver Inn sat on a corner parcel about two blocks from the train station. Charlotte entered ahead of him and walked straight up to the desk along the wall by the staircase. “I would like a room, please.”
The innkeeper looked her up and down and obviously found her wanting. “That will be three shillings, miss.”
Elliot stepped up. “That is missus, my good man. My wife and I need a room for the both of us.”
Charlotte swung around and opened her mouth to dispute him, but he gave her a quick headshake. The poor woman had no idea how bad she looked. Since he would be the one to pay for the room, anyway, he was sure the innkeeper would toss her out on her ear if he didn’t claim her as his wife.
“Married are ye?” He leered, as he looked Charlotte up and down again.
“Yes.” He kept his clenched fists at his side as he stared the man down, challenging the innkeeper to dispute him. The last thing he wanted Charlotte to witness was a brawl on the inn floor. He withdrew the coins from his pocket and added two more. “We would like a hot meal sent up to the room, and my wife will require a bath, as well.”
The innkeeper nodded and scooped up the coins. He shoved an open book across the desk and handed Elliot a pen. He wrote “Mr. and Mrs. Baker” on the next empty line. The innkeeper dragged the book back, turned, and took a key from a cubby behind the desk. “Room four.”
“Thank you.” Elliot took the key and held out his arm to Charlotte. “My dear?”
For a moment, he thought his charade was about to explode, and he would receive a fist to his eye. Charlotte’s breathing had increased, and he was sure it was anger, and not desire she was feeling. Eventually, she must have realized if she wanted a bath, food, and a decent night’s sleep, she would have to go along with him.
She took his arm and dug her nails into his jacket. “I am not your wife.” She growled, under her breath.
Elliot swallowed his smile. At least he’d gotten her to stay in the same room with him. If he was going to get her back, he needed to do quite a bit of groveling and apologizing. And seducing, although given the stiffness of her body and the look on her face, that was not going to happen anytime soon.
…
Charlotte gritted her teeth as they climbed the stairs and took the few steps down the corridor to the room. Elliot unlocked the door and held it open. She swept in, and the first thing her eyes landed on was the bed. “You’ll sleep on the floor,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Elliot closed the door and, leaning against it, said, “Charlotte.”
She turned, but kept her distance.
“Are you well?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Baker. I am quite well, thank you. I have just spent six days in jail, harassed by a man who tried to blackmail me into being his mistress. I was cold, scared, hungry, shared my accommodations with a family of mice, and abandoned by the man who claimed to love me. All that after being attacked and almost killed by a crazed woman. Why wouldn’t I be well?”
He winced at her words. “I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Baker. I am quite familiar with your promises.”
She turned her back on him, not wanting to see the sorrow and regret on his face. She was filled with curiosity as to how he had gotten her out of jail and the charges dismissed, but she would not ask the bounder. He’d acknowledged that they were fake charges, but not how he’d taken care of them. Despite her curiosity, she had no intention of asking him. They might be thrown together for the night, and the train ride tomorrow, but then she would be done with him.
Yes, why don’t I punish myself further? I’ve already admitted I still love him. Curse his hide.
Truth be known, she was finding it very hard to keep her hands off him. All she’d wanted to do since he walked into her jail cell was to throw herself into his arms and have him hold her, to feel the warmth and security in his embrace. She wanted him to tell her everything would be all right. That he had arranged to have the false charges dropped, and had every intention of taking care of her for the rest of their lives.
Her anger had dimmed—just a bit—because he looked so horrible. This was not a man who had turned his back on her and then gaily resumed his life. Although his initial reaction had been to dismiss her as a liar and a thief, the look in his eyes now told her he was very sorry for what he had done.
But that didn’t mean she could forgive him.
A light tap on the door drew her attention. Elliot opened the door to a well-rounded middle-aged woman. She offered them a gap-tooth smile, none of the suspicion in her husband’s manner evident. “Good evening, I am Mrs. Weston, the innkeeper’s wife. I understand Mrs. Baker would like a bath?”
“Yes, please,” Charlotte answered.
“We have a bathing room, my dear. It’s at the end of the hall. I will set up the bath for you. If you will accompany me, I can show it to you.” The woman turned, and Charlotte followed her down the corridor to the end room, which apparently had been a bedchamber at one time, but was now set up to bathe.
The lovely space had two green-and-white striped upholstered chairs, along with a linen closet, mirrors on the wall, a washbasin, a water closet, and a delightful bathtub. “This is lovely!”
The woman blushed at Charlotte’s praise. “Thank you. We are quite proud of it, if I may say so, myself. I will set up your bath and fetch you from your room when it is ready.” Charlotte turned to leave, and then stopped when the woman spoke. “When will you and your husband like your dinner?”
Your husband.
The words jolted her. Had Lord Barton not caught up with her, that is exactly what Elliot would be right now. Instead, she wasn’t exactly sure what he was. She was still too angry at his betrayal to think beyond a bath and dinner. He kept insisting there was an “us” in their future, but she couldn’t dwell on that now.
“I think I would prefer a bath before we eat,” she answered. Then, glancing down at her ruined gown, she cringed. “My pardon, Mrs. Weston, but I am in desperate need of a change of clothing.” She flushed, wondering what the woman thought of her condition.
“There is a shop on the next block. If you tell me what you need, I can send one of my daughters.” There was no condemnation or suspicion in her statement.
“Wonderful. You may get some coins from my husband.” She smiled at the woman. A bath, clean clothes, and a warm meal.
Heaven.
…
Elliot stared out the window at the busy street below. A charming little town, it was too bad Melbourne Station was completely controlled by Lord Barton.
When the local magistrate had refused to release Charlotte based on Molly’s testimony, Elliot had sent a telegram to a client of his, a well-respected, honest judge in London, who had quickly dispatched a return telegram to the magistrate. Within a half hour, he had the discharge papers in hand.
His only regret was not coming face-to-face with Lord Barton, and pummeling him to the ground. Even now, his hands clenched with the urge to seek him out and give him the thrashing he deserved.
He spent the time waiting for Charlotte to return from her bath going over what he would say to her. As soon as she came back, he would notify the innkeeper to send up their meal. He gladly gave Mrs. Weston the money to buy a new outfit for Charlotte. If things went the way he hoped, he would be responsible for her clothing, food, and shelter for the rest of her life.
He’d been a first-class idiot, and if given the chance, he would do whatever it took to make her see how much he loved her, and how sorry he was for abandoning her when she had needed him the most.
He had thought his heart crushed when he learned of the warrant for Charlotte’s arrest, but nothing compared to how he felt when he saw her in that dirty, disgusting jail. Her beautiful wedding gown was a mess, her hair hung down in clumps, and her eyes looked upon him with heartbreaking sadness. But worse had been the look of defeat on her face. His strong Charlotte had given up.
No matter how hard he tried, he could not convince himself that it wasn’t his fault she’d suffered through the humiliation of arrest and being treated like a criminal by the lowly moron at the jail.
As much as he wanted to slam his fist into the jailer’s face, deep in his heart, he knew he was the one who deserved the thrashing. The guilt was crippling.
There was a slight tap at the door. “Mr. Baker?”
He opened the door to find Mrs. Weston holding a bundle of clothing over her arm. “Here are your wife’s things.” She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “I’m thinking you might want to check on her in the bathing room. I knocked to tell her I had her clothes, but she didn’t answer, and I am sure I heard crying.”
The blood drained from his face. With all she’d gone through the last month or so, it was no wonder she was crying. “Thank you, Mrs. Weston. I will check on her.”
She nodded and went on her way. How would Charlotte feel about him barging in on her bath? He’d already seen her unclothed, but since things were so nebulous between them right now, his hesitation was well-founded.
After a few minutes of indecision, he placed the pile of clean clothes on the bed, and headed to the bathing room. He knocked gently. “Charlotte? Is everything all right?”
No response. He leaned his ear against the door. “Charlotte?”
No words, but the muffled sound of sobs spurred him to undo the latch and enter. She sat in the tub with her knees bent, arms wrapped around her legs, her forehead on her knees, sobbing. He moved closer, then hunched down alongside her. Reaching out, he dipped his fingers into the water, then placed his hand on her wet hair, smoothing down the damp curls. “Honey, you’re going to freeze. The water has grown quite cold.”
No answer. She merely continued to cry as if her heart were broken, the sobs wracking her body. He looked around the room and spotted two drying cloths on a chair near the window. He rose, picked one up, and shook it out. “Sweetheart, you have to stand so I can dry you. You’re shivering.”
Her head moved back and forth, rubbing her forehead against her knees.
“Yes. You must stand.” He dropped the drying cloth, and reaching under her arms, he drew her up. Once he had her standing, he placed the cloth around her shoulders and took her hand. “Step out.”
Like a young child, she did as he said. Since all her clothing was in the room several doors down, he dried her as best he could, then wrapped her in the cloth. Despite whatever scandal it would cause, he scooped her up and carried her from the bathing room, down the corridor, to their room. Juggling her in his arms, he opened the door, strode inside, and placed her gently on the chair.
He riffled through the pile of clothes until he pulled out a white lawn nightgown. “Stand up, love.”
Charlotte stood, the drying cloth dropping to her feet. She was not herself, since she didn’t try to cover up. Being the gentleman he wished he weren’t, he slipped the gown over her head, hiding all that glorious skin. He took her by the hand, happy to see she had stopped crying, but she was still unresponsive.
“I’m afraid I have no experience with dressing women’s hair. If I give you a hairbrush, will you fix it whichever way you normally do for bed?”
She nodded and took the brush he handed her. With a few swift strokes, she tamed the curls and quickly braided the length into one long rope.
“Is there a ribbon?” The first words she’d spoken since he’d taken her from the bathtub, her voice was thick from crying. He fumbled through the clothing again and came up with a blue ribbon that he handed her.
Once she was finished, he pulled down the cover on the bed, and she climbed in, rolling to her side, facing away from him. It was no wonder she was experiencing such an emotional collapse. His guilt weighed heavily on his mind and heart.
Before he said a word to her, there was a knock on the door. A young man, most likely son to the innkeeper, stood with a tray of food. “Your dinner, sir.”
“Thank you.” He waved to a table near the bed. “Just put it there.”
The young man nodded, placed the tray on the table, and left the room. The scent of the food had his stomach rumbling, and even though he was anxious to have his say, he thought it best if they ate before they talked.
“Sweeting, I think you should eat something.”
When she didn’t respond for a full minute, he thought perhaps she had fallen asleep. He moved to touch her shoulder just as she rolled to her back. “Yes, I am hungry.”
Relief swamped him at her response. He had visions of taking her to a hospital where they routinely locked up women suffering from hysteria.
Charlotte swung her legs over the edge of the bed and eyed the roasted duck, creamed potatoes, bread, cheese, and bowl of vegetables with relish. He would prefer her railing at him, cursing and storming about, rather than this subdued woman.
They ate the meal in silence, and his mind eased as Charlotte ate with gusto. However, he was not fool enough to think that she had forgiven him.
In fact, he had all intentions of doing an immense amount of groveling once their bellies were full.