Chapter Eleven
My dearest, most precious Charlotte,
How I miss you! Words are not adequate to explain my Feelings, so much stronger, so much more Desperate now that we have been torn from each other’s arms. I would not wish you to feel the Pain I am feeling, though I would hope you love me no less than I do you. Oh, for the sight of your gentle Face, the spark of humor in your eye, the heavenly vision of your hair wafted by the zephyrs of summer.
What of my grim Lyfe here? I have borne the Cold, the Wet, the endless drills, the hefty weight of my weapons, and of the responsibility, which hangs like the sword of Damocles over me, just waiting for me to make a mistake, sending some poor Fellowe to his Death.
I know not how I can bear this much longer. It is not the Lyfe for me, whatever Papa may say. He has sent me a cruel punishment, indeed, for loving you.
How young, how foolish were our Hearts when we planned to elope! My Heart has hardened—not toward you, my most darling Charlotte, but toward myself. I should never have embarked on so foolish a Venture, I should never have risked destroying your Good Name. Although I think my father has greatly overstepped the mark, I do now realize how much I have disappointed him and the rest of my family with such selfish actions.
I resent my Punishment, but begin to hate myself for what I did to deserve it, and this Battle within my soul is tearing me apart. I cannot help but Hope that it will be over soon.
Please spare a moment to think of me, your poor, wretched Justin, lest Fate decree we never meet again. But I still hope otherwise, for what else do I have left to hope for? I care not for what happens in my Lyfe, but I do still care about yours. Tell me you are Well, tell me you are bearing up. And yes, even though it would pain me to hear it, tell me you are Happy.
Yours until my Dying Day,
Justin
Charlotte folded the paper back over and stared sightlessly out the window. Her mind buzzed like a beehive in a thunderstorm. What was she to understand by his words? That he was going to do something drastic? Take his own life, perhaps?
She turned the paper over and over in her hands, waiting for the tears to come, but discovered she felt numb rather than grief-stricken, worried rather than distraught.
Before she had time to question this lack of emotion, a knock on her chamber door had her leaping up and stuffing the letter under the mattress.
“What is it?” she called, her heart thudding painfully.
“Your friends have come for you,” Aunt Flora called back through the elm panels.
“Just one moment.” Hester and Thea, of course, had arrived, eager to discuss the Culverdale ball. Dare she tell them about her letter? They’d have to go somewhere they wouldn’t be overheard.
She rushed down the stairs and steered them right back out the front door. “I need some air,” she declared.
“How whey-faced you are, Charlotte!” said Hester, as they stepped out into the sunshine. “Aren’t you excited about this rout?”
“Of course I am. But I’ve just come from the Scaddens, and feel a bit low.”
“Let’s head for the church, then,” Thea replied. “I can see if my floral display needs watering yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy the dancing,” Hester said, as she took Charlotte’s arm and held her parasol over them both.
“It’s healthful exercise, the best that can be got if you don’t ride,” Thea agreed.
“Aye, indeed, and if you’re the Earl of Beckport, it may be the only exercise you can get,” said Hester with a laugh.
Charlotte frowned.
“I declare, your face is growing longer by the minute, Charlotte. Whatever ails you?” asked Thea.
Hester gave her a searching look, then pronounced, “She’s still missing Justin, I’ll be bound. But it’s been a full six months since he was sent away. Surely, that’s long enough for a heart to mend.”
“It has mended,” Charlotte answered. “But I can’t help worrying about him. He’s not robust enough for the army. You know how prone to colds he is. It’s very damp in Scotland, I hear.”
“But he’s still young,” Thea offered. “He can’t be more than twenty, and fit enough. I’m told anyone can become stronger if they exercise.”
“He’s very slender,” Charlotte said. “Those swords can be heavy.”
“Nonsense!” interjected Hester. “They’re as light as a butter knife. I held one once, a cavalry saber.” She made a feint with an invisible sword by way of demonstration. “If my wrist’s sturdy enough, Justin’s must be.”
“But what if the men under his command mutiny? How would he fare then? He’s not one for giving orders—he’d far rather ask nicely, and that won’t do at all with the rank and file.”
As she said these words, she unconsciously pictured Rafe in Justin’s place, barking orders to his men. They’d scramble to obey him, without a doubt—he’d brook no opposition. He was also the sort of officer who would command respect amongst his troops.
And look very dashing in his uniform…
Suddenly, she realized what a blow it must have been for him to lose his military career in the blink of an eye. Her heart bled for him anew.
“Why worry about him now?” Hester asked. “Six months ago, Justin might have struggled with his fears, but by now he’s a well-trained officer, fit and ready to do his duty. I’m sure you’d find him a strapping young fellow, were you to meet him again. I’m quite sure you’d hardly know him.”
With an effort, Charlotte returned her attention to the conversation.
Justin. They were talking about Justin. Had she really brought him up?
“I don’t think they should make young men with gentle natures and poetic souls go into the army,” she said. “It’s a cruel waste.”
“You really think Mr. Jessop might have made his name as a poet?” Hester queried. “Well, perhaps the military life will give him fodder for his verses, and put a bit of dash into them. But I don’t think you should fret, Charlotte. I’m sure there’s nothing you can do for him, anyway. Both your families have forbidden any contact.”
Charlotte nodded. Time to change the subject before she gave herself away. First Rafe’s secret, and now she had to keep Justin’s safe, as well.
Life was becoming very complicated.
“Charlotte, don’t think of him a moment longer. He wouldn’t want to spoil your pleasure, would he?”
Charlotte focused on Thea’s face and managed a smile. “Of course he wouldn’t. Forgive me. I must think of the here and now and not waste time fretting over the past. A past we cannot change.”
“Very philosophical,” agreed Hester. “Now, tell me, what mask have you chosen to wear to the ball? Not tragedy, I hope.”
Charlotte winced inwardly. She had chosen tragedy. “There were only two masks for comedy, and Aunt Flora looked so wistful. Mama tried on the tragic one and looked a fright, so I insisted she give it to me.”
“There won’t be too many eligible gentlemen beating a path to your side, I fear,” said Hester.
“Only those whom no one else wants to dance with,” said Thea with a laugh, but not unkindly.
“Who knows? She might end up in the waltz with the horse-fearing Earl of Beckport, whom no one else will surely accept.”
Charlotte, recalling that kiss, couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather dance with than Rafe. The rest of the world, and Hester in particular, had quite the wrong idea of him.
Selfishly, she felt a little glad of that. For, it meant she could have him all to herself.
“He’ll be too tired to dance. He will have walked all the way from his vast estates because he can’t ride,” Thea suggested, her eyes twinkling.
“Charlotte will have to hold him up!” declared Hester.
“If they developed a tendre for each other,” Thea said, warming to her subject, “they might have to elope on foot.”
Charlotte’s patience reached its limits. “Enough! What has poor Lord Beckport done to the pair of you, that you mock him so cruelly? Have you nothing else to talk about? And what on earth has possessed you to link my name with his in such a way?”
Hester came to a halt and looked at her askance. “There’s no need to fly up into the boughs. We’re only teasing, aren’t we, Thea?”
“Of course, for why would anyone as lovely as you care for him? He must be a good ten years older than Justin, and dark, not fair, although he is exceedingly handsome under that very unfashionable beard and eccentric mustachios.”
“You’ve seen him, then?” Charlotte inquired, reining in her impatience. The more they derided Rafe, the more she wanted to leap to his defense. It was beyond frustrating that she could not.
“Only from a distance. He rarely comes this far south.”
“According to the Spectator, he’s as rich as Croesus,” said Hester, “and was very popular with the ladies before all the trouble with the army and being snubbed by the ton. It’s rumored he’s had several mistresses and one or two quite scandalous affaires.”
“Dozens of mistresses, I’ve heard,” Thea put in, tugging on Charlotte’s arm to get them moving again. “He’s known to have an eye for beauty. Beckport House contains a vast collection of classical statues, mostly female. Some are kept in a room where only close male friends are allowed.”
“I’m sure many gentlemen of taste have similar collections,” Charlotte said, trying to banish a vivid image of Rafe disporting himself with his dozens of mistresses.
Thea said, “There were rumors about Harriette Wilson—”
“There always are,” interrupted Hester with a sniff.
Charlotte found it difficult to reconcile the reclusive, secretive Lord Beckport she knew with the wealthy, lascivious rake her friends were making him out to be. Experience had taught her that gossip was a cruel weapon. It could ruin one’s character in a single blow—often without good reason—and she set little store by it.
Yet, this new picture of Beckport held a particular fascination. It seemed he was more dangerous to her than she’d thought. Had she been aware of the voraciousness of his…appetites, she might have been much more alarmed when she’d woken to find him in her bedchamber.
Or more excited, a devilish voice within her murmured.
“I wonder if the highwayman will attend the ball.”
“Thea, whatever made you think such a thing?” Hester said with a snort.
“He is supposed to be very dashing and bold…and used to wearing a mask.”
Charlotte chuckled, despite herself.
“Well,” Hester said, “the Culverdales are hardly likely to send a voucher to a high toby. Even if they had his direction, which I’m sure they don’t.”
“But he could be anyone, couldn’t he?” Charlotte ventured, her imagination taking flight.
“Exactly,” Thea said. “So, no one would know him. I think he sounds quite gallant, myself. He held up Martha Weeks and Philip Carey the other day, and he kissed Martha on her cheek, took only a little of her coin, and refused to touch the locket she inherited from her grandmother. He said a beautiful object like that belonged on the bosom of a beautiful woman.”
“Did Philip Carey do nothing to protect her?” Charlotte asked, intrigued by such benevolent behaviour in an outlaw.
“What could he do? He had only a sickle and a basket of eggs he was carrying for Martha, while the robber had a brace of pistols. Carey had no coin on him at all, but the highwayman took away a few eggs in his pocket.”
She laughed again and digested the fascinating tale a moment, then told Thea, “You won’t be meeting this generous thief at the assembly. If he has to resort to stealing eggs for his supper, I can hardly imagine he’ll have even a bed sheet to wear for a costume, let alone get his hands on an appropriate mask.”
“No,” disagreed Hester. “He’ll put in his appearance after two o’clock, on the road, in hopes of catching out unwary guests returning homeward.”
“He’ll hang if they catch him,” said Thea, becoming serious as she opened the lych-gate into the churchyard. “Whether gentleman or commoner.”
Hester frowned. “What a gloomy thought. I’d far rather talk about the ball.”
“Yes! I’m so looking forward to it,” Thea said, her whole face lighting up.
“Oh dear,” said Hester, as they drew nearer to the church. “Someone’s moved your display into the porch, Thea, and it’s wilted.”
“Bother!” exclaimed Thea, her face falling. “Why didn’t I think to bring a watering pot with me?”
“No matter,” Charlotte said. “I’ve just remembered something I urgently need to do at home. I’ll run back and send Adam up with a bucket, if you don’t mind waiting.”
Before her friends could either say yea or nay, she hurried off, back the way they’d come.
Seeing the graveyard, she suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about Justin’s letter. How depressed he sounded! He had something terrible planned, she was sure of it. She vividly recalled how he could sometimes be afflicted with a black melancholy.
She knew now she cared for him only as a friend. But how could she live with herself if he took his own life, when a few carefully chosen words from her might have prevented it?
She must write back to him, whatever the risk.
And somehow let him down gently. Because she was coming to realize her love for him had just been the brief flutter of a young girl’s heart. Now that she was older—and much wiser—she found her heart yearned for someone else. For a man who took her breath away. A man who made her long for things she’d never experienced.
For a man who—as he’d avoided her for the past three weeks—clearly did not return her feelings.