Page 29 of The Truth about the Rogue
“Yes, I well recall that you read a great deal of poetry,” he said, sounding irritated - as though, somehow, her answer to his question had been a cause of frustration in some way. “You are, I think, the only young lady in London who does not find herself affected by the poems in The London Chronicle, given how manyotherpoems you have read which you can measure it against.”
Feeling a little attacked, Charlotte rose to defend herself.
“I am well-read, and I do not consider that a bad thing,” she retorted. “To me, the gentleman who writes the poetry in The London Chronicle lacks a little passion. There is also the fact that, in the last poem he wrote, all but one of the lines rhymed, which makes me wonder if he is trulyfeelingwhat he writes, or if it is simply a matter of stating what he can to garner as much feeling from others as possible.”
“You give your opinion very assuredly for someone who is a little reserved.”
She looked at him.
“I do. I know what I speak of, and I will not pretend otherwise to satisfy the ego of any gentleman.”
This made Lord Kentmore blink rapidly, evidently astonished that she would think to speak as boldly to him as she had done. Charlotte said nothing further, however, though inwardly she felt a small curl of satisfaction that she had rendered him practically silent. She was not ashamed to state that she knew poetry well, for it was something that she read very often, as she had done for many years. Lord Kentmore, sheconsidered, certainly would not have the same expertise, given that he, no doubt, had not spent many hours scrutinizing each word, reading each line, and wondering at the meaning. No, Charlotte thought to herself, a hint of a smile on her lips now, she could have perfect confidence in this… and Lord Kentmore was not about to take that from her.
“Are you not going to ask me anything about myself, as I have asked you?”
A little surprised, Charlotte looked at him again.
“What is there that you think I need to consider?”
She resisted the desire to point out to him that, though hehadasked her a question, he had not garnered any further knowledge from it, given that she had simply reminded him of things he already knew.
“You know nothing about me.”
A broken laugh came from her lips, though she shook her head at him thereafter, the edge of her lip curling.
“Lord Kentmore, I believe that I know as much about you as I need to.”
His jaw tightened.
“I hardly think so.”
“You are a rogue. A scoundrel, who enjoys nothing more than spending all of his time garnering as much attention from society ladies as he can,” Charlotte returned, quickly. “Your hobbies are, I expect, shooting, riding your horse, and playing cards – and, no doubt, gambling with it. Thereafter, while you are in society, you want to do nothing other than flirt, tease, and embrace whichever lady your eyes fall upon, and whichever one of them stirs your interest, youmusthave in your arms for a time – for none of them are permitted to enter your heart! You do not think of any other aside from yourself, you do not let yourself be swayed by the concerns or even the interests of others. Instead, you turn away and keep your eyes fixed solely upon yourself.There is arrogance and selfishness within you, and you do not care.” She turned to face him, her hand still on his arm but pulling away from him slowly. “Is there anything that I have said which is incorrect, Lord Kentmore? Or is there anything more that I should know of you that I do not already?” A shadow passed over Lord Kentmore’s expression, his jaw flexing as his hazel eyes searched hers. He opened his mouth, let out a huff of breath, and then closed it again, shaking his head as if to say that he had decided not to speak at all. “And this is the gentleman I am to marry.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, the words coming out as a whisper, though she had not meant to speak them aloud. A tightness came into her chest, tears burning in her eyes and though she fought them, though she tried her utmost not to let a single tear fall, she could not prevent it. As she opened her eyes, one dashed to her cheek and though she caught it, sniffed and blinked furiously to keep the rest back, she feared that someone had seen it fall.
An expression passed over Lord Kentmore’s face, something that Charlotte could not make out. He frowned, shook his head, and then looked away, clearing his throat as he did so.
“I should return you to your mother,” he muttered, his free hand settling on hers for just a moment as she held it on his arm. “No doubt news of our courtship will be all around London by the morning.”
“I expect it shall be.” There was a tremor in her voice as she thought of the many interesting remarks that would be made. “We can do nothing other than accept it, I suppose.”
Lord Kentmore stopped short. He did not turn to her but instead, looked directly ahead, only to sigh and then glance towards her.
“I…” Trailing off, he closed his eyes. “I am sorry, Charlotte.”
Whether it was the fact that he said her name, or that he had apologized with evident sincerity, Charlotte did not know. But something within her lifted, then, something that made her heart catapult against her ribs. She swallowed, trying to find something to say, but no words came. Lord Kentmore offered her a small nod, as though he was now glad that he had said what he desired, only to then lead her forward again, returning her to her mother.
It was the most astonishing thing, Charlotte considered, as she came to stand beside her mother once more. Both she and Lord Kentmore had been upset and frustrated and yet, in a single moment, she had found that releasing from her a little – though not entirely – simply because of his apology.
“Did you enjoy your time with Lord Kentmore?” Lady Morton beamed at Charlotte though she herself struggled to smile. “It will be the talk of London very soon, I am sure!”
“It seems that it shall be,” Charlotte answered, feeling herself a little weary now, not quite certain that she could cope with all that thetonwould put to her. “And somehow, I shall have to face it all.”
Chapter Ten
Andrew paced up and down his study, his mind tormented. No matter what he did, he could not get his thoughts free from Miss Hawick. The sadness that had been within her when they had spoken at the soiree – a soiree which had been some two evenings ago – had hit him hard, and the weight of his guilt had seemed to increase significantly to the point that he had struggled to bear up beneath it. Yes, he still had the frustration of being unable to continue to live just as he pleased, the upset of being forced to wed when he did not want to do such a thing, but the realization of just what he had done to Miss Hawick had broken apart all of that. Now, he found himself deeply sorrowful, filled with regret, and troubled with the guilt and shame that seemed to want to remind him of his foolishness at every moment.
He had not stepped out into society since that soiree. Lord Glenfield had come to call, but Andrew had told him that he was not feeling particularly well, and needed to rest and, thus, his friend had taken his leave. It had been an excuse, of course, for Andrew was quite well, within himself. For some reason, he simply did not want to have any sort of company.
