Page 17 of The Wilful Widow
“Lord Ashbrook will make an excellent husband and is terribly fond of Beatrice,” Charlotte said, mostly for her daughter’s benefit. She forced herself to sound even more enthusiastic as she added, “Why, it was because he would be such a good father to Beatrice, that I said yes.”
The rain was falling harder now and she glanced about for the nearest shelter, which was a stand of trees they’d just passed along the path.
“Come along, children, I think we need to make haste and return home!” she said, breaking into Katherine’s next remark as she turned and pointed to the trees. “Shall we run?”
The rain had intensified very suddenly so it was easier to retrace their footsteps, rather than hurrying ahead to join the others.
But the path had turned into a slippery rivulet and it was necessary to exercise caution. “Careful, Beatrice, or you’ll slip!” she cried out to the children who’d taken to their heels and were pounding down the hill ahead of her, squealing with glee at the exertion.
Whether or not they heard, she could not tell, for they took no notice. As it turned out, it was, however, Charlotte herself who was remiss in taking care.
One moment she was covering ground at a respectable clip.
The next she was skidding downhill, out of control, her arms going wide before she landed in a great, undignified heap, amidst a ballooning of quickly muddied skirts and petticoats.
The children scampered on ahead, unaware, while Charlotte, shocked by the force of her fall, felt as if the wind had been knocked from her. For a moment, she thought she was going to cry. Everything about these few days had been a disaster. It should have been wonderful to see Alexander again but in truth it was the most painful of encounters; and only made worse by the fact that he seemed completely insensible to her.
Ashbrook, by contrast, didn’t miss an opportunity to murmur suggestive remarks in her ear that made it clear he couldn’t wait for the next two weeks to be over so he could strip away her clothing, and reserve, and paw her for his own entertainment, just as her previous husbands had done.
If she only had a small annuity, she could live her life as she chose, alone and free, with just Beatrice for company. She didn’t need much.
But for Beatrice’s sake she had to go ahead with the commitments she’d made.
“Charlotte?”
She jerked her hand away, shocked by her name sounding in her ear.
So close. So intimate. Before her thoughts assimilated, she was aware of the familiar rush of sensation; an outpouring of longing.
And desire, as she jerked her head up to find herself staring into those familiar eyes.
“Alexander,” she said, biting her lip, feeling suddenly disoriented.
“Are you all right? I saw you slip and fall.” He was crouching beside her, his expression worried. “Did you twist your ankle? Shall I carry you home?”
His hand rested on her shoulder a moment before, with obvious self-consciousness, he moved it away.
She knew she was not injured. She’d fallen, but not hard.
Well, not in the literal sense. But the tumult of feeling coursing through her was further evidence of where her heart was truly engaged.
Smiling, she put out her hand and he took it, as naturally as he would have when they’d been young and so very in love.
“Perhaps,” she said, knowing she sounded almost coy, and so different from the reserved creature she’d become.
“Mama! Mama! Are you all right?” Beatrice led the vanguard of children, her childish concern warming Charlotte’s heart and mitigating, though only slightly, the disappointment she felt when Alexander drew back.
Above Beatrice’s cries, she could hear Katherine calling for Beatrice to return as she reassured her that Mr Pemberton had everything in order.
“Let me help you.” Alexander moved in closer, his cheek almost touching hers as he bent down, clasping her hand once more, and drawing her up; so tenderly.
Was she mistaking the intensity of his look as he opened his mouth to speak again?
Just as Miss Huxtable and Lady Fenton arrived, both of them voicing their concern.
“When you didn’t rise, I feared you’d twisted your ankle.” Lady Fenton regarded her with a frown, though Charlotte was more aware of Alexander’s closeness, and the faint aroma of sandalwood soap he’d always used and which sent another tremor of longing right through her.
“Alexander is quite the gentleman and always the first to go to a lady’s aid,” said Miss Huxtable, causing Charlotte to reach for Alexander’s hand in a burst of competitive pique, after he’d dropped it at the arrival of his betrothed. No, hisalmostbetrothed. She must remember that.
