Page 6 of The Wilful Widow
“No! No need to do that at all,” Alexander said hastily. “No need to mention any of this.”
“Any of what?” Katherine seemed genuinely perplexed. “Am I to understand you know Lady Highcliff? You were a little unclear when I asked before.”
“Yes. No.” He shook his head.
“Which one is it?”
Alexander stared grimly ahead. Would Charlotte want their old association brought up at any stage? Surely not, with a husband-to-be as part of their company. And clearly those three days of madness with Alexander had meant little to her all those years ago. It was possible she may even have forgotten. An unexpected three days, nine years ago and four husbands later would surely be entirely forgettable–given that she’d reneged on the fateful meeting that was to have decided their future. Reneged on her wild assertion that she would give up on her marriage to Lord Busselton in order to elope with Alexander the following night.
Charlotte still hadn’t looked back, and Alexander didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved. Especially when Jessamine waved at him, reminding him of where his responsibilities lay.
“We were once acquainted,” he said, looking down at Katherine, hoping that satisfied her.
“Really?” But the way she said it suggested a whole new level of interest had just been laid bare.
Chapter 4
The library was deserted. Charlotte had left a book on a table near the window earlier that afternoon when she’d been the only occupant of the library and she’d heard the other guests were involved in various activities. She’d been relieved to have been left to her own devices, relaxing in the comfortable wingback chair as she’d let her mind be carried away by the exciting events inIvanhoe.
She wondered how it might be possible to relax at all over the next few days, knowing now who was included in this house party.
Locating the book, she picked it up, shivering despite the roaring fire, as her mind replayed the events of earlier. She’d placed her hand on the palm of a man she’d thought a stranger. It had been the shock of physical sensationbeforeshe’d even looked into his face that had alerted her.
So why hadn’t she said anything during those few seconds of silence? Had she changed so much from the unguarded girl she’d once been that she couldn’t give voice to her astonishment and pleasure at seeing Alexander Pemberton again?
Why, her heart had all but exploded with joy.
Nibbling her little finger, she paced before the fireplace. What should she do? How should she play this? She’d learned Alexander was to be betrothed to lively, pretty Miss Jessamine Huxtable. They’d known one another many years, she’d heard. Were head over heels in love, she’d been told.
And Charlotte was to marry Lord Ashbrook in less than a month.
Whereas once she’d felt a mixture of relief and a modicum of gratitude that her future, and Beatrice’s, were assured, now she felt only the greatest agony.
Then she told herself such emotion was for foolish green girls who wore their hearts on their sleeves and paid no account to life’s serious realities. One did not simply throw everything over for love. There were considerations to be made; people’s standing to be taken into the equation.
And nine years was a long time. If she had said nothing, then neither had Alexander. Perhaps he’d forgotten her? Perhaps he considered the fact that she hadn’t made their fateful meeting a lucky escape for him. Perhaps he’d never thought of her again. After all, it had only been three days they’d spent together.
And now they were different people.
Feeling more decided, she clasped the book to her chest and made her way to the door. If Alexander wanted to pretend they’d never met, she’d take her cue from him.
It would be safer, and kinder, for all those around them. She was no longer that wild, impetuous child who was prepared to give up everything for love.
“Charlotte!”
“Alexander!”
He stood blocking the door as he entered from the passage and clearly had not expected to see her judging by the shock on his face.
But he hadn’t forgotten her. That was very clear.
“You’re looking…well,” he said warily as he moved toward the fireplace so they werenot in such proximity to the passage.
“And you look…” She nearly saidas handsome as I rememberbut instead chose, “the very same.” Her heart was beating erratically, and her throat felt dry, but she managed with admirable aplomb, “Congratulations. I hear you are to marry Miss Huxtable.”
“And you have made another fine match, I hear. Lord Ashbrook.”
Did she just imagine it, or was there a cynical note to the words? Perhaps even reproach? She studied his well-remembered, loved features, warring within herself for the right approach.
