Page 7 of The Wilful Widow
How could she explain under these circumstances, with both of them bound to others, and their own disappointed hopes so long in the past?
I tried to find you, sounded desperate and out of place, right now.
And desperate was not how she wanted to appear. An icy demeanor and an implacable attitude to life throughout the last few years of repeated widowhood had done a little to shore up the tatters of her standing in society. It was what had won her Lord Ashbrook. He would find nothing appealing in the impulsive, enthusiastic young woman she’d once been; but he’d clearly been fascinated by her initial lack of interest and had been determined to win her. And while Charlotte had no wish for another husband, he would ensure a future for Beatrice that Charlotte could not. No, she could not jeopardize that. Her heart might be on fire with the memories of the passionate kisses she’d shared with Alexander all those years ago, but she was a mature woman now.
A responsible adult with a duty to her child.
“It is a fine match.” She didn’t know what else to say as she gazed up into Alexander’s warm brown eyes. Well, she’d remembered them as warm. They were cool and distant now, and in a burst of nervousness, she said, “It’s strange seeing you again after all these years. I wondered if our paths would cross.”
The words did nothing to soften the look in his eyes. His lips she’d dreamed about so many times over the years were set in a hard line, and the planes of his cheeks seemed carved out of granite. “I left the country for several years after you didn’t make our appointment, Charlotte.”
Was he still angry at her?
“I…Inearlydid,” she said softly. She opened her mouth to tell him that she had been waiting, in fact. That she’d reached their agreed meeting place before he had but that—
“Nearly?” he repeated with a short laugh. “Nearlyis, in fact, not at all.”
“No,” she agreed. How could she say what had really happened? It was too late now for excuses. What was done was done. And there was hardly going to be any turning back of the clock, now. “Where did you go?” Such an inane question. She didn’t care where he’d gone. All that mattered was that he was here now.
And unobtainable.
This was her punishment. It must be.
“I left for Spain, actually. As soon as I learned you’d married Lord Busselton. Obviously, he could provide for you better than an impecunious second son—”
She interrupted him. “You enlisted?”
“I did my duty.” He pushed back his shoulders. “No need for you to say more. I understand your considerations and I don’t hold them against you.”
Except that he did, she could tell, but there was nothing she could say for the sound of footsteps in the passage caused him to jerk into awareness. With a nod and almost a click of his heels, he excused himself and left.
“Lady Highcliff.” It was Lady Fenton, the sister of her hostess, smiling at her. “How are you? You…”
Charlotte knew she must look as discomposed as she felt when Lady Fenton stopped mid-speech and looked at her with concern.
“Is anything the matter? I…saw Mr. Pemberton talking to you. I hope everything is all right?”
She was clearly prying. Charlotte managed to keep a check on her emotions.
“I was surprised to see him again. We knew one another a long time ago, that is all.” She managed a smile. “And now I must get ready for this evening if you’ll excuse me.”
Lady Fenton could not be the conduit of her disordered thoughts. Holding the book against her chest like a lifeline she made her escape, hurrying up the steps toward her bedchamber, praying she wouldn’t encounter Lord Ashbrook or anyone else.
And when she got to her room, she threw herself onto her bed and wept before finally, wearily, she opened the tooled leather diary on the table near her bed and poured out her heart.
Chapter 5
“Mama says we must be nice to you, so we’ve decided to let you join in our game. But you have to do everything we say, Beatrice. Do you understand?” George patted the ground beside him, farthest from the fire.
He and Katherine had been in the middle of a card game but were already losing interest when Beatrice was deposited with them by her nursemaid.
Katherine put down her hand and leaned back to enjoy the warmth on her neck. “I think I won that round, George. So, Beatrice, what’s it like to have three stepfathers?”
Beatrice slanted a look at the older girl. She didn’t know what to say.
“I believe I, in fact, won that round, Katherine. And Beatrice, four husbands are a lot of husbands,” said George. “Which one was your father and how did he die?”
“He didn’t die—” Too late, Beatrice put her hand to her mouth. Confused, she stared at the two faces staring at her. Even she couldn’t quite understand the shame of having a father to whom her mother was no longer married. One who wasn’t dead.
