Page 19 of The Wilful Widow
And yet, there was nothing to be done about it. The sooner they all left Quamby House to go their separate ways, the better, he supposed.
So, why was he making things even more difficult by talking to her now?
“And Beatrice looks terrified.” Charlotte sighed.
“Very different from you.”
The shock on Charlotte’s face nearly made him laugh, and if it had been just the two of them and their destinies weren’t already set in other directions, he’d have told her how much he loved that look. And missed it. Alexander had been fond of teasing her only to kiss away her shock.
What a long time ago it seemed.
And yet, gazing at her now, her features so memorable…and loved…itcouldhave been yesterday.
“I so hoped she’d come out of her shell during our visit,” Charlotte was now saying. “Though she seems to have warmed to you, of everyone here. Katherine is such a determined child, and Beatrice finds that very daunting. But then Katherine took her under her wing, and I was so grateful and so sure Beatrice would respond well. But…” She sighed. “Look at her now.”
Alexander shifted his gaze to the small girl in her beautifully cleaned and mended new dress. She looked like a small fairy. A tiny, delicate and anxious version of her mother with her long dark hair that cascaded in waves down her back. Alexander wondered if Charlotte’s hair curled like that. He’d wondered the same when anticipating their elopement with such fever; had dreamed of finding out on their wedding night, for while there had been no lack of ardor in the three days they’d spent together, there had been no impropriety, either.
Not when Alexander had known from the moment he’d clasped her gloved hand to lead her into the cotillion and he’d felt the jolt throughout his body. Yes, he’d known from that moment that he wanted to marry her.
And the instant connection, he knew, had been mutual.
Only, looking at Charlotte now, so cool, so distant, he wondered…had he imagined it all?
“Mr. Pemberton, here’s your script.”
He glanced down at young Katherine who was holding a rolled-up piece of parchment with a garment bedecked with gold embroidery over her arm. “And here’s your cloak of valour.”
“My cloak of valour?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Very impressive. And who am I to play?”
“The hero. Now, please step to the side of the stage. It’s not your turn for a while, but I’ll tell you what you need to do and when to go on. When I give you a little tap, that’s when you say your lines.” She was too absorbed in the importance of her role as director to wait for a response before she hurried over towards Jessamine, brandishing a diaphanous gold creation.
“Does it become me?” Alexander grinned as he donned the white, ankle-length cloak, which had been roughly embroidered with a cross of gold on the back.
“You look more like a handsome Knight of the Crusaders than a simple woodsman but you look marvellous.” The gentleness of Charlotte’s words was enough to embolden Alexander to mention the past, but she spoke on, as if she knew this and had no wish to hear it. “I hope your fair damsel in distress isn’t afraid of heights.” With a smile, she pointed to the library ladder that had been entwined with vines atop which was perched a tasseled red-velvet cushion, no doubt to resemble the tower from which Jessamine was to be rescued.
Alexander transferred his gaze from Charlotte’s lovely face towards Jessamine who smiled as she intercepted his look, before she returned to her conversation with their hostesses. She looked relaxed and at ease, and with a dreadful finality, Alexander realized that an essential role of the hero was duty above all.
Charlotte had had every opportunity to even hint that her feelings for Alexander had rebounded since their unexpected meeting. But she had reneged on their meeting nine years ago and made it clear she preferred to marry a titled man. She was doing the same again.
Oh, he’d seen tenderness in her smile for him, and a certain reticence in the face of which he’d puffed himself up with thinking she regretted her decision of all those years ago.
But that was only because Alexander had wanted to interpret those things, was it not?
Why?
Because he had never got over losing Charlotte, the only woman he believed he would ever love. It was injured pride that made him read into her responses a tenderness toward him that wasn’t there.
Lord, she’d never even properly acknowledged their past relationship.
She’d certainly not given him a proper explanation for why she’d not been waiting for him by the crossroads as she’d sworn she would be.
* * *
“My dear,would it be seemly if I assisted you into your costume?”
Charlotte struggled to rearrange her features into the necessary gratitude for Ashbrook’s benefit. She’d been so caught up in the maelstrom of emotion that Alexander’s nearness had caused that she was very fearful of betraying herself. So, when she heard his voice behind her, she could only look at Alexander wordlessly as he made his bows to withdraw, before she turned, slowly, to offer her future husband the kind of smile he would expect.
“I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t think it so.” She indicated the dressing screen at the edge of the stage. “I can slip it over the top of what I’m wearing. I could put it on here, for that matter.”
