Page 52 of Tamed By a Duke
Charlotte flushed; she could not tell her two friends about Mr Deveraux's untimely interruption. Nor could she tell them about Penrith's admirable—if misplaced—offer to take little Molly on as his own.
And she really could not tell them of this morning's letter from Agnes, which had detailed that Penrith had kept to his word to look after them, for that would be the icing on the cake.
They would think Charlotte the most ridiculous, stubborn girl who had ever lived—for Charlotte was beginning to think the very same herself.
"Perhaps I am being a bit stubborn," she conceded.
"Perhaps," Julia agreed lightly.
"He called me a shrew," Charlotte grumbled, allowing herself to feel a momentary stab of indignation.
"Er. I seem to recall you calling him many colourful things," Violet replied, her eyes dancing with mirth, "All before you had decided to fall in love with him, of course. Do you think it is possible that Penrith might have done the very same thing as you?"
Charlotte nodded silently; she realised that her friends were quite correct, and she rued her obstinate nature which had refused to see matters in a more neutral light.
Oh, she thought sadly, you are as stubborn as they say. Charlotte thought on all the letters Penrith had written, which she had dutifully torn to pieces without reading. She thought on the bouquets of flowers which she had sent away without even bothering to read the card attached. And she thought on poor Doyle, who had told her that he could not bear to look the duke in the eye once more and tell him that she was not at home.
Penrith had been trying to apologise, and Charlotte had been too stubborn to let him.
"Perhaps," she said, as the carriage drew into a copse near Miller's pond, "I might write the duke a note and see if I can make repairs to our friendship."
"Perhaps?" Julia raised an eyebrow, before allowing the footman to assist her from the carriage.
"Definitely," Charlotte called, as she clambered out after her unassisted, "I am definite that I will write to him. I just hope I'm not too late."
Any more talk of Charlotte's love life soon came to an end. There were dozens of carriages parked near the pond, and horses tethered to nearby tress. As the trio approached the small body of water, they saw that a large crowd had gathered to witness the race.
"Men," Julia said, as she rolled her eyes. She was referring to Lord Horace and Lord Lucas—two of theton's most notorious reprobates—who had both placed indecently large wagers on whose toy-boat would be first to reach the far side of the pond.
It was a ridiculous bet—no doubt concocted while both men were sipping brandy in White's—but word of it had travelled fast, and now half of London seemed to be here to witness it.
"I can't say I would mind if both of them somehow end up losing," Julia said with a sniff, as she led the way toward the front of the crowd, "It would be all that they deserve."
"If you disapprove so much," Violet replied, with a cheeky smile to Charlotte, "Then pray tell, why did you arrange for us to come?"
"So we might act as a moral compass," Julia said piously, before her beatific expression dissolved into mirth, "And so that we might witness the fun, of course."
The three girls, after much pushing, had reached the front of the crowd. They stood, shoulder to shoulder with aristocrats and the common folk who had come for a gander, at the edge of the pond. Charlotte's kid-boots already felt slightly damp from the marshy ground beneath her feet, but she did not mind.
It was good to be out and about, she thought, after a week of moping about Ashfield House thinking about the duke. Though despite all the distractions, her mind still felt it pertinent to wander towards Penrith.
She had, she realised, been a complete fool. And perhaps a grand gesture along the lines of Mr Dubarry might be in order, if Penrith was to consider taking her back.
Charlotte idly watched as Lord Horace and Lord Lucas arrived, with wooden sail-boats under their arms, to much applause from the crowd. A race-master accompanied them, wearing a very serious expression for a man who was—at the end of it all—only overseeing a toy-boat race.
Charlotte had just begun to ponder on the silliness of men, when a sharp elbow to the ribs brought her back to the present.
"Is that?" Violet gave a confused glance at the far side of the pond, "Is that the Duke of Penrith?"
Charlotte stifled a gasp, as her eyes followed the line of Violet's gaze. On the far side of the pond stood Penrith, waving frantically in her direction.
Lud, she thought nervously, she had wanted to apologise to the duke, but she did not think the opportunity would come so soon. Like a coward, she wondered fleetingly if she could safely flee before she had to confront him and own up to her mistake.
She glanced about, but by now the crowd was too dense for her to make an escape. Luckily, it seemed that the far side of the pond was similarly crowded, preventing Penrith from getting to her.
"Miss Drew! Miss Drew!"
A ripple of whispers swept through the crowd, as Penrith began to shout Charlotte's name in an effort to grab her attention.
