Page 54 of Wager on Love

Sir John took a step back, just as the heavens opened and the rain began to pour. Charlotte shut the door smartly in his face before he could say or do anything to stop her. She took one last look at him standing forlornly in the rain and then she swept up the stairs to her room.

It had taken every bit of her composure to remain calm. The moment the door to her own room closed, her feelings overpowered her. She seized a fine china vase filled with delicate blooms, an assortment Sir John had sent, and hurled it with all of her might at the door, letting out a shriek of fury and pain as she did so, before dissolving into sobbing tears.

Jacqueline, who had been hanging the dresses that Charlotte had discarded for the night turned to her. “Mademoiselle?’ she said in confusion.

Charlotte threw herself on her bed. She screamed into her pillow, then she dissolved into tears, weeping bitterly.

Jacqueline did not ask Charlotte to speak. The ladies maid only sat on the bed beside her and rubbed small circles on her back while she cried.

* * *

25

Sir John Ashbrooke stood frozen on the garden steps of the Keening townhouse. He flinched at the crash and scream that came from an upper window, mingling with the sounds of the rising storm. His own despair and heartbreak paled in comparison to the agony that struck him at the sound of Lady Charlotte’s distress.

She had opened his eyes and his heart to the existence of true love, and how had he repaid her? By treating her emotions as a game. By destroying her trust. He embraced the waves of pain that washed over him at the loss of her love. He did not deserve her. He was a scoundrel of the lowest order. His despair was a well-deserved punishment, perfectly fitting his crime.

He could not quite drag himself away from the light of her window. Instead, he stood in anguish. He could hear raised voices and hurried footsteps, and could easily picture all of the Keening family rushing to comfort and assist their fallen sister. The sound of her heartbroken weeping, even muffled and overpowered by her family’s voices, cut him into pieces.

With a heavy heart, Sir John turned and made his way down the garden stair. Away from Charlotte. Away from his love. Every step pained him. He could make no explanation; give no defense for his actions. It was clear that the best thing he could do for Charlotte now was to ensure that she would never have the displeasure of seeing him again. He would leave London, he thought, so that she might never have to suffer the pain of longing for what might have been. He knew he would forever regret the loss. Happiness had almost been theirs to share, if only he had been a better man.

The rain soaked through his jacket. It filled him with a cold grey numbness, that seemed to seep into his very bones. Trudging home like a sleepwalker, Sir John forced himself to picture the grim reality of life without Lady Charlotte. He knew now that he would never stop loving her. He could never betray his feelings for her by marrying another. He would drop out of Society and find some way to support his mother with what little remained of their fortune. He would let go of his bachelor apartments. Perhaps he could sell his father’s townhouse, and find something less expensive to maintain. It would have been unthinkable a few short weeks ago, but it seemed perfectly reasonable now. His mother did not need much, and he needed even less for himself. Without Charlotte, all material comforts seemed like so much ash.

Peering through the rain, Sir John realized with vague surprise that he had reached his lodgings. He wandered up to his rented rooms with some idea of gathering his things. However, dazed as he was by grief and lethargy, he could not seem to make himself do anything towards that goal. He knew what he needed to accomplish, but the myriad details of such a business seemed impossibly overwhelming. Later. He would worry about everything later.

* * *

Sir John tooktemporary refuge in his emotional exhaustion before addressing any of the pressing matters that seemed overwhelming. Simply residing in the city where he had fallen in love and so terribly lost it was almost too painful to bear. He felt hideously tired and incapacitated. He stretched across his bed with all of his clothes on, only vaguely aware of the passage of time until his valet awakened him.

“Sir?” Carlton questioned when John blinked at him owlishly.

He waved a hand dismissing the man, but Carlton had been with him too long to be so easily discouraged.

“Do you not want supper?” Carlton asked.

“No.” Ashbrooke buried his head in his pillow.

“Will you go to the club, this evening? Your friends have come by to ask after you.”

“I don’t care,” Ashbrooke said, scrubbing his hands across his face. The thought of facing them, even for a drink and the pleasure of their company did not appeal. “I think perhaps they are no friends at all,” he said thinking of Lady Charlotte’s evaluation of the situation.

“Of course, they are, sir,” insisted Carlton.

Sir John did not answer.

“Sir?” his valet said again.

“Leave, Carlton,” Sir John mumbled, and the valet reluctantly obeyed.

John heard the door to his room close as the man exited, and he was left alone in his misery. If he had been a woman, John thought, he would have wept. Of course, he was not and he could not seem to muster the energy for even that emotional outpouring. Nonetheless his throat was tight with things left unsaid and his heart sat heavy in his chest. A man should have more grit, he thought, but he was unable to rouse himself. He felt almost entirely numb. He had not only failed Lady Charlotte, but he had failed his mother as well. Without an advantageous marriage, his mother would have to let yet more of the servants go. He considered what else they could sell, and groaned in frustration, closing his eyes again. Presently, he dozed.

Upon waking, Sir John chided himself again. He had to pull himself together. No matter how distressed he was, his mother was still counting on him. It was his duty to protect and support her, one way or another he would do so. He rose and wandered into his rented parlor with the vague idea of listing what remaining assets could be sold to settle the debts. He was exceedingly startled to see Lord Keegain striding rapidly across the room. The earl looked bent on avenging his sister.

“I beg your pardon, my lord, I did not hear you announced,” John murmured, staring dumbfounded.

“I did not wait to be announced,” Lord Keegain said shortly. He paused and looked Ashbrooke up and down. “Good Lord, man. You look a wreck.”

John shrugged, unable to make an excuse for his haggard appearance as Keegain continued. “I have been attempting to speak with you for two days, only to be told that you were not receiving visitors. I ordered your valet to inform me when you were in, regardless of whether you were receiving visitors or not. You owe me an explanation, sir.”

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