A Passionate Endeavor (21 page)

Very early in life he had, by necessity,
replaced his great desire to stretch his intellectual abilities
with an ironclad will to succeed in the profession his father and
he had chosen for him—the military. And he had done it. He had
become the top marksman of all the other officers in the 95th
Rifleman’s. He had synchronized and carried out more ambushes, lost
fewer men, garnered more respect and commendations than others with
his high rank. Yet, he had felt little pride in these
accomplishments. They were marred by the horror and omnipresent
stench of death on the battlefield.

He wanted to sustain life and help fellow
beings, not kill them. With a small smile, he realized all this
soft living was making him as weak as a child and as philosophical
as a gentleman with too much idle time on his hands.

Charlotte had given him hope, and now he must
give something back to her—security. The protection of his name.
And if she would not choose to follow him to whatever far-flung
post he was assigned, then he would settle her wherever she would
like to reside. Anywhere except here, Wyndhurst Abbey. He would
keep his promise to his family by allowing his half brother to rule
the roost. By staying away he would not dilute any question of
Edwin’s authority.

But what of the question of possible heirs?
It had been his father’s primary concern. While Charlotte might be
able to teach any child of theirs who might inherit his failing to
read at a rudimentary level at least, Nicholas could not bear the
idea of watching a son struggle through life as he had. The taunts,
the pity, the destruction of the ego. He couldn’t, wouldn’t watch
it all unfold again to his own flesh and blood. And there was a
good chance the flaw would be even further pronounced in an
offspring. It was often the case with deficiencies.

Would she agree to forgo the physical
intimacy marriage embodied? Could he? He was very unsure of his
ability to restrain himself over the course of a lifetime. Could
they practice methods to ensure that their relations would not bear
fruit? It was the only question that gave him pause. If she desired
children, his plan would fail. But then he would argue that the
long-term protection offered by marriage was far superior than the
often temporary comforts provided to companions of ladies in the
often short, final years of their lives.

As he crested the last small hill before the
little cottage came into view, Nicholas reached down and rubbed the
tight muscle in his thigh. The break was all but healed, though he
still experienced an achiness upon waking and occasional clenched
muscles. He remembered Dr. Kittridge’s gentle ministrations and
vowed to repay his kindness by marrying the daughter. The other
reason he would marry her, he refused to admit to himself.

Charlotte had slept very little last night.
The bleak truth of her future had taken hold while she had sorted
through her father’s personal effects last evening. James had gone
to the abbey instead. It had been the first time she had had a
taste of what it would be like to be entirely alone. To her
surprise, she felt no terrifying waves of fright. Only the grief of
loss. She would recover and she would go on—alone.

She wondered, as she performed her simple
morning toilette, if she would be leaving in a fortnight to live
with the Dowager Countess of Livingston, whose corpulent form
suffered from gout. Or possibly Mrs. Smith-Pennington, who was
hopelessly deaf. The least-pleasing scenario would entail caring
for Lady Sorringham, a virago of the worst sort who suffered from
excellent health, despite her constant stream of complaints. At
least Charlotte would be secure in that position, as she was sure
Lady Sorringham would outlive her by a decade at the very
least.

Her reverie was broken by the sound of a
knock on the door below. Doro was talking to the visitor—a man, by
the tone of the voice. Charlotte had told Doro that she would
receive no more visitors today except Alexandre, who had promised
to stop by to make arrangements for her departure for London. She
did not have any energy left to receive more calls from the
well-intentioned inhabitants of this corner of Wiltshire. She was
putting the last of the pins in her chignon when Doro knocked on
the door.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, it’s his lordship, come
to call. Says it be of an urgent nature, it is,” said the maid
through a crack in the door.

“Lord Huntington?”

“Yes, miss.”

“Please inform him that I’ll be down in a
moment.” A tight knot formed in her stomach. She had not even had
her morning tea. Not that it mattered. She had had no appetite for
anything at all since Papa’s death.

He stood at the same window he always chose,
wearing a new green Rifleman’s uniform. His striking and familiar
form made her catch her breath. He was all masculine angles and
muscled planes, but his expression was unreadable when he turned to
face her. He was here to bid her good-bye. He was, quite obviously,
leaving for Paris.

“Miss Kittridge,” he said, bowing.

Charlotte curtsied, then stood still.

Lord Huntington walked over to her and
grasped her hand in his own. “I apologize for not coming earlier to
formally express my sadness over the loss of your good father. He
will be missed by all who knew him. I have not known anyone so
willing to exert every ounce of himself in the performance of his
chosen profession,” he said, pausing. “I am so very sorry.”

“I thank you for your formal call.” She
halted, unsure of how to continue. “I am unpardonably early, but to
be frank, I hoped to have a private word with you before others
come to call.”

She looked down at his large bronzed hand. It
was so warm and comforting. She was intensely aware of his body
only a pace away from hers. It would be easy to take that one step
into his arms. And he would hold her close to his heart, filling
her with that rush of emotion she tried to force herself not to
relive every day. But it would be out of pity or gratitude only, a
poor relation of the passion she felt flowing through her
veins.

“Miss Kittridge . It has been many weeks
since I have found you to be one of the most admirable women I have
ever known.”

Good God
. His conscience had gotten
the better of him. He felt impelled to do the honorable thing and
propose to her once more.

“There are many, many reasons why I am here
this morning, and I must be allowed the time to elaborate, for once
I have explained all, it is my hope that your wishes will coincide
with my own.”

She looked up to find his heavy-lidded eyes
studying her face. The intensity of the feelings his proximity
engendered within her breast forced her to lower her gaze to a spot
just below his right shoulder. She watched his powerful chest rise
and fall with each breath he took.

He squeezed her hand gently. “Charlotte. I
hope you will allow me to call you that now?” She gave a very brief
nod of her head, not daring to look at him again.

“Charlotte. I desire to marry you,” he
hesitated, then rushed on. “With your father gone, and your brother
soon to leave, you will be left on your own. And a single female,
all alone in the world, is easy prey for all sorts of cruel
mishaps. While I am sure you would be able to secure a post, what
would befall you if that person died and your services were no
longer sought by another lady? Or what if you should fall ill—too
ill to perform your duties, and were therefore let go without
references?”

Charlotte half listened to the continuing
stream of depressing scenarios he presented. How was she to find
the strength to refuse him when she desired more than anything else
the possibility of being by his side always? Her pride was not that
strong. Perhaps she would be able to live happily with him. She
would love him more than life itself, and he would admire her.
Admire her
.

He would admire her but not love her. She
forced herself to remember that he made his proposal because her
father was dead and her brother was to leave her as well.

If she married him, she would fall deeper and
deeper in
love
with him until she would hate herself because
she would be unable to gain his love. And she would end up losing
the meager amount of self-worth she had worked so hard to retain.
She would go to her grave desperately wishing he loved her as she
loved him. She would become a grasping female.

She shook her head slightly to rid herself of
the unappealing thought. “My lord, I am aware of the great honor
you do me in proposing to join our lives together. But, I fear you
have taken too much upon yourself in an effort to be noble. You are
not responsible for my brother or me. If you must perform a
service, let James’s commission fulfill that need. That is much
more than either of us ever expected.”

“Yes, well, I was aware that in securing a
commission for your brother, I would be taking him away from you. I
must be allowed to right that wrong. Surely, Charlotte, you must
see that it is the only logical course.”

“No, my lord,” she said quietly, garnering
the courage to look at his earnest expression. “It would prove to
be a disastrous course. I am aware that His Grace and the duchess,
as well as Lord Edwin, would never approve of a union between us.
And I am also aware that you promised to never marry. I would not
be the impetus for you to break your word. And you would regret
your actions within a month’s time.”

“I had taken an oath never to marry. But in
fact, my father never forced this promise from me. It was I who
made it voluntarily. I have decided that it is in our best
interests that I reverse my decision.” He tugged at her chin to
bring her gaze back to his.

He looked so impossibly handsome. It was all
unbearably tempting. She only had to say one word. But she could
not.

“I made that promise when I was seventeen,
when I had shown no aptitude for the huge responsibility that
awaited me when the title and the properties would come to me.
Edwin suffered none of my numerous failings. I was relieved to be
unburdened by the prospect of a lifetime of tangible failures, from
which my family and the families dependent on the dukedom would
suffer. And so, I promised to immerse myself in military service to
the Crown—or to die trying.”

“And your father allowed this? Surely it was
not his idea?” she asked.

“Actually, the duchess proposed it when I
told them I would not live another moment within the confines of
Wyndhurst. My father did not oppose the idea when I agreed to it.”
He paused for a moment to run the back of his hand along her cheek.
“But Charlotte, so much has happened since then. Not the least of
which is your doing. It is by your encouragement that I am trying
to learn once again. Most likely I will never reach a plateau that
would render me capable of assuming the duties of a duke. In fact,
since I have yet to conquer numbers, I highly doubt it. But, at
least I will never have to fear that I am unable to continue on as
before, as an officer of the 95th Rifleman.”

“So, I would not have to live here?” she
asked with wonder.

“Correct,” he said, with the glint of a
smile. “I am certain that will be an added inducement. And you
would have a choice as to where you would live—either in the small
but quite lovely town house my maternal grandparents left to me in
London, or you could follow the drum or accompany me to any
postings I might receive.”

Oh, he was very persuasive. Did he realize
that the offer to possibly see her brother from time to time would
be an enticement almost impossible to resist? She closed her eyes,
searching for the strength to deny herself.

“There is one last point I must touch on,” he
said.

Charlotte opened her eyes and looked at his
closed expression.

“Because this would be a marriage of
convenience for you, I would not require you to perform any wifely
duties.”

What
?
What was he saying
?

“That is… any activities that would result in
the conception of a child.”

Charlotte’s hands were cold, and she could
feel all the blood suddenly rushing away from her head. How utterly
mortifying. He found her so lacking that he could not bring himself
to desire a child by her. The tiny sliver of pride she could claim
her own came roaring to life.

“So let me see if I understand your offer,”
she said. “If we were to marry, I would be offered the choice of
living comfortably, tucked away in London, or following you about
like a loyal puppy to perhaps see my brother. I would be kept away
from the critical eyes of the ton and your family, but provided for
like a, like a— well-cared for distant relative? With nothing
expected of me in return?”

It was amazing how much she could not abide
pity. And pity from the person she loved was the most painful hurt
of all. It gave backbone to her resolve.