The Redemption of a Dissolute Earl (6 page)

Charlotte stood under the grey sky,
knee-deep in the freezing snow as Mr. Perkins, her coachman, tried
to fix the busted wheel of the carriage. This entire day had been
bad and had only gotten worse. She’d not slept one wink between
worrying about her father and worrying that Lord Salisbury would
never forgive her for sending him a letter saying she was not going
to marry him.

Just because she did not love him did not
mean she didn’t want to be friends, nor did she want the man as an
enemy. She suspected Lord Salisbury could be a powerful enemy.
Surely he would understand her need to leave for Danby in all
haste. She hoped he had received her letter in plenty of time, and
not stood for hours waiting for her to appear for their wedding.
The notion of Lord Salisbury waiting for anyone seemed unlikely,
and she knew he did not truly love her, so she felt fairly secure
in having handled matters as she did.

She tapped her foot against the powdery
mound beneath her slipper and watched the deepening imprint in the
snow. When she returned to London, she would call on Lord Salisbury
and explain more coherently and in person why she had broken their
betrothal. She prayed he would be a little understanding of her
unforgivable note, since she had explained her father was terribly
ill. Though a note saying “I can no longer bring myself to marry
for anything but love” hardly would endear her to the marquess.

Mr. Perkins let out a string of bawdy
curses, interrupting her musings on Lord Salisbury. Charlotte―teeth
chattering violently―nodded her head in agreement with the
coachman’s sentiment. Mr. Perkin’s appeared from under the coach,
worry causing the lines in his brow to deepen to the point
Charlotte suspected the tip of her finger would fit perfectly into
one of the craters.

He shook his head as he stood and dusted the
snow off his trousers. “It’s no use, Miss Milne. “Blasted wheel.”
He kicked at the coach and then walked to the horse to unhitch it.
“We’ll take the horse and find shelter and help.”

Charlotte blew a damp strand of hair off her
eyes.
Blasted wheel, indeed
. And blasted storm with the
blasted snow and bloody, blasted lack of sun, too. Charlotte
wiggled her numb toes and glanced down the shadowy, barren road
then up at the darkening sky. What little bit of sunlight had
managed to break through the thick storm clouds earlier today had
long disappeared. The steady wind blew an eerie, high-pitched
melody around her, while little slivers of ice pelted her face.

She looked at Mr. Perkins. “The night’s
approaching quickly.”

He nodded. “Could be awhile, possibly
morning, before another carriage ventures back out on the road
because of the snow.” With the reins of the horse finally undone,
Mr. Perkins tugged on the beast. The horse neighed in response, and
the more Mr. Perkins tugged and pulled, the louder the horse’s
protest became until Mr. Perkins ceased his efforts, bent down and
hissed under his breath before letting out a string of curses,
abruptly stopping in the middle of the last, most colorful
expletive. He stood and faced Charlotte, his eyes downcast. “I’m
sorry, my lady. I forgot my manners in my distress.”

Charlotte clapped her soggy gloves together.
“Don’t be silly. I’ve heard worse. What’s the matter?”

Mr. Perkin’s gaze met hers. “Old Bessie has
slipped a shoe. We’ll not be able to ride her for help.”

Charlotte stared numbly at Mr. Perkins and
absorbed the latest disastrous news. Panic stirred within, but she
took four deep, measured breaths just as she always did when a case
of the nerves attacked her on stage, and the rolling in her stomach
and flutters in her chest calmed, though they did not totally
disappear. As she saw it, they had two options, neither of them
good, but one option at least did not put both of them sitting here
waiting for help that might never come. Decision made, she set her
jaw, knowing Mr. Perkins might argue. “You had better get going if
you’re going to make it to the inn by nightfall.” A white puff of
air came from her mouth on the second half of the word
“night
fall.
” Was that some sort of premonition of things to
come? A deep chill settled into her bones that had nothing to do
with the quickly dropping temperature.

Mr. Perkin’s eyes widened, and then he shook
his head. “I’ll not leave you here in the cold all alone.”

“How sweet of you,” she said and took hold
of his arm, turning him away from the carriage and pointing him in
the direction of the inn. “When they find our cold, dead bodies
tomorrow morning, they’ll praise you for your loyalty then curse
you for your stupidity.”

He nodded. “We’ll go together?”

“I wouldn’t make it twenty feet, let alone a
mile in my slippers.”

Mr. Perkin’s gaze went immediately to her
feet. “I see your point. Still…”

“No ‘stills’ about it, Mr. Perkins. You’re
much taller than me. I’ll only slow you down and leave us both open
to freezing to death.” She squared her shoulders. “Go. I’ll wait in
the carriage, cozy and warm under the lap blankets. It’s me who
should be worried about you.”

“I hope I don’t live to regret this,” Mr.
Perkins said before turning and making quick work of re-harnessing
the horse. When he was finished Mr. Perkins turned to her and
reached into his pocket, withdrawing a shiny pistol. Charlotte
sucked in a surprised breath that filled her lungs with a cold
blast of air. Mr. Perkins handed the pistol to her. “Do you know
how to use one of these?”

She nodded, took the pistol, and clasped the
cold metal in her hand. “What about you? What will you use to
protect yourself?”

He winked at her, bent down, and drew up his
pant leg. “I always carry extra protection.”

“You, sir, are the perfect coachman,” she
said, squeezing his arm before turning away and clambering into the
coach. Mr. Perkins poked his head in through the door. “I won’t be
long.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. She placed
several blankets over her legs then forced a large smile on her
face. “See, I’m perfectly warm.” She raised the pistol clutched in
her hands. “And safe.”

Mr. Perkins swiped a hand over his face.
“All right then. I’ll go, but, Miss Milne…”

“Yes?” She worked to keep the exasperation
out of her voice. The man was worried about her, for heaven’s sake.
She should be grateful, not irritated, but the longer he lingered,
the darker it would be when he was gone.

“Stay alert,” he said and firmly shut the
carriage door.

Stay alert.
She snorted. As if she
had any intentions to the contrary
.
She leaned forward and
watched his tall, hulking frame make tracks through the snow until
she could see him no more. Fear made her tingle from the inside
out.

She pressed back into the carriage seat, her
fingers curling tightly around the pistol.
Stay alert.
His
words echoed through her head. An excellent, albeit unnecessary,
command. She’d already planned on remaining awake through the
night.

The wind whistled loudly around the
carriage. She needed something to concentrate on besides the fact
that she was alone in a burgeoning snowstorm. Laying the pistol
carefully on her legs, she pressed her gloved fingers against the
glass pane, the coldness seeping through the thin material of her
glove. A memory of her father smiling while building her a snowman
came to her mind. He loved the snow and the cold. Her stomach
clenched with worry for him and fear for herself and her father
battled for precedence inside her, leaving her with a decidedly
queasy feeling. Fear for her father trumped everything, and she
folded her hands together and prayed fervently that he had made a
turn for the better.

If he passed away and she didn’t get to say
goodbye, she would never forgive herself for her cowardliness at
fleeing Danby Castle. She’d been horribly selfish, depriving her
father and herself of their relationship simply because she didn’t
want to face the knowing looks Drew’s family would wear. Even now,
she could recall clearly the scorn swimming in the Marquess of
Norland’s gaze. And Drew’s twin sisters’ eyes had been rounded orbs
of pity as Drew had crumpled under his father’s threats to make him
penniless. She squeezed her eyes closed on a fresh wave of
humiliation.

Her father could not help the fact that he
was employed by the duke any more than he could help the fact that
Drew had shunned her then fled the castle, leaving her to face the
ridicule and scorn of his family alone.

Drew.

Her throat worked convulsively, and warm
tears seeped out of her eyes to course down her cheeks. Drew was a
weak fool who could not live without the money he was accustomed
to. She swiped her cold glove across her cheek. Drew was not just a
fool,
now
he was a drunken fool. She sniffed and grasped for
the familiar idea that she hated him. The thought swirled in her
head, and she tried to let it envelop her every thought as it had
done for a year. After a few moments, she let out a long,
shuddering sigh. At last, she was unable to maintain her anger
towards Drew, which had helped her survive through this long,
lonely year. Letting go of the hate was a relief.

Now, in the dark, cold carriage, faced with
her father’s possible death and her own, she allowed the truth to
fill her mind and heart.

She still loved Drew.

Desperately.
How silly to deny it to
herself here and now.

The carriage creaked and swayed with the
force of the wind. Her heart jerked wildly. Coldness made her teeth
chatter. She was cold. Much colder than moments before. She wiggled
her numb toes, suddenly afraid of freezing to death. How long did
it take before one died? How cold did it have to be? Overwhelmed
with sadness and fear, she pressed her head into her hands, deep
sobs wracking her body. Memories invaded her—Drew, his face twisted
in anguish, as he told her his father would disinherit him if he
married her. Tears had flowed down his stubbly jaw, and his body
had shaken when he gripped her.

She’d been so mortified, so angry. She’d
wanted only to hate him. When her father had suggested she’d been
seduced and all the other servants had agreed with him, she had
been eager to believe her father’s scenario that Drew had found her
attractive, wanted her, and employed any means necessary to have
her. It was easier than to believe Lord Norland’s horrid words that
she was a woman of easy virtue whom Drew had bedded and asked to
marry in a childish attempt to anger his father. Either scenario
was bad.

She moaned with the memories. She saw Drew
leaving her room, unable to look her in the face. His gaze had
darted everywhere, never settling on her. She’d decided it was
because of embarrassment, but perhaps it had been shame.

She curled her fingers into the carriage
cushion. She didn’t hate Drew. The acceptance of the truth was
liberating. She loved him, but it was different now.
She was
different
. She’d thought of Drew as a golden god―an invincible,
beautiful creature with all the comforts life could ever offer who
had turned his glorious love on her.

Drew was simply a man, vulnerable to the
core and flawed. She couldn’t hate him anymore for his weakness. He
had demons enough without her hate. Maybe someday she would find a
man who would want nothing more in life than to wake up morning
after morning beside the woman he loved and who loved him
wholeheartedly in return. If they awoke in a cottage on a lumpy bed
with a dripping roof and they had to scrape for every pence they
had, they would be rich beyond words because they would be rich in
love.

Her head pounded, whether from the cold or
the revelations, she wasn’t sure. She closed her eyes and willed
the pounding to subside. Hopefully, Drew would not be in residence
when she was there, but if he was, she would simply have to avoid
him. She understood just how vulnerable she was, and she did not
want to fall prey to his silken words again and risk her heart for
a man who would risk nothing for her. She accepted that she loved
him, but she refused to accept that she was so weak she would allow
him to seduce her again when she knew it would go nowhere.

She pulled the bundle of blankets beneath
her chin and hummed to herself, until her humming and the wind
became the same in her ears and memories of sitting on her mother’s
lap and being rocked in the warmth of her embrace filled her. When
her head began to fall, she jerked up and started to hum again.
Whatever happened, she must stay alert.

Hours after leaving Miss Marchinson, Drew
stared out of the slow-moving carriage into the darkness of the
night and waited for Edgeworth’s breathing to turn to the deep
rhythm of sleep. As Drew suspected, it didn’t take long for
Edgeworth’s breathing to change. Just to be certain, Drew glanced
at his cousin. Sleep had indeed claimed him. The man was sprawled
across the length of the carriage, his booted feet propped on the
opposite seat, his features relaxed into a perfect picture of
sedateness.