The Runaway Duchess (22 page)

Charlotte
was unconvinced. “He needed a lady wife,” she pointed out. “One who would get
him accepted into Society and run his household.”

“Ah,
yes, run his household. Funny you should mention that. How is it going so far?”

“There
have been a few minor hiccups—”

“A
few?” Dianna’s tone was ripe with skepticism. “You have absolutely no control,
which is something your husband would notice,
if
it was something he
cared about. He did not marry you so you could run his house, sweetling. Why,
one has only to talk to you for two minutes to know you can hardly manage to
dress yourself, let alone direct twenty servants.”

Charlotte
had no idea what point Dianna was trying to make this time, but she wasn’t
exactly making her feel any better. “I can dress myself,” she grumbled.

“Please.
Your stockings do not even match.”

They
didn’t? Glancing beneath the table Charlotte lifted the hem of her dress and
saw that Dianna was right. Huffing out a breath, she dropped her skirts and
fixed her so-called friend with a frosty glare. “There a hundred other things
in this world to worry about other than matching stockings, such as the
division between the classes and equal wages for women and young girls being
forced into prostitution and—”

“And
thank you for proving my point. If a common man wanted a snobbish lady wife who
would manage his affairs and show him off to high society, you are the last
woman on earth he would have picked. I say that, of course, with love.” She
stood up and grinned at Charlotte’s dumbfounded expression. “I can see my work
here is done.”

“Wait,”
Charlotte said. “What do I do now?”

Dianna
pursed her lips. “Why, do exactly as I’ve told you.”

“Which
is?”

“Your
husband is a man who fights fiercely for the things he does not have. Right now
he has you. Make it so he does not, and he will move mountains to get you
back.”

Could
it be so simple? Had Gavin wanted her from the beginning? And if he did, why
not tell her? Unless he did not want to admit it to himself, stubborn, hard
headed man that he was. Admit that he wanted her, not because of what she could
offer, but because of who she was. Admit that he loved her as she loved him.
Admit that, as crazy it seemed, from the first moment they met there was a
spark of connection neither of them could ignore.

“Dianna,
you are a genius.”  

Her
friend shrugged. “So I have been told.”

 “But…
how could you know all of this?”

“I
believe in love,” Dianna said simply. Toying with a curl, she tucked it behind
her ear and smiled. “And I believe in happily-ever-after. You cannot have one
without the other, and I believe you and Gavin are capable of both.”

Charlotte
shook her head slowly from side to side as she absorbed it all. “But what
about—” She cut herself off short, horrified at what she had been about to ask.
There were some things even best friends did not discuss, and Dianna’s fiancée
was one of them.

Something
flashed in Dianna’s clear blue eyes. Something cold. Something fierce. It was
gone before it had time to take root, and in the blink of an eye she was her
gentle, amiable self. “I believe in love,” she repeated firmly. “Sometimes love
comes quickly, sometimes love comes slowly, and sometimes it does not come at
all. But you have to believe in it, or else what is the point?”

“What
is the point indeed,” Charlotte murmured. Jumping impulsively to her feet, she
skirted around the table and embraced Dianna in a quick, tight hug that left
them both breathless. “Thank you.”

“For
what?”

“For
helping me see what was right in front of me this entire time.”

“Oh,
that.” Dianna waved her hand. “Think nothing of it. I have to run now. Mother
is expecting me for dinner. A friend of my father’s is coming to call and we
all must be there to greet him. Lord Hatchett or Ratchett or something or
other. He is horribly boring, if memory serves, and is fond of discussing
hunting and fishing in great detail.”

“He
could walk you through the step by step process of butchering a deer and you
would still have a better evening than me,” Charlotte grumbled as she abruptly
recalled what awaited her in one hour’s time. “Gavin and I are calling on my
mother,” she explained at Dianna’s blank stare.

“You
haven’t seen her yet? Charlotte!”

“I
have been trying, but every calling card has been returned unopened, save the
last. Gavin postponed one of his meetings so we could go together. We are
having dessert. It should all be very civilized.”

Dianna’s
released a very unladylike snort. “Hide the cutting knives.”

“I
intend to.” Charlotte was most definitely not looking forward to sitting across
from Bettina and defending her decision to marry Gavin, but she knew it was
something that needed to be done. Perhaps now that time had passed her mother
would be more understanding.
Yes, and on the carriage ride over Gavin will
profess his undying love to me
. Her lips quirked. One could always hope.

“Well,
best of luck.”

“Thank
you,” Charlotte sighed. “I am certainly going to need it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

“I
am nervous,” Charlotte admitted as they pulled away from Shire House.

Gavin
glanced up from his papers and glanced at his wife. She sat directly beside him
in the small phaeton, her head bowed and her hands held tightly together on her
lap. The light evening breeze played with her hair, twisting the curls this way
and that. Her profile was basked in the light of the setting sun, giving her an
ethereal appearance that caused his breath to catch. She was exquisitely
beautiful, and he had to clear his throat twice before he was able to form
coherent words.

“Nervous?
Why?”

Her
head lifted. A flicker of surprise passed over her countenance, as though she
had not expected him to answer. “My mother can be a very intimidating woman.
She will not be happy with me, or with you.”

Gavin
set his papers aside and stretched an arm across the back of the phaeton,
unconsciously shifting closer to Charlotte. He inhaled a whiff of her perfume,
and stopped himself just in time from leaning in and nibbling along the length
of her neck. This was the nearest they had been in weeks. It was torture. Pure,
unadulterated torture.

He
should have told her to go alone to see Lady Bettina, but when she came and
asked him with her eyes shimmering like ambers and her little chin wobbling as
if she were trying to hold back tears, how could he possibly have said no? He
hated to see her upset. It tore at him, wrenching his heart until her pain was
his pain.

The
only way to avoid thinking about her constantly was to keep himself busy with
work, but even then he thought of her. The way she looked when she smiled,
which she never seemed to do anymore. The sound of her laugh, which he never
heard. Her expression when they argued and she got so mad her nose wrinkled and
it took everything he had not to laugh.

Christ,
he missed their fights.

Now
they were little more than ships passing silently in the night. He left the
house before she woke. He returned when she was nearly ready for bed. When it
came right down to it, he interacted more with Dobson than he did his own damn
wife.

Gavin
knew he should have been ecstatic. Finally, he had everything he ever wanted:
more money than he could ever hope to spend, the glowing admiration of the
ton
,
and a perfect marriage to a woman who did not interfere with his life or his
business.

He
had never been so bloody miserable.

Looking
at Charlotte now with her downcast eyes and her hunched shoulders he could not
help but wonder if she felt the same way he did. Was she lonely? In the deep,
dark night when there was nothing else to occupy her mind did she yearn for him
as he yearned for her? Did she count out how many steps it would take to go
from her bedroom to his? He could ask her, but that would mean revealing what
was in his heart. He would have to give himself up, not only to the possibility
of love but the near certainty of pain. Doubt gnawed at him, a festering wound
that refused to heal.

How
could Charlotte possibly love him? He came from nothing. He was no one. Even
with the wealth and the respect of his peers he still felt lacking. Something
was missing. Something he could not quite put his finger on. A bigger house? He
would build it. A faster horse? He would buy it. Except he had done those
things, all of those things, and there was still an emptiness inside of him
that would not ease.

Frustrated
beyond all bearing, Gavin swept a hand through his hair and growled under his
breath, earning Charlotte’s wide-eyed stare.

“Are
you nervous as well?” she asked. “Don’t worry. She will mostly yell at me.
Although I am sure she will have some choice words for you as well.”

“I
am not nervous,” he said gruffly.

Her
eyebrows knitted together. “Oh. Well, what is the matter then?”

How
was it, he wondered with a surge of irrational anger, that he could bluff his
way through a high stakes poker game with some of the best players in the city
and yet his wife knew how to read every damn emotion that passed over his face?
“Nothing is the matter,” he said, more harshly than he had intended.

Charlotte’s
lips compressed and she drew back. “Very well.”

A
heavy silence fell between them, the same silence that had hung over their
heads since the morning in the study. Gavin bristled against it, wanting to say
something, but no words came to mind. They never did. He knew – somewhat – how
to deal with Charlotte when she was a bright ball of fiery energy, but this
quiet, subdued version of her bewildered him beyond all reason. Damn it, this
was not what he wanted.

“You
should not be afraid of your mother, you know.”

“I
am not – I am not
afraid
of her.”

“Really?”
One eyebrow lifted. “You look terrified.”

Charlotte
twisted on the seat to face him. “I do not,” she snapped, revealing a brief
glimmer of her old self. “I am merely thinking of what I am going to say. You
would do well to do the same.”

He
could have nodded and agreed. He
should
have nodded and agreed. But he
didn’t. The little devil that was perched on his shoulder wouldn’t let him.
“Why? I don’t have to say anything. In fact, I believe I will wait in the
carriage. Maybe even take it for a drive through the park.” Gavin knew exactly
what he was doing. Something he had sworn
not
to do, but bloody hell, he
wanted his wife back in all her flashing eyed glory, not this meek creature
whom he barely recognized.

Some
part of him acknowledged this was exactly how he had wanted their relationship
to be: cold, distant, impersonal. And perhaps with another woman, with another
wife, he would have been grateful for it. But not with Charlotte. Never with
Charlotte.

“You
said you would go with me.” Cheeks flushed, jaw clenched, she glared daggers at
him. “I was not the only one who agreed to this marriage. I did not propose to
myself. You can’t change your mind,” she decided. “We are nearly there and I
will not let you.”

His
second eyebrow rose to join the first. “You will not
let
me?”

“No.
If you want, I will go with you to tell your mother, but you agreed to go with
me to tell mine first, and that is precisely what we are doing.”

The
smile that had crept into the corners of his mouth vanished in an instant. “My
mother is dead,” he said flatly.

Charlotte’s
mouth fell open. “I… Gavin, I am sorry. I did not know. How… When did she die?”

“When
I was a boy. She was sick, and we did not have enough money to buy her
medicine.” He felt suddenly, inexplicably cold. The warm feelings that had
filled his body and heart mere moments ago were evaporating, like mist off a
lake.

He
couldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk loving Charlotte, knowing one day he might
lose her, just like he’d lost his mother. Lost her because he wasn’t good
enough. He wasn’t rich enough. He wasn’t smart enough. He felt a faint pressure
on his arm, and glanced down to see Charlotte’s long, delicate fingers
encircling his wrist.

“That
must have been horrible for you,” she whispered.

Gavin
shrugged. “It happened a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t
it?” Charlotte said cryptically.

He
did not answer, and they rode the rest of the way in familiar silence.

If
Charlotte had any hope of her mother coming to terms with the marriage, it
dissolved the very second she stepped into the parlor.

Dressed
in a dark gray gown with her hair pulled into a severe bun and her eyes hard
and unforgiving, Bettina waited for them in the middle of the room.

Candles
had been lit in preparation of their arrival and light flickered up the walls,
casting shadows in the corners and giving the parlor an uneasy appearance that
caused shivers to race down Charlotte’s spine even though she had spent
hundreds upon hundreds of hours curled up in the same velvet upholstered chair
that she sank into now. Gavin sat beside her, and even though his long, relaxed
body gave the implication of casualness, she knew he was tense by the whiteness
of his knuckles as he placed his hands on the armrests of his chair.

When
Bettina said nothing, Charlotte cleared her throat and did her best to break
the ice. “Mother, I would like to introduce you to my husband, Gavin Gray—”

“I
do not care what his name is.” Bettina’s voice cracked through the room like a
whip, and Charlotte flinched at the hardness of it. Beside her Gavin did not
stir, although he kept his eyes trained on Bettina as a hawk would a snake in
the grass.

Do
not lose your temper
, Charlotte reminded herself. Yelling would get her no
where. “I am sorry you feel that way, Mother,” she said evenly. “And I am sorry
I left without a word. I know it must have upset you.”

With
the gracefulness of a queen Bettina slowly lowered herself onto an ivory
settee. She painstakingly arranged her skirts, crossed her hands on her lap,
and fixed her only daughter with a stare that could have easily shattered
stone.

“The
maid putting two spoonfuls of sugar in my tea instead of one upsets me,
Charlotte. The driver being a few minutes late upsets me. My daughter, whom I
have loved and cherished since her birth, lying and deceiving me in order to
run off and marry a commoner?” Her mouth twisted. “That is not upsetting, it is
unacceptable.”

“I
did not come here to argue.”

“By
all means” – Bettina gave an elegant wave of her left hand – “enlighten me.”

“I
came…” Charlotte faltered, and, even though she hated herself for it, broke
Bettina’s gaze to stare down at the floor. How was it, she wondered, that at
twenty one years of age she could still sit before her mother and feel as
though she was once again a little girl being chastised for something so foolish
as forgetting to wash up before dinner?

She
felt a second pair of eyes upon her and glanced sideways to see Gavin watching
her. He gave the slightest of nods, a silent gesture for her to continue, and
even though they had just been arguing she took comfort from his presence and
unspoken support.

“I
came to see you, first and foremost,” she said, reciting the words she had been
practicing since Dianna left. “I wanted to make sure you are well.” 

“How
could I possibly be well? You have brought shame upon me, Charlotte, and shame upon
the family name. Your father is no doubt rolling in his grave and you have
brought me ten years closer to mine. How could you?”

Seeing
a suspicious glimmer in her mother’s eyes, Charlotte felt an unexpected pang of
guilt. “Mother, I—”

“And
to dare bring this… this man into
my
house. You have no place here,”
Bettina snapped, speaking directly to Gavin for the first time. “Leave now, or
I shall have you tossed out like the trash you are.”

“
Mother
,”
Charlotte gasped. “Gavin, please excuse her—”

“Do
not speak for me,” Bettina snapped. A bloom of color appeared high on her
cheeks, revealing how upset she truly was. Adopting a chilled smile that fell
far, far short of her eyes, she said, “You are still my daughter and this is
still my house. I will admit who I want when I want, and I do not recall seeing
that man’s name on the calling card.”

There
was simply no talking to the woman. Hissing out a frustrated breath, Charlotte
peeked sideways at her husband, expecting to see him red with anger. To her
surprise, he did not appear angry at all. If anything, he looked amused.

Stretching
his legs out in front of him, he crossed his arms over his chest and drawled,
“With all due respect, Lady Vanderley, I go where my wife goes. If she wishes
for me to go, I will do so. Otherwise, I am staying right here.”

Charlotte
could have kissed him. Bettina did not seem to be of a like mind.

Her
face turning florid, she stood up so abruptly the settee was pushed back a good
half yard, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. “Are you going to allow
him to speak to me like that?” she hissed.

“I
said did not come here to fight with you.” Feeling suddenly, inexplicably weary
Charlotte slumped in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Long dark shadows
darted across the white plaster and trickled down the walls. “Even though it
seems that is all I do now,” she muttered to herself. Was it her? Was
she
the
one at fault? First her mother, now her husband. Could she keep no one happy?

“Why
did you come, then?” Bettina demanded.

“I
came to see you, and to apologize for running off like I did. I am sorry if it
embarrassed you, but surely you must know the
ton
has accepted our
marriage.”

“Perhaps
the
ton
has, but the duke has not.”

Stiffening
at the mere mention of Crane, Charlotte reached blindly to the side and grasped
Gavin’s hand. She did not know where this innate fear of the duke came from,
but whenever she thought of him it felt as though a shard of ice was piercing
her chest. When she and Gavin first began to attend balls and parties she
looked for him everywhere, but after the sixth function had passed and he still
had yet to appear she assumed he had, at long last, let her go.

“You
are still speaking to him?” she asked her mother now, incredulity written over
every inch of her face.

“Of
course,” Bettina said, staring down her nose. “He is, naturally, very
disappointed in you, but he is willing to overlook your poor judgment pending
an annulment. There cannot be a wedding like the one we had planned, but a
quiet ceremony in one of the smaller churches should suffice.”