“Speaking of which…” His friend arched a brow at him.
“Trouble with Kit?” If so, not surprising. That woman was more wild horse than he’d wish to tame, the opposite of domestic Martha.
“I shall always have trouble with Kit, God love her, but that is not what I meant. I am referring to a certain lady who runs the soup kitchen and a certain man who has eyes for no one but her.” Jackson chugged the rest of his coffee, then handed back the mug. “When are you going to make your move, man?”
“I’m not.” He hooked the tin mug to a leather loop on his belt. “And that’s the end of it.”
With a great tug on his arm, Jackson pulled him into the less traveled Bell Alley Mews, stopping but a few paces inside the cobblestoned lane. A huge horse clip-clopped by, and Jackson shored them closer to the brick wall, allowing the animal and rider to pass.
“Listen, Baggett. Remember when you carped on me about Kit, that I’d be a fool to let her slip from my grasp? It’s my turn to return that favour. Martha Jones is the woman for you.” He poked his finger into Charles’ chest. “Don’t wait until it’s too late to tell her that.”
The coffee in his gut churned. Counseling Jackson was one thing, but listening to the same exposition on his own love life was quite a different matter…one he didn’t like. “I’ll not argue the point. I’ve never loved a woman so greatly in all my life.” There. He’d finally said it aloud, and the taste of it was far more bitter than sweet on his tongue. He clenched his jaw. “But as much as Martha may be thewoman for me,as you put it, I am most definitely not the man for her.”
“Poppycock!” The word bounced from wall to wall in the narrow lane. “Any woman would be proud to be your wife.”
“Edwina Draper wasn’t.” He regretted the admission the second it flew past his lips.
Jackson cocked his head, the blue of his eyes flashing with surprise. “Who?”
“No one. Forget I said anything.” He turned away.
Jackson yanked him back, teeth shining white in a huge smile beneath his moustache. “Not a chance.”
“You are as stubborn as your wife! You deserve each other.”
“Indeed. Now, about this Edwina Draper…?” That infernal brow lifted to the sky again.
Charles huffed a long breath. Would to heavens he’d never said the name! But there was no shoving that feral cat back into the bag now, blast it. He skewered Jackson with a sharp stare. “Promise you’ll not breathe a word of this to Kit, nor anyone else?”
“Upon my honour.”
“Very well. But let’s keep walking.” He stalked back onto Houndsditch, preferring the bustle and the fact that he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with Jackson. “I nearly proposed once, years ago.”
“Let me guess. To Edwina Draper?”
“The very same.” He paused to ferret out a penny from his pocket, then clinked it into the metal cup held by a beggar in a faded military coat, legs wrapped in rags—what was left of them at any rate. Both ended at the knee.
“And?”
Charles chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “On the night I intended to pledge my troth, I arrived at the hotel restaurant a little early, only to see Edwina was already seated at a table…with another man.”
“That is rough. Quite the scene, I imagine.”
“Not what you’d expect. I hid behind some potted plants, and the man passed right by me on his way out, smelling of lemon verbena. Lemon, of all things! What sort of dandy douses himself with such a girly perfume?”
“The sort that aren’t man enough to face the woman’s beau and duke it out honourably.” Jackson chuckled. “So, I assume you taught him some manners?”
In hindsight, he should have, but would things have really turned out any differently? “I did not school the man. Instead, I confronted Edwina about the fellow. She laughed it off, saying she’d arrived early and had merely bumped into an old family friend. A chance meeting, nothing more. My gut told me she was lying, but sap that I am, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Dinner went on as normal, until the plates were cleared. I had just reached into my pocket for the ring box when Edwina made a completely different proposal.”
They swung north onto Bevis Marks, his feet hitting the ground harder than necessary. A visceral response, and Charles knew it, but he could no more stop the angry pounding than he could dim the shaft of morning sun hitting his eyes. He tugged his hat lower.
“What was her proposal?” Jackson asked.
“Edwina wished to put our relationship on hold, saying that things were moving much too quickly for her.”
“How long had you been courting?”
“Two years.”
