It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned her. “What makes you think I was thinking of her? Why areyoustill thinking and talking about her?”
“You’ve been out with her, haven’t you?” The earl leaned over rudely and sniffed his son. “I can smell her fragrance.”
Charles flinched. “Stop it. Yes, I escorted Miss Rare-Foure to the ballet this evening.”
His father shrugged and passed him on the stairs. “As I said, a nice young woman.”
Charles considered the back of his father as the earl headed along the hallway, shuffling in his slippers.
“So you approve of her?” he called after him.
His father turned, scowling as he did. “Approve? Are you truly asking me that? You’re not a green youth, nor is she your first paramour.”
“I am not asking you to pass judgment upon a lover, of which she is definitely not one.” Charles thought for an instant.In fact, what was he asking?He supposed he wanted help in not making the same mistake his father had. “One day, the woman I marry will be the Countess of Bentley.”
“I suppose your wife can be no worse than the last countess, can she?” his father said.
They blinked at one another in shared misery over Charles’s mother.
“Since I made such a poor choice” the earl continued, “blind to all the flaws that were plain as the nose upon my face, I cannot possibly counsel you on your choice. Nor am I positive any woman can be any better than...,” he trailed off as they never spoke her name. “They may all be disloyal, capricious vixens for all I know.”
“That’s not true,” Charles protested. He knew Pelham’s wife to be none of those things.
Again, the earl shrugged. “So you say.” He turned and started down the hall again, then paused without looking back. “Your Rare girl, whatever her confounding name is, may be rare indeed, or as commonly deceitful as the rest of them. Only time will tell, I suppose.”
With that, his father continued to bed, and Charles entered his study. She’d been in it just once, but he could imagine Charlotte there by the bookcase, laughing, looking breathtakingly beautiful.
His mother, what he could recall of her, had also been beautiful and joyful, laughing a lot, sunny and spirited. And then, in the blink of an eye, she’d left. He vaguely recalled she brushed a quick kiss across his forehead, touched his hair, then dashed out the front door. He had never imagined in his child’s brain that it was the last time he would lay eyes upon her. That she would never even write to him.
How could a mother do such a thing to her child?
Charles sat down calmly even though, ridiculously, the old pain welled up in him. The memory remained strong of finding his father on his knees in the drawing room, holding a letter penned in the countess’s scrawl, which the earl could barely read through his tears.
Charles sipped his brandy and wished he could erase the image of his strong, capable father, sobbing as he learned of his wife’s betrayal and duplicity. After that, after putting his arms around him for a moment, knowing the earl didn’t want his son there to witness his shame and grief, Charles had slipped out of the room quietly, a little afraid of the adult pain he’d encountered. He’d gone to bed, never to shed a tear for his horrid mother, and he’d never brought up the incident to his father.
Moreover, neither of them had ever forgiven her!
Chapter Fifteen
After she’d opened the shop and an hour had passed with no customer entering, Charlotte felt a prickle of alarm. Late afternoon the day before, it had been slower than usual, as they often had a rush of people taking sweets home to enjoy after dinner. That hadn’t happened, so she and Edward had easily cleaned up and turned the sign precisely at closing time.
After sending him home, Charlotte had spent another hour sketching what she wanted the upstairs to look like and making lists of things they would need.
The notion of a brand new Rare Confectionery was thrilling, the most exciting thing she’d done since she’d shared the prior Season with Beatrice. And now, she was getting to use her gowns to go out with Lord Jeffcoat, a man who was effortlessly taking up all the space in her heart. No longer did she experience pangs of sorrow at the notion of Lionel. Now, she felt only the way her heartbeat sped up when she was about to see Charles.
She sighed, leaning against the counter, listening to the sound of ... nothing except Edward working in the back room. An empty store and no bell tinkling.What was going on?
Suddenly, as if in answer to her prayers, the door opened. But it wasn’t a customer. It was the Duke of Pelham, and upon his face was an expression of consternation. Immediately, her thoughts flew to her sister and the unborn baby.
Charlotte rushed around the counter. “What’s wrong? Is it Amity? Is everything all right?”
“What?” He looked flummoxed. “Oh goodness! Yes, she’s fine. She just misses you. You must stop by. How about having dinner with us tonight?”
“Yes, of course. But you didn’t come here to invite me to your home.”
“No, I wondered if you’d seen theEvening Maillast night?”
“Father doesn’t care for their editor, so we don’t subscribe. Why?”
