“After the ball, we will await you both at the vicarage, assuming she agrees.” Mr. Laurence smiled, his face full of mischief, surprisingly more effusive than his generally stoic demeanor.
“Of course she’ll agree!” Mrs. Laurence said, batting a hand toward her husband. “It’s all so romantic.” She sighed, her eyes toward the sky. “Now, shouldn’t you be preparing your costumes?”
Alex smiled, hoping Mrs. Laurence’s faith in Charlotte would be mirrored by the wonderful woman herself. He prayed she’d be bold, and confident, and true to her heart.
Chapter 28
Lord Ainscough, Christopher, and LadyEloise had been Charlotte’s near-constant companions every morning for the past week. In the afternoons, when Christopher had taken to courting Lady Eloise with only her maid, George and Joseph stepped in, always near Charlotte’s side. A few times she even noticed the grooms tracking her whereabouts. She wanted time alone, time to think, to mourn, to pray for Alex, even—but everyone insisted on keeping her busy, unless she retired to her room. And when she did that, within minutes her mother demanded she return to their guests.
To his credit, Lord Ainscough was splendid with her younger brothers. Charlotte wishedthisman, and not Christopher, were the role model George and especially Joseph had as an example. Something about the man’s good humor rounded out many of the awkward, less-than-polished social moments so evident in Joseph’s fourteen-year-old conversations. And despite the eight-year age difference, there was a confidence and sameness of mind between Ainscough and George that could only help her brother grow in maturity and deportment.
Despite the stringent watchdog feeling of it all, spending time with Lord Ainscough became easier every day. That was promising, for if they could grow comfortable in one another’s company, perhaps marrying him would provide some measure of satisfaction—eventually.
That sentiment caused her guilt; she ought to be more than happy that a titled, handsome, and kind man doted on her. Indeed, it was even pleasant, when she buried her true feelings deep enough. More than once, though, she’d wished for Alex’s banter, until she’d chided herself for dwelling on the past.
The day before the ball arrived. Christopher and Lady Eloise were busy all morning receiving the last of the guests. By some negotiation, Christopher had allowed Lord Ainscough to plan a ride with only Charlotte, devoid of her brothers, on the terms that Christopher spoke with and chose the groom before the outing.
Once the groom had helped them with the horses and sat on his own mount, ready to follow them, Charlotte and Lord Ainscough’s slow trot through a hunting path provided them some seclusion.
“I thank you, Lord Ainscough,” Charlotte said as they turned around a bend, “for devising a way out of greeting all the guests.”
He shook his head. “It’s Harris, Miss Roylance. Please.”
She smiled and nodded. He’d done everything, even this, to make her feel easy. So why couldn’t she rally behind that feeling? Her heart sank, and she wished she could turn her pretending into true feeling.
“I noticed in London you seemed less excited to entertain, so I thought you would prefer the out-of-doors,” he said.
“Indeed,” she said. It was mostly true. She’d always loved nature, but Lord Ainscough—Harris—had chosen their path today, and it was veering near the south woods, almost to the spot where she’d last been with Alex. No part of her preferred to recall that memory.
“Now,” Harris said, “if only I had a few paints and a canvas.” He winked, lifting his eyebrows and his hand into the air, feeling the breeze. “The wind seems nearly strong enough. I’d love you to paint my likeness.”
Charlotte laughed, and an errant curl teased its way from her hat, tickling her nose. “You mean you prefer my painting todescendon your likeness?”
He smiled, and the effect was almost charming. “It wasn’t all bad, you know.” He brushed his hands together. “In a way, I think it made you feel obligated to continue a friendship with me.” His voice mellowed. “A thing I have not regretted.” They rode on, and Harris cleared his throat. “Have you... regretted it?”
“No.” She smiled. It was the truth. He was a dear friend to her. Nothing he did upset her. His manners were easy. His countenance was pleasing. His attention to her lacked nothing, and yet... in her heart she still wished Alex were beside her in these woods. She wanted someone who excited her, who teased her. Someone who wasn’t so generic. Simply put, she did not love Harris, and she knew she never would love him like she loved Alex.
She reached up and fiddled with her necklace. What had possessed her to let herself wear it? The dark-red stone complemented this habit, and in a moment of weakness, she’d told Ellen to add it to her ensemble.
“Your necklace is beautiful. Do you prefer garnet to other stones?”
Charlotte dropped her hand immediately to her reins. “Why, yes, I suppose I do, though I think most ladies like any gemstones.”
“Too true,” Harris said. “My mother wore a ruby ring during her lifetime, given to her by my father.” He stopped speaking, and she turned in her saddle to look at him.
His horse stood still, and he was staring at her. With a nudge of his knee, the horse drew two paces closer and then stopped again. Harris’s expectant, handsome countenance should have filled her with excitement, but dread immediately consumed her. His eyes dripped with contentment, and she wondered what he saw in her own eyes. If he could see her heart, he’d realize how much was lacking there.
“It is my hope, Miss Roylance”—his voice sounded husky—“to give you something of that sort in our near future, as a token of my growing affection.”
He could not be saying these words. Not in this place with memories of Alex as fresh as an open wound. Charlotte had known that Harris would say these things eventually, but she wasn’t ready for them. She wanted to scream for him to stop but knew she shouldn’t. Her hands began to perspire in her gloves.
If only it were Alex saying these words; if only he were holding her hand, gazing at her. That she would have relished. That would have made her whole. But wanting that was wanting to touch the sun without getting burned. It was not only impossible after she’d warned him off but also stupid and selfish and unwise. She could not risk his life to suit her desires. She must resign herself to listening to another man’s kind speech instead.
Harris sighed, probably wishing she’d said something, but he soldiered on. “I know it may seem bold, but over the past few months, I’ve come to care for you like I’ve never cared for anyone. I admire your beauty, your sweet demeanor, your quick wit. In short, I wish to ask for your hand in marriage, if you will have me.”
Charlotte stared blindly at her horse’s mane. The dark strands seemed like an endless cavern she was nigh to falling into. Why couldn’t she meet Harris’s gaze?Say yes, her mind implored her.You know it is what you ought to say.
Her breathing quickened, and more thoughts barraged her.
