Jack tasted blood. His whole jaw would be bruised in the morning.
Henry the butler materialized out of the shadows. “Lord Jack?”
Stunned by what had transpired and how quickly, Jack rubbed his jaw. “Yes?”
“I had orders to remove your belongings to the lodging of your fellow Americans. I am also to see you there as well.”
Raising the back of his sleeve to his cut lip, Jack knew the meeting was done. Everything he had hoped to do was in shambles.
A door quietly closed down the hall. The door to his mother’s room. She had heard all.
“Of course,” Jack said to Henry. “There is nothing left for me here.”
Chapter Sixteen
Today was the day of Whitridge’s meeting.
That was Char’s first thought upon rising. Her hand touched Leo’s hat folded under her pillow. The moment she felt the worn leather, she had an ominous feeling.
Discomforted, she sat up. She pushed her braid back over her shoulder. Something was wrong. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Whitridge.
She expected to see him that evening at Menheim. The dowager had planned a dinner party for the Americans. The duke would be sending his coach for Char and Lady Baldwin.
Pulling the hat from beneath her pillow where she’d kept it all night, she held it for a long moment... and thought of the duke.
She would never feel for him the rush of excitement she had for Whitridge. She heard Sarah’s cautions. Her aunt wanted what was best for Char, and yet Sarah did not know Whitridge.Jack. His name was Jack.
For a moment, Char tried to conjure the memory of her mother’s face. She could not remember her smiling. For years before and after her husband’s death, Julie Blanchard’s expression had been one of disappointment, fear, resentment.
But Jack Whitridge was not her father. Her father had terrible weaknesses. Her mother had suffered because of them.
There wasnothingweak about Jack. And nothing staid and predictable about the life he led.
What she did know was that she could trust him. There was a connection between them, the very beginnings of a bond that, she believed, would grow over time.
And then there was the duke.
Char began unbraiding her hair, her thoughts troubled. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wall over her washstand.
Her breath stopped, and she knew. She would never feel for the duke what she felt for his brother. Nor could she allow herself to accept the unacceptable the way her mother had.
And now that she had an inkling of what love could be, she knew she must be honest and tell Baynton that her affections lay elsewhere. The sooner she told him, the better.
She also needed to tell Sarah.
Char dressed quickly, taking a moment to carefully place Leo’s hat in her wardrobe. She went downstairs. She found her aunt in the kitchen breaking her fast while reading a book. Char stopped in the doorway and studied Sarah a moment. She owed her so much.
“That book must not be interesting,” Char said. “You haven’t turned a page.”
Sarah startled and looked up. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, tired. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to tell you aren’t really reading. Dull book?” Char walked into the kitchen.
“Um, yes, it is. Tea?”
“I would like a cup if the pot is still hot. I am going to toast bread. Would you care for some?”
“That would be lovely. Thank you.”
