“Except me.”
Including her, though she couldn’t see it. They would be wretched together. By not marrying her, she would be free to find someone who was more compatible—another Walter. “I am sorry that I’ve disappointed you.”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Luella said. “The perfect Lady Charlotte? If you were going to refuse me, you would have done so immediately. Something, someone, has changed your mind.”
He couldn’t deny it. If it weren’t for Charlotte, he likely would have married Luella to repair the estates and free Walter’s tailor from debtor’s prison. His happiness, what he understood of it at the time, would have been a price he was willing to pay.
But happiness had taken on a new meaning in the past week. It was no longer something he could bear to part with.
Luella took his silence as confirmation. “You’ll regret it. She always has a cause she’s pushing. You’re just another one of her projects.”
Her accusation struck true, leaving him anxious. He could only hope that she was wrong, that Charlotte felt more for him than she did for the dozens of other causes she championed. He hoped her feelings for him were as all-consuming as his feelings for her were.
“I regret the pain my family has caused you, my lady.” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew the packet of letters Charlotte had recovered the night before. “I only hope that these can soothe the hurt.” He crossed the room and handed them to her.
She was still staring at them, hand at her throat, when he left.
***
Thunder cracked so hard the glass rattled. Torrents of rain beat down on the window. Charlotte hated this kind of weather. Parties were cancelled, Vauxhall was closed, and nobody walked through Hyde Park chatting. Storms had always meant time spent inside alone.
She stood at her bedroom window, her arms hugged around herself, and stared out across the garden toward Harrow House. When she’d gone over that morning with a tray of eggs, sausages, and bacon, Mosely had told her that John was out. At noon. He was usually not even risen at that hour, hence the breakfast.
Disappointed, she had left the tray with Mosely. She’d meant to spend the afternoon with William, but since the doctor had refused to provide more laudanum, her brother had been extra crotchety and had eventually asked her to leave. The rain had started not long after.
She’d toyed with the idea of going to visit Henrietta, but it was always a risk taking horses out into a storm such as this. Besides, it felt selfish to ask Swinton to drive in this weather simply because she was bored.
It was Grace’s afternoon off; Edward was in parliament, and when she’d passed Fiona’s laboratory, her sister had been so preoccupied with her latest gadget that she hadn’t even heard Charlotte enter.
“Drat.” A bolt of lightning broke through the grey clouds and she jumped. Thunder followed quickly after. The storm was getting close.
The door leading from John’s study into his garden opened. She only saw his face for a brief second before the umbrella hid it, but that second was all she needed for her nerves to break out into excited fluttering. He crossed his garden quickly, making straight for the door in the wall.
Charlotte paused only long enough to change her slippers for boots before she rushed down the stairs, caring not for the looks the staff gave her. By the time she reached the door that led into the yard, John was beneath her bedroom window, stone in hand.
“John,” she called, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of raindrops landing heavy on the ground. “Drat,” she muttered, watching him lob the stone. She hadn’t thought to bring her own umbrella, or a coat, or even a bonnet to protect her hair. With a wince, she took off into the rain and was drenched within seconds. The coiffure Grace had spent an hour on that morning melted in the wet. Her sodden skirts caught around her legs.
“John!” By the time he heard her, she was only feet from him, wiping the hair from her eyes. “What on earth are you doing?”
He closed the distance between them, holding the umbrella above her with one hand, cupping her cheek with the other, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her lips, giving no heed to the fact that it was afternoon and anyone looking out the window could see them.
“It’s a thunderstorm,” he said with an absurd smile.
“I know. And we’re out in it.” His eccentricities were charming most of the time. But she preferred them dry, not sopping wet.
He took her hand to guide her across the garden. “I have something to show you.”
It was then that she noticed the strap of a satchel that crossed his body. “Now? Here?” she asked as she tripped after him. Truly, most normal men would have come calling through the front door and shown whatever it was to her in the comfort of a drawing room.
Once they’d crossed through the gate, he handed her the umbrella and then reached into the satchel, pulling out a bright red kite.
A kite. In this weather.
Perhaps he hadn’t slept again. Perhaps he was experiencing some kind of delirium brought on by hours spent awake. Certainly, she had barely slept last night. She’d hoped they would repeat the kissing and more as they left The Lucky Honeypot, but the discovery of Lady Luella’s letters had stolen all romance from what remained of the evening. Charlotte had gone to bed deeply unsatisfied.
“You don’t think that perhaps this is not the time?” She gestured to the sky and then flinched when lightning flared. The storm was almost on top of them. Only a fool was out in this weather.
“There is no better time. Here.” He pushed a ball of cotton twine into her hands and then let it unravel as he ran the kite away.
