“Have you spoken to him about this?” Belle asked, frowning.
“No, I wanted to think it through with you first—and given your reaction, that was the right thing to do.”
“Right, then. Let’s consider. I suppose it would depend on how much they needed, who would control it, and how long they needed it for, assuming it would be a loan.”
“Why?”
“Because if his father is going to drink it all away or whatever he’s doing, then you’re throwing good money after bad, aren’t you? And I don’t know that you want to mix business and pleasure. I mean—” she grinned. “—I’m fine doing so, but when the lines are blurred, ’tis not such a good idea.”
Charlotte giggled. “More good points.”
“I think you’d need to know more about the specific needs to figure out how to circumvent his father. But first and foremost, you need to discuss it with him. If this is really ending within days, it is best to wait and think more about it when your mind is not clouded with lust or misery.”
“You are right. If you hear anything about the situation becoming more dire, though, please let me know.”
* * * *
With the family’s removal to Harrington rapidly approaching, William had managed to sneak out a few times during the day.
The afternoon was warm, and Charlotte had brought him to the garden to study.
However, her rakelet was agitated, pacing the path in front of the bench on which she’d settled.
He turned on a heel and in a fast flurry asked, “May I invite you to visit Oxford in a fortnight, Mistress?”
Her heart broke a little more. Apparently, she’d hurt both of them by allowing this to go too far, and emotions were involved on both sides. “William, we discussed this. This ends when you leave London. You need to focus on your studies, then find a suitable girl to marry.”
“But, Mistress, what of your studies?”
“I shall muddle along just fine. Or I’ll pay a tutor, if need be.” She waved a deceptively casual hand, ensuring it did not shake.
He growled.
She raised her brows. “I beg your pardon?”
“I want to help you.”
“Now you sound like a petulant child,” she admonished him, despite wishing the same.
He hung his head. After a moment of silence, he raised it, his eyes bright. “May I have a token to remember you by? Please, Mistress?”
“Like what?”
“Like a lady would give a handkerchief or something for a knight to remember her when he rode into battle.”
“I dearly hope Oxford is nothing like battle.” Her tone was dry.
He grinned. “No, but I shall be fighting the constant desire to return to you.”
“William, you know how important I find education. Don’t you dare waste your opportunity.” She was frowning.
“A token would help.” The puppy eyes were back.
She shook her head and sighed. What would it hurt to give him something to remember her by? Perhaps something that would fade with time, as his memories of her should. Resolved, she said, “Come and kneel down and unbutton your trousers.”
“Holy hell,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.
Her teeth set at the imagined feel of his poor knees hitting the stone walkway, but he did not seem to notice.
