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Her father patted her knee. “And when did you last hear from your Hugo?”
Charity didn’t answer though her throat thickened. Her father knew very well she’d heard nothing since several weeks after Hugo’s departure.
Still, she held out hope. There was some very good reason for his silence. Not once did she despair and believe he’d forsaken her. She knew Hugo too well.
“And now we are here. My! The welcome party is bigger than I’d expected.” He sounded taken aback, which was surprising. Nothing seemed to faze Mr Riverdale.
Charity took a constricted breath. She was sure she’d not laced her corset too tightly when Madame’s maid had dressed her but suddenly, she was finding it hard to breathe. She touched the rose at her decolletage and plucked at the bows and furbelows of her train as she stepped out of the carriage at their destination, rearranging her bustle.
Cyril was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He grinned at her as he offered his arm. “Smile like a princess, not a startled rabbit,” he whispered. “Everyone here wants to see the girl pictured in the book. Not some frightened hopeful.”
“But there are so many people.” Charity took a lungful of air as she gazed at the faces ranged around her, eager and smiling, some reaching out hands to touch her. “I wasn’t expecting this. It’s only supposed to be the launch of Hugo’s book.”
“But Hugo’s book has become the sensation of the season, my dear. It is the only thing anyone wants this Christmas.” He raised her hand to the crowd, then kissed it, and a cheer rang out. “See! They want you to be happy.”
“But they mistake what they see.” Anxiously, Charity turned to her father on her other side, and he patted her shoulder, catching her words.
“What they choose to read into any interaction is their affair, not yours,” he said, matching his pace to hers as she negotiated the stairs with all the elegance she could muster in her tightly fitting cuirass and the heavy, elegant upholstery that followed her like a sinuous snake. “You know that it is Hugo’s work that has made this evening possible and you will tell the world that. The truth will always out.”
The truth will always out. Charity glanced at the two men on either side of her. Men she had once despised. Men who had sought to profit from her. Men whose company she had come to enjoy as their curious experiment had gathered momentum, fuelling them with excitement and genuine pride i
n the achievements of cousin on Cyril’s part and daughter on Mr Riverdale’s part.
Tonight Hugo would be publicly revealed to the anticipatory gathering as the author of Tales of Love and Loss, his wildly successful book of poems and accompanying paintings and drawings. Charity was merely here as his muse. But she was a face everyone now recognised.
“Miss Charity, please can you sign this?” A shy young man hovering amidst a group of eager-eyed young people near the entrance approached her holding a print of one of Hugo’s drawings of her.
“When will your young man return to England?” asked another. “You must miss him very much. That cruel and wicked father who forced you apart is not here, is he?”
She’d heard such sentiments with increasing frequency, lately. It seemed Mr Riverdale had done a good job of imbuing her life with mystery and pathos. While her early years were shrouded in ambiguity, he’d made much of the star-crossed lovers theme.
Tonight’s attendees seemed to find the story as compelling as Hugo’s talent.
“Not much longer,” her father encouraged her, during a brief interlude when Charity’s attention wasn’t being sought. “Cyril will look after you when I’m on stage to officiate over the launch. You’ll feel much more relaxed when the formalities are over.” He squeezed her hand as he prepared to leave her. “My, my Charity, you have surprised me.” His look was admiring. “You were such a mouse when you agreed to meet me all those months ago. Albeit a very beautiful mouse. But you have grown into your role as if you were made for it.”
“I hate every minute of it,” Charity confessed with a smile, taking a sip of her champagne. “But I’m very grateful for there are other things I’d hate more.”
She felt herself color as she realised the implications of what she’d said.
“You will make a fine consort for your Hugo when he finally returns to you.” Her father obviously chose to ignore her earlier inference.
“What if he doesn’t come back?”
There was a silence. “Do you know, that is the first time I’ve ever heard you voice doubt. Tonight, of all nights.”
Charity bowed her head. “You make me ashamed of myself. If Hugo doesn’t come back, it’s because he cannot. But in his absence, he has given me the greatest gift.” She raised her head and looked about her. Jewels and sumptuous clothing adorned all those who’d crowded into the large reception room. There were artists rubbing shoulders with duchesses, oil magnates and publishing moguls hobnobbing with actresses.
“He’s given me a place in the world,” she said. “A place where I can be proud of who I am.”
“He’s made you the most sought-after woman in all of London town,” said Cyril, coming around to her other side and raising her hand to his lips. “Here’s to our cause celebre as her benefactor takes to the stage and sings the praises of my cousin.” He cocked one eyebrow and sent Charity his most lascivious look. “Of whom I am insanely jealous.”
Charity tossed her head. “But who is soon to wed the lovely Miss Dermot — thanks in part to me, I might add — who is heading this way flanked by, if I’m not mistaken, Lady Margaret Ponsonby….” She dropped her voice to a whisper, and added, “if one didn’t know any better.”
Chapter 14
It was as if he were still aboard a rocking boat. Hugo stepped out of the carriage and nearly fell flat on his face. Though he was exhausted from the rough and gruelling crossing, nothing was going to stop him seizing Charity and taking her home to safety.
Yes, he’d forgo his inheritance. He’d have to work hard to earn a living any way he could. But he was a man of education and, somehow, he could provide for two people.
