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It was painful to answer. “Don’t think I’ve not gone over every such possibility but…” He shook his head, shifting so he could look at her. “There’s a reason none of the other fellows take wives until they’re thirty. One needs to be in a decent financial position and able to settle down somewhere that’s safe for a wife and family. The conditions are intolerable. The heat, malaria…Diseases like cholera and dysentery are rife. It’s no place for a woman, or so I’ve been told by anyone who’s experienced it.”
The lamp flickered and Hugo stared at the red flock wallpaper as his mind did its ever-revolving circuit of drawing in one possibility or another, only to discard each one. “My father will keep me on short rations, while my uncle will be ever vigilant. Father is determined I marry whom he deems a respectable wife.”
Charity let out a short laugh. Hugo could not believe her restraint in letting him off the hook when she could have wept and thrown things at him for ruining what they had and for destroying their future together.
No, jeopardising their future together. He would be back. He had to believe he’d not die of jungle fever before he’d returned to London to save Charity.
“The irony, my darling,” she went on, almost as if she were at a tea party and discussing some amusing on-dit. “If my respectable papa had honoured his promise to marry my once-respectable late mama, I’d have been the legitimate daughter of a viscount.”
The irony had often struck Hugo, too.
“Sadly, there are many of us by-blows in similar positions to me,” she went on, indicating her sordid surroundings, her voice lighter than it ought to have been, considering the sorry truth of it. “It’s all too easy for an entitled gentleman to have a bit of fun with the staff. He wouldn’t dream of marrying one of them, though.” She shrugged. “Or acknowledging a bastard. It’s just not the done thing, my darling.”
Hugo looked her in the eye. She rarely spoke about her father but a sudden hope had taken root. “Do you know who your father is? Where he is?”
Charity’s smile was indulgent. “Yes. But I’m not going to approach him, if that’s what you’re implying. Mama tried that and the distress of his dismissal nearly undid her. He questioned whether I was his. He’ll hardly say any different, now, more than ten years later.”
Hugo hung his head, then, on a swift thought, dropped his hand to her belly. “You couldn’t possibly be — ?"
“I’m not,” she reassured him. “Madame makes certain her girls know how to protect themselves from at least that inconvenience.”
“Lord, Charity, all I want to do is marry you and have children with you.”
“And paint and write poems.”
“Yes, but it’s only because of you that I can do that. Thinking of you unleashes something inside me that makes me feel intoxicated with possibility.”
“Then think of me when you’re gone, and send me those pictures and poems, because that’s what’s going to sustain me while you’re off hunting tigers and picking tea leaves, and laying railway tracks, my darling Hugo.” She drew him down beside her and snuggled into his warmth.
Visually tracing the pressed metal ceiling with his gaze while he thought of how he might incorporate it in a sketch, he said, “I’ve brought you a painting and a poem I‘ve been working on all week. Christmas Charity it’s called. Or Christmas Wedding, I can’t decide which.”
“I’ll treasure both,” she said, reaching up to stroke his face. “But please don’t think of me as a charity case. Between us, we will find a way to grasp the future we thought we had.”
* * *
She didn’t believe it but Hugo needed to hear it. And as he kissed her, Charity tried to stop herself from wondering how many more times she’d feel the touch of his lips.
But she was determined to be brave.
“Please don’t go,” she begged when he rolled off her and sat up. “We don’t have much time. I want to make the most of every minute.”
He smiled, his mouth turned up but his eyes grim as he whipped back the covers and kissed the two rosy buds on her breasts, then her belly button and, finally, the mound at the juncture of her legs.
“As do I but my main priority right now is ens
uring that you are safe when I’m gone. By God, if I could marry you this moment and not negate my claim to everything that will one day be both of ours, I would.” For a moment he was quiet as he stood over her. “Charity, do you resent me for not whisking you down the aisle? That is, if we had enough time for the banns to be read before I sailed?”
She drew the covers up to her chin and averted her eyes. A small part of her did. “I’d marry you if you were a prince or a pauper,” she whispered, instead.
“But if I marry you now, I will forever be a pauper. We truly would have nothing. My father would pull every string he had to ensure we suffered in perpetuity. I’d have nothing to offer you.”
He leaned over and kissed her lips with even greater tenderness. “Believe me, Charity, if we can survive the next two years, our future is secure. I want to be able to sail back into Southampton to claim my inheritance and marry you in a public ceremony full of pomp and circumstance.” He reached for something and straightened, branding a piece of parchment. “Here’s my poem. Read it when I’m gone. You think I’m capable only of daydreams but I will prove to you that where I am motivated by my muse, I am capable of anything. Now I really do have to leave, my precious. There are still some people I must see in the hopes of finding some respectable employment for you that I can supplement with the wages I shall send you while I’m away.”
* * *
Charity tried to be heartened by Hugo’s poem but it only made her cry even harder. How could he imagine a society wedding, with a church filled with guests truly wishing them both the greatest happiness, could ever be their destiny? How could he imagine these same people would be smiling and tossing rose petals at them as Charity and Hugo stepped into a carriage and were borne away into the sunset, towards the estate that would one day be Hugo’s — if he remained unmarried until his twenty-fifth birthday?
Hugo was the sweetest, kindest, most honourable man Charity knew but he was a dreamer.
