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“Reg, the world is not as rosy as you see it. I wish it were, but it is not.” He signaled the driver and left Reginald standing in the drive before the stable.
On the ride home, Neville could not get Charity from his mind. He thought, he had never meant for the argument to go so far. He had never meant to speak so before a lady. His crude language was inexcusable. She was a lady, not some slattern tavern wench. Reginald said he should let her reform him, and truth be told, he did need some betterment. He had to admit there were times when his flirtation had gotten out of hand, and bordered on hurtful. No. Perhaps itwashurtful. She had accused him of being careless with women’s hearts and he was. He was aware of how hurtful words could be now that his own heart was breaking. Still, he could not forgive Miss Macrum, and truthfully neither should Lady Charity. Miss Macrum had seen his attention to Lady Charity and sought to destroy their budding relationship. He realized with a start that she had done so. Miss Macrum had had her way, at least in part. He would not touch the woman, but she had destroyed the trust between himself and Lady Charity. Perhaps it was not as she had wished, but nonetheless, she had no doubt shattered any warm feelings the lady may have once held for him, but as much as he wanted to blame all on Miss Macrum, he could not.
He had lost his temper. He had acted basely and despicably. He had all but called her a whore to her face, likening her to Macrum and Danbury. If she had had a father or brother present, he would have certainly been called out. As it was, James was of a softer sort, but even James was scandalized by his behavior. Wentwell could see no way to remedy the situation. Lady Charity Abernathy would certainly never speak to him again. In truth, he did not blame her.
~.~
“Where were you?” Lavinia asked as Charity returned to the ladies.
Charity certainly was not going to tell anyone, not even her friend about her quarrel with Wentwell. “I broke my fan,” Charity said pouting.
“Oh,” Lavinia gave her a moment of pity before telling her, “Your mother was looking for you, Charity. I sent her to speak with Ebba.”
“I just needed a moment of air,” Charity said.
“With James Poppy?” Lavinia asked confused.
Julia, who was hanging on Lord Fawkland’s arm frowned at her and raised her eyebrows. At least, there would be no hint of rumor about her and Wentwell. The ballroom was a crush and it was not easy to keep track of acquaintances.
Charity just shook her head. She could not explain, and she did not want to speak with her mother right now. Patience came to her aid and glanced up at the doorway where Wentwell, still stood. Reginald exchanged a glance with his sister and followed his friend from the ballroom. Charity found herself pulled into a dance set with Percival Beresford, Patience’s husband as her partner. He was a quiet man and did not attempt to engage her in conversation which allowed her to think as she danced.
Lord Wentwell would probably never speak to her again. She did not care. Why she should care what a rake thought of her, she told herself. She would be gay and beautiful and dance, but her heart was still beating outside where she had left it with Lord Wentwell.
Two sets later she had danced with Lord Fawkland and Captain Hartfield before being passed along back to the Poppys. She danced with Michael and with Colonel Ranier before dancing with a whole host of naval gentlemen. Her mother returned to the ballroom, but had no time to interrogate her, and she had no time to think about what she had done. She felt that she had somehow betrayed Wentwell. She did not believe him. She had believed Miss Macrum, and as she thought of her actions she realized she had no reason to believe the woman and no reason to disbelieve him. But what was done, was done.
The gentlemen she danced with told Charity that she looked beautiful, but she did not feel beautiful. She felt decidedly ugly. She had accused a man of ruining a woman, and now she was not sure she was right. He thought that she was of the same ilk as Miss Macrum, and if Miss Macrum did start the rumors then what must Wentwell think of her? She knew what he thought. He thought she was horrible, like Miss Macrum and Miss Danbury. He said as much. He categorized them together as backbiting and false. Had she become just what she had striven not to be?
She wanted to cry, but she pasted a smile on her face. Her mother didn’t know it, but it was perhaps the best performance Charity had ever accomplished. By midnight, her feet were aching and she went to sit with the Poppys. Michael came to her side and brought her a glass of punch. It was a kindness, and she thanked him as she sipped the refreshment.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked. She could see in his eyes that he did not actually want to dance himself, but he asked nonetheless.
She shook her head. “I am tired,” she answered. “But do sit with me.”
He sat beside her but said nothing.
Wonderful, she thought. The two of us are sitting here brooding together. She pulled a bright bit from her saddened soul and managed a smile, but inside she felt only hollowness.
Michael smiled back brightly and took her gloved hand in his
~.~
~Part3~
Loss
Chapter Thirteen
Nearly two weeks later, Lord Wentwell watched as Lady Charity entered the Drummond garden party amongst a large group of people including the entire Poppy family. Still, she drew his eye as if she were the only lady in attendance. She was dressed in a soft white day dress trimmed with ribbons the same deep blue as her eyes. The garment was exquisite as was the woman within it. It fit her fit to perfection, or perhaps she was perfection. As the day wore on, the evening sun cast pink shadows against her, and her hair fair glowed in the fading light. It ached to be touched. She looked like an angel, an angel he admired from afar.
After the words they had exchanged at the opening ball he could not approach her. To say they had ended that night on less than ideal terms would be a gross understatement. Truth be told, her censure had stunned him. He was accustomed to being pursued by women. It was a new sensation to meet one who was not the least impressed by him.
Now, Neville did not know what he might say to her.It was ludicrous. How had she managed to make him so tongue-tied? He had supped with dukes and visited at court. His manners were perfect and refined. He did not hesitate and dither like a schoolboy. He was invited almost everywhere and the ladies loved him, but Lady Charity haunted him. His own feelings vacillated between anger and desire. It was not love, he told himself. That emotion had been burned from him when he stood solitary awaiting a bride who married another.
Few enough women could see beyond those items of wealth and position to the man within. Neville had only met a handful or less in his life, all of them snagged up by gentlemen at the first opportunity. He had often thought he would do the same when he met a lady with such depth of character. Once, he thought he had done. He wooed her, revealed the truth of himself, and promised to love and care for her forever, but Katherine had been false. She had proved the wiliest of all. It had become clear that she never loved him. She had used his young and tender heart; then she washed her hands of Neville Collington and left him broken to piece the bits of his soul back together. He was determined that he would not fall for the same trick twice.
Neville Collington knew what his merits were: wealth, position, health, youth, appearance. Never again would he think that a woman could see past that. No, although his present looks and comportment were all the rage, next season a stockier man would be in fashion, or a taller man, or a dark and brooding man. Looks were transitory, youth was fleeting and fashion was fickle. Only position, and in his case, wealth would last.
He was now certain that women were far better at the act of subterfuge than they cared to admit, and Lady Charity all but proved the point over a fortnight ago. She has shown during their market stroll that she was capable of tricking him, if she so desired. It had been years since Neville had been so easily duped by what he thought was a willing female. Perhaps he had only let his guard down.
