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As the two stepped into the sunlight on the street, Charity let the fan drop to the ribbon around her wrist and opened her parasol. She lifted it over her head to shade her face from the heat of the sun. The Earl stepped up beside her with his arm bent ready for her to take. She hesitantly placed her hand on his arm and he tucked it into the crook of his elbow. They walked down the steps together and nothing ever felt so right, and yet they walked in silence. It seemed as if neither of them knew where to begin.
“I received your letter,” he said at last.
The silence stretched, but Charity could not call it awkward. She breathed in the scent of him, and reveled in the feel of his solid masculinity next to her. “I’m sorry I did not answer it,” he said.
“I thought you did not accept my apology,” she blurted.
“Of course I did.” He said. “I just…” he paused at the door of the carriage.
Charity looked at the conveyance. “If you don’t mind, I would rather walk,” she said. “It is not far and it is a beautiful day.”
He nodded and gave instructions to his driver and then took her arm again. A thrill went through her at his touch. Michael Poppy never made her feel this way, like she was floating on clouds. No one ever made her feel this way, only this man. Everything was right with the world. The birds were singing; the roses were blooming, the cobbles under her feet were smooth and perfect.
“Yes, it is a beautiful day,” Lord Wentwell said. “Although the beauty of the day is out shown by the beauty at my side.”
“You are too kind,” Charity answered automatically and then she clamped her mouth shut and the pair moved down along the street in awkward silence. Was he sincere, or was the compliment just a convention? Charity searched for a bit of conversation. Other than the weather, she was at a loss. Her stomach was in knots and her heart was racing. All Charity could think of was her sweating hands. She was glad she had gloves on. She wouldn’t want him to notice her most unladylike perspiration.
“That is not what I meant to say,” Lord Wentwell said.
She frowned at him. “You did not mean to complement me?”
“No. I mean, yes. Of course, you are beautiful, but I say that…” He broke off.
“To all the ladies,” she finished with a grin.
He looked sheepish. “I do,” he said. “Or rather I did. I was going to say,so glibly, but I no longer want to speak so.”
Charity scrunched up her face in a quizzical look and he explained. “I want to shower you with complements every day, Lady Charity, but only you.”
“If that is true,” Charity said. “I do not understand. Why did you not return an answer to my letter?’
“I guess I was at a loss for words.”
“You? I do not believe it,” She laughed gently, but he was suddenly serious.
“I wanted to say something honest, and I found I did not know how to do that. I have always been full of artifice, but just this once, I wanted more.”
“I have heard tell that it is honest artifice,” she said.
“I wanted honesty, true honesty. I did not know how to begin. I still don’t. I have hope that you will teach me,” he said softly.
Charity’s heart swelled in her chest. She realized what the difference was between him and all the other suitors. She was in love with him. She was in love with Lord Wentwell, and she was walking with him. Her heart began to sing. She never wanted this moment to end.
They were about half way to Aunt Ebba’s townhome, and Charity was afraid that she would lose this moment with him, and he would disappear again. She groped for a common topic, another time when they could see one another.
“Do you know the Atherton’s well?” She asked after a few moments. “Will you be invited to the wedding next week?”
“I am,” he said. “But from the Beresford side.”
“I still cannot believe the turmoil from last year. You knew The Duke, of course,” Charity said, feeling a bit more on solid ground, but realizing that she was not saying any of the things she wanted to say to him, and there may not easily be another chance.
“Of course. Not personally, but through parliament. Terrible business that.” He shook his head. “I can hardly believe it. I do know the Beresfords though. Their riding master taught me to ride as a boy. Do you like riding, Lady Charity?”
She was a passible rider. She was not sure she wanted to go riding with him. She wanted to be at her best, and that was not on horseback.
Charity screwed up her face with the thought.
“I love the way you get that quizzical look on your face,” he said.
