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“I owe my allegiance to the Crown, like any other good Englishman. You bewildering creature.”
“Oh, well, I suppose one cannot expect to have everything,” said Charlotte with a sly smile. “I forgive you for not being a French spy converted for love of me,” she teased. He seemed flummoxed by her reaction. “And you needn’t worry about my family, Sir John. They will not mind any more than I do.”
“Are you certain?”
“Ruddy might have some qualms about you if you were Napoleon’s nephew or something of the sort: you aren’t, by chance, are you? That could be rather thrilling as well,” she said with a mirthful twinkle in her eye.
“Decidedly not,” John said, feeling the knot in his chest beginning to unravel. Never in his life had he encountered such a response to his heritage, but he supposed he really ought to have known that Lady Charlotte would prove the exception to the rule. She never did anything he expected, after all.
“Will you tell me why you were in such distress about this matter?” she asked gently. “It seemed as though you half expected me to shriek in horror and have my brother throw you out into the street.”
“Perhaps it seems trivial to you,” Sir John spoke slowly. “And indeed, I am terribly grateful that it does not negatively affect our association, but I received no end of bad treatment growing up with such a stigma. As a boy, my peers delighted in tormenting me about my heritage, some rather brutally.”
“How awful.”
“Children can be cruel,” he said. “When I came of age I decided to distance myself as much as I could from most of the gents I knew. It was easy enough to lose touch with school friends. My mother’s poor health kept her away from much of society after my father’s death just as much as his own preference for the country kept us from it before his passing. Concealing the matter has become a strict habit of mine, and none of my closest friends have even so much as an inkling that I might be of French descent.”
“That has to have been dreadful,” Charlotte murmured sympathetically, hating the sorrow that she could read in Sir John’s eyes. “I imagine you cannot ever feel entirely comfortable. Always wondering in the back of your mind if they would still be true and loyal friends if they knew your secret.”
“That is it exactly. You are most insightful, Lady Charlotte. I find myself rather in awe of you,” Sir John said wonderingly. “I do not believe anyone else could put a finger so quickly and precisely on the heart of the matter.”She had such a quick wit. How had he ever thought women were more simplistic than men?It seemed treasonous to think so now. Perhaps he had been overlooking this side of the fair sex all along, or perhaps Lady Charlotte was just some sort of anomaly; either way he had clearly been mistaken.
“I am terrible at accepting compliments modestly, Sir John, so I shall agree with you.” The man seemed so overwhelmed by her easy acceptance that Charlotte took pity upon him. She quite forwardly leaned in and put her gloved hand atop his. “I beg you; do not concern yourself for another instant regarding your heritage. It does not change my esteem for you in the slightest, and I would love to meet your mother,” Charlotte said stoutly.
“There is…” Sir John hesitated, horribly torn. He wanted to finish his confession, to tell her about the wager and all the surrounding circumstances of his courtship. This was the only chance he could expect to have. He knew, if he moved forward without revealing everything now he would be making a mockery of his supposedly honest conscience. But it was unreasonable to think that she would acceptthatdeception as easily as she had accepted his ancestry.
After all, his ancestry was not within his own ability to control; the bet was. The wager was deliberate, cold and calculating, and it reduced the magic and mystery of their romance to nothing more than the content of her inheritance. There was no way she would still love him after hearing of it, and he realized then that he could not face the idea of losing her. Something would die within him if she were to reject his affection.
Lud, he thought. He had well and truly fallen in love with her.Was he the example of a feminine romantic then? Surely not.Still, Henderson had the right of it. He must never reveal the existence of the wager. It would distress her, and he could not bear to hurt her just to cleanse his own guilty conscience. Instead, he would quietly celebrate his good luck at falling in love with such a fine woman and by becoming a most excellent and adoring husband to her.
“Was there something more, Sir John?” Lady Charlotte pressed, seeing all of the indecision cross his face.
He smiled at her. “There is nothing that would please me more than introducing you to my mother,” he finished smoothly, smiling at her while his heart raced at the lie of omission. “I shall write to myMamanand tell her to expect us soon.” The thought of Lady Charlotte’s rejection had filled Sir John with such anxiety that upon its release he felt as drained as if he had just run a marathon.
“Wonderful. And in the spirit of being honest and forthright, I have a confession of my own to make,” Charlotte said candidly.
“Oh? Do tell.”
“I have such a terrible cold that all I want in the entire world is to lie down and sleep for a year,” Lady Charlotte admitted. She closed her eyes dramatically leaning back against the sofa cushions.
“That is really not such a shocking revelation, although perhaps it is discourteous of me to say so. But really, Lady Charlotte, anyone with eyes can see that you are unwell, and I have been a cad rattling on and keeping you from your rest. Why on earth did you not tell me that you wished to lie down?”
“Oh, partly stubbornness, I suppose. Everyone was scolding me so for getting drenched in the rain yesterday, and they all direly predicted that I would catch cold. I was determined to prove them all wrong.” She blushed slightly, and looked down. “And perhaps, because I thought you might come to call today,” she admitted softly, “and I was loathed to miss your visit, for any reason.”
“I cannot tell you how glad I am to hear the last, nor how unsurprised I am to hear the first. But you must allow me to take my leave now so you may rest. Even an Amazonian such as yourself cannot reasonably expect to never fall ill.”
“An Amazon woman, am I?” she said sniffling.
“Only in the best sense of the word,” Sir John soothed. “A most strong, beautiful and resilient lady.” He rose as he finished his sentence, catching the attention of the other occupants of the parlor.
“Are you leaving us, Sir John?” asked Jane, who was glad for the chance to put aside the book she had been pretending to read while she surreptitiously watched the pair, although she was too far removed to hear exactly what had been said.
“I am afraid so. Lady Charlotte is feeling rather unwell, and I would hate to keep her from her rest.”
“If you have gotten my excessively stubborn sister to admit that she does not feel well then you have accomplished more than the rest of us combined were able to do.” Lord Keegain laughed easily, apparently deciding to forgive Sir John for having kissed his sister the previous day. “In that at least, Sir John, you have my thanks.”
“Do not chide, Ruddy,” Charlotte said sniffing. “You are insufferable”
“Insufferable, am I?”
