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“Non,” Collette said, patting his face. “Family does not treat family as a means to an end. I have lost nothing. I still have you, my dear son.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “Now, let me bind up that wound, you poor brave boy.”
A quick field dressing was made for John’s arm and they all returned to the cottage. John half-carried his mother back down the slopes. Keegain brought Lady Charlotte, wrapped in his greatcoat.
It was near dawn when Sir John finally settled his mother in her chambers. He sat awkwardly with Keegain in the parlor as the sun rose. Exhausted from her ordeal, Lady Charlotte fell asleep on his mother’s settee. Lord Keegain acquired a carriage to take her home once it was full light.
John was certain the earl would revile him for putting Charlotte in such danger, but the man seemed to blame himself for not apprehending Toussaint, last Christmas. As he took his leave, Keegain grudgingly thanked John again for not allowing any permanent harm to come to his sister. John politely refused Keegain’s thanks. He did not deserve it.
* * *
35
Afew days rest seemed to cure a good deal of his mother’s fatigue, but Sir John still could not face Lady Charlotte. He had no idea what to say to her. He had put her in danger. No matter what Lord Keegain thought, the blame was his. He felt terrible, and the guilt would not leave him. He half wished that he might remain at the little country cottage indefinitely, but he knew he had to return to London. He had far too much unfinished business left there. In the absence of an urgent crisis, his grief over losing Charlotte’s love was nearly overwhelming.
John grimaced, as his mother re-bandaged the slash on his arm. It was still stiff, but healing nicely.
“I could not ask before,” Collette said gently, well aware of the source of her son’s distraction. “Will you now tell me what else is troubling you,mon Cheri?”
“What else?” Sir John laughed shortly. “I believe this current mess is more than enough, is it not?”
“That is no answer. The danger has passed. I can read a pain in your eyes that has nothing to do with villainous cousins or threats or secret plots.”
John sighed, sinking back into his chair.“You are right,Maman. I have another trouble entirely and I cannot quite stop thinking of it.”
“An affair of the heart?” Collette guessed wisely.
“You know everything, do you not?” John laughed, a little sadly. “I pursued Lady Charlotte very deliberately for the sake of her fortune, but somehow I managed to fall desperately in love with her, in spite of my worst intentions.”
His mother laughed lightly. “Well, that is not so terribly bad,mon Cheri. We French do fall exceedingly hard in love. Your name may be English,” she said, “And you are certainly your father’s son in many ways, but your blue eyes and your loving heart. I have given you those. Love is wondrous, yes?”
“Perhaps, excepting for the fact that she discovered my original intent and now cannot trust that I truly love her. I cannot fault her for doubting me. I lied to her. I behaved like a scoundrel. Then Toussaint appeared and well…” He sighed. “I have lost her,Maman. I betrayed her trust and can see no way of winning her heart once again. I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, my poor boy, have I not always told youon ne badine pas avec l’amour?” Collette asked, shaking her head at her son.
“You have. I know I can blame no one but myself for trifling with love and not heeding your warnings. I have learned my lesson, but it is too late, I am afraid.”
“If you truly love the lady, and she loves you, it is never too late. Do not give up hope,mon Coeur. You must go to this love of yours, and make amends with her before you fade away altogether,” Collette urged her son sympathetically, as they made their farewells.
“I do not believe that amends can be made,Maman, not with how badly I have muddled things,” John confessed. “Why would she ever want to see me again? I put her in danger. She could have been killed.”
“You must promise me that you will at least try. I am quite fond of the girl. She has spirit. She reminds me of myself when I was young.”
“She has no reason to accept me.”
“Only love,” his mother said. “Only love.”
Sir John kissed his mother goodbye and swung into his saddle. Perhaps he should try to apologize, he thought, but how could he, in light of all that had occurred? His mind kept running through scenarios of what could have happened; what he should have done. If he had never spoken to her at Almack’s. If he had never made the wager. If he had never proposed. Perhaps, Toussaint would not have targeted her.
He was entirely to blame for involving her in the mess. Charlotte was a lady, he had broken her heart and had endangered her person, such things were simply not forgivable. Yet, he wanted nothing more than to seek her forgiveness. He would beg for her mercy upon his knees if he thought that would relieve him of his crimes. If nothing else, he would know that he had done all he could.
Adding to the weight of his guilt, he had the matter of his debts to settle. He supposed he would have to close up his London apartments and begin a new, less glamorous life somewhere removed from Society. At least, the magistrate, upon hearing Keegain’s testimony believed that he was not in league with the traitors. He was not meant for the gallows, although at the moment, the loss of Lady Charlotte felt worse than death.
* * *
36
Lady Charlotte wandered the length of the gallery, having found no pleasure whatsoever in dancing. She had not wanted to attend Almack’s at all, but her mother had insisted. No one knew of Charlotte’s misadventure. As far as theTonwas concerned Lady Charlotte had relapsed in her illness, but she could no longer remain absent from Society.
Charlotte still felt overwhelmed by the events that occurred at the cliff. She had considered shooting Toussaint straight through his blackheart, but could not do it. She could have made the shot, but then, she would have had the death of a man on her conscience. Not much of a man, Charlotte told herself, but a life nonetheless. Guilt plagued her. She replayed the events in her mind again and again. Was John disgusted by the fact that she shot a man? If she had not, would things have ended differently between them? He had not spoken to her since that day. Not one word. She mulled over the wager and the fact that he had lied to her, and none of it seemed important now. So why was she still so unsettled?
