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Charlotte had been so scared. When John had come to save her, she wanted to fall into his arms, and at the same time, she wanted to berate him for not coming sooner. But had he really come for her or only his mother? She wanted to rage and cry, but no one could weep forever, and it would not do to hide herself away. Better to hold her head up high, look more beautiful than ever, and show the world that Sir John had never meant anything to her. Just like she had done with Marley. But it was a lie. Sir John was nothing like Marley. The very thought of Sir John made her throat tighten with tears that now seemed to constantly threaten.
Lady Charlotte tossed her golden curls as if she could rid herself of her troubled thoughts, and paused to lean on the railing, looking out over the dancers. She felt detached from them, as if she was no longer a part of the bevy of girls who just wanted to dance and have fun. But she still had no husband, and the Season was far from over. She could not disappear, no matter how much she wanted to just go back to Kennett Park and ride her horse over the hills and far away. Jamari had returned to the stable with no ill effects from the adventure. She wished that she was so resilient.
Just as Charlotte managed to compose herself and paste a bright smile on her face, she heard Sir John’s voice. It was insufferable that he should attend the ball. It was even worse that the sound of his voice went straight to her heart and melted the liquid center of her. He might have put aside his fortune-hunting for a little while, she thought waspishly.
She attempted to hold on to her anger, but her heart was moved to sympathy. John’s mother had very nearly been killed. And villain or not his cousin was dead. Although she was not involved in the act, Charlotte still felt partially responsible. She reminded herself that she could not go back. No one could, and yet, she moved closer, just to hear the sound of John’s voice. She closed her eyes momentarily. His presence was a comfort. She could imagine his tall form sheltering her, holding her close, but he was not truly herewithher. He was only nearby, and that was very different indeed.
From her vantage point, partially concealed behind a large potted palm, she listened. Sir John’s back was to her, and he was speaking with a group of other young gentlemen. Boasting, no doubt, she thought, narrowing her eyes. These were undoubtedly the other participants in that odious wager, and she recognized each of them. All the better, she decided. She would do her best to make sure that her sisters and every other young lady of her acquaintance shunned the lot of them. She was an earl’s sister. She still had some influence.
Charlotte was torn between wanting to storm over and give them all a piece of her mind and wanting to hear whatever story Sir John would devise to explain that he was not, in fact, engaged to her. The group of shamefaced gentlemen that surrounded Sir John were not what Charlotte was expecting. She frowned and edged closer, shamelessly eavesdropping.
* * *
The brilliant lightsand swirling colors of the ball seemed to assault Sir John’s senses painfully. In the space of the past week, he had painstakingly examined everything that he needed to do in order to best put his affairs to rights. His preferences had stopped mattering nearly as much as they had once done. He and his mother would live simply. He had enough left for that, at least.
The music and foolish chatter pressed on him as he made his way up to the gallery where his group of friends had gathered. It struck him as odd how recently they had all stood up there, arguing good-naturedly over which girl he should pursue. They had joked as casually as if they had been debating the merits of one horse over another at the races. The thought made him cringe with embarrassment. It seemed so foolish now. His feeling on the matter had changed so much in the past weeks that he felt a different man. Although that did not alleviate his guilt.
“Might I express condolences from all of us on the dissolution of your engagement,” Lord Henderson said.
Sir John expressed his thanks in a low tone. His friends had not seen the end of his argument with Lady Charlotte, but they had assumed the outcome, as Charlotte and her family had not announced their match. Was it truly only a little over a week ago that they had quarreled? So much had happened since then, he thought.
Thankfully, there was no talk about what had happened upon the cliffs. He did not care for himself, his reputation was of little consequence, but he would have no one besmirch Lady Charlotte. Most likely the family was planning to let the entire affair fade into obscurity, along with his ill-begotten engagement. Perhaps it was for the best.
“We all feel somewhat responsible for the upset.” Lord Edward said.
“Bad luck indeed, old chap,” said Lord Henderson holding up a bottle of brandy he had smuggled past Lady Jersey ignoring the rules of not imbibing at Almack’s. He and the others crowded close.
“Terrible,” agreed Lord Weston. “If she had not learned that the pursuit of her hand began for the sake of winning a wager, the lady would still be happily upon your arm.”
Sir John waved away his friend’s apologies. The blame lay upon him. After all, it was not their fault that Lady Charlotte had overheard about the wager. He was the one who initiated the conversation in Keegain’s own home. In retrospect, he realized how senseless that was. Anyone could have overheard them…and they had done. It was one of many recent senseless actions that he most deeply regretted.
“Surely you will be able to convince the girl anyway,” added Lord Blakely casually as he set up several glasses. “You did seem so sure of being able to turn a pretty head, and I have evidence which states your tactics work, and if not on her, then there is always another worthy candidate.” Henderson poured several fingers of brandy in each glass.
John shook his head. “No, not for me. I want nothing to do with any of it,” He said. “I forfeit the wager. I will give you my vowels. It may be a while before I can make good, but I will pay what I owe.”
“I hardly think that is necessary, Ashbrooke,” said Henderson. “We know you are not flush in the pockets, right now.”
Sir John had known that Henderson would refuse his money, as would Lord Edward. He had always been a gentleman. The others would make less protest, but he would convince the lot of them.
“There will be another heiress,” Blakely commented, as he lifted his glass.
“No, there will not,” John said sharply. “I am taking my mother to the country. We will live simply. I have enough for that.” John left the glass before him untouched.
“Nonsense,” Weston said predictably. “You proposed. Lady Charlotte accepted the offer. As far as I’m concerned, the wager was won the moment she said yes. What came after was not…”
“I don’t give a blasted fig about the bloody wager!” John growled overcome with emotion.
His friends stared at him in amazement.
“I say,” remarked Lord Weston, putting his own glass aside. “You truly are in love with the girl.”
“I am,” John said.
“Well, I for one cannot let this mess stand.” Henderson said. “We must help you to regain her. Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”
John frowned. He really didn’t think that was a good idea. The machinations of his friends, along with his own foolishness, was exactly what had made this mess, or at least, they had worsened what was already afoot. He did not think his friends could help. He did not think anything could help. “I do not think there is anything to be done,” he said.
“Well, blast it all.” Blakely exclaimed.
