Charming Sir Charles (Dashing Widows Book 5) Page 6

  To his surprise, she reached over and clasped his hand in brief encouragement. “Something has frightened her—I can see that. Can’t you?”

  He straightened and pulled away. “You’re not saying she’s scared of me?”

  “If she’s attracted to you, she would be terrified, I suspect.”

  He sent her a narrow-eyed look. “You’re trying to bolster my confidence.”

  “I’m trying to tell you not to give up on her—but perhaps change your tactics.”

  “Pounce?”

  Meg nodded firmly. “Pounce.”

  Charles’s response was lost as Helena approached, carrying a candle. “You two have been away a long time.”

  “We started talking, Lady West.” Still struggling to come to terms with what he’d learned tonight, Charles stood at his hostess’s arrival. “It’s my fault. I should have returned Miss Meg to the drawing room half an hour ago.”

  “No matter. We’re not looking to make a scandal.”

  He struggled to pin a smile to his face, but it was difficult when his mind was in complete tumult. Marry Meg? What an utterly ludicrous idea. Sally had bats in her belfry. “We’ll go and make our peace with her chaperone.”

  Helena shook her head. “Sally went to bed just after you left. That’s why I’m tonight’s guardian of propriety.”

  Meg stood and smoothed the skirts of her yellow silk gown. “I’m sorry we made you come and fetch us, Lady West.”

  Helena shrugged. “I don’t mind. But it’s getting late.”

  “Has everyone retired?” Charles asked.

  “Silas and my husband are in the library emptying the brandy decanter and reliving boyhood exploits. Caro has gone upstairs to check on the children. I think Brand and Carey are still playing billiards.”

  “With your permission, I may linger with the Caravaggio.”

  “Certainly. Meg?”

  “I might go and see how the billiards are progressing,” she said and curtsied to Charles. “Good night, Sir Charles.”

  “Good night, Miss Meg,” he said, and hoped she heard his fervent gratitude. By God, he’d been fighting his battle for Sally blindfolded. Now at least he knew what he was up against.

  Charles watched the girl leave with Helena, then raised his eyes to the painting before him. But for once, art, however magnificent, couldn’t compel his attention. Instead his mind turned over every aspect of that infuriating, astonishing, enlightening discussion with Meg.

  He understood so much that had confused him. Sally’s curious mixture of confidence and insecurity. The air of innocence, incongruous in a widow in her thirties. Her unwillingness to speak about her marriage.

  Poor, poor Sally, trapped in such an uncongenial union. If heaven granted him the privilege, Charles would do all he could to ensure that her second marriage was more to her taste.

  If there was a second marriage.

  Meg seemed to think he could persuade Sally to marry him. So did Stone. And tonight at dinner, Helena had offered encouragement.

  He hoped to hell all of them were right. Hungering after Sally in London had been bad enough. Living with her under one roof, however vast, threatened to drive him out of his head with frustration.

  Perhaps he should take Meg’s advice. It might be time to… pounce.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  * * *

  Sally woke late the next morning to the horrid feeling that an unidentified doom was about to crash down over her.

  Then she remembered.

  Last night, Sir Charles and Meg had gone alone into the long gallery. It was the perfect opportunity to propose.

  Her stomach lurched with misery, and she groaned and turned over to bury her head in the pillows. She didn’t want to face the world. She didn’t want to act pleased for the bride, when instead she wanted to be the bride.

  No matter how impossible that was, even had Meg not been his choice.

  Bitter tears stung eyes dry and red after a sleepless night. She’d only fallen into a heavy slumber as dawn broke. Last night during the endless hours of darkness, this bed had felt like a torture chamber. This morning she’d pay over her entire fortune to avoid the necessity of ever leaving it.

  Her early tea on her nightstand was cold on its tray. She hadn’t heard the maid come in, although the girl must have also stayed to stoke the fire blazing merrily in the hearth.

  At least something in this room was merry, Sally thought sourly, as she poured cold tea into her cup. She stared at the unappetizing brew, without making any attempt to drink it.

  She knew she indulged in a massive attack of self-pity, but that cold tea seemed like an omen for the rest of her life.

  A knock at the door, and Caro Nash appeared, bearing another tray. “Good morning, Sally. I’m wondering how you are.”

  Sally blinked away silly, futile tears, but suspected she wasn’t quick enough. “Much better, thank you,” she said in a muffled voice. “You didn’t have to come up.”

  Caro gave a dismissive tsk and approached the bed. “I was worried about you last night. Do you still have the headache?”

  Yes, but it doesn’t compare a jot to the pain in my heart. “It’s nothing. But thank you for asking.”

  “No, don’t get up. Breakfast in bed always makes me feel better.”

  Sally was in no rush to leave her bed, so she slumped against the pillows as Caro set the loaded tray on her knees. “You’re very kind.”

  “I brought you a couple of rolls and some eggs. But I can ring for bacon and sausages and kidneys, if you’d like those, too.”

  The thought of cooked meat made Sally’s stomach cramp with nausea.

  Caro laughed. “Oh, my Lord, you’ve gone quite green. I’m glad I followed my instincts.”

  She poured Sally some coffee and passed it to her, then crossed to fling the curtains apart. She turned back in time to catch Sally flinching away from the stark gray light that flooded the room.

  Caro grimaced in sympathy. “You do look terrible.”

  Her friend had a reputation for frankness bordering on tactlessness, and her unconcealed horror as she surveyed Sally made her laugh, despite how miserable she felt. “Thank you very much.”

  “I’m sorry.” Caro had the grace to blush. “Silas is always telling me to think before I speak. But I only remember—”

  “After you’ve spoken?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sally took a sip of coffee. And wished it was hemlock.

  If only Morwenna or Amy were here. She liked Caro and Helena, but she didn’t feel ready to confide in either of them. Worse, she couldn’t bear to become an object of pity—as she would, if these happily married women knew she’d foolishly settled her affections on the man her niece was to wed.

  Then she remembered that it was better for everyone if she never revealed her heart’s hidden longings. Should Meg ever hear a whisper of Sally’s hopeless infatuation, she’d be so upset—and it might create a rift in the family. Easier all round if Sally just suffered in silence.

  What a grim prospect.

  A concerned expression darkened Caro’s deep blue eyes. “I think you should spend the day in bed with a good book. I remember how exhausting the season can be when one is in the thick of things. It’s still raining. Nobody will be doing anything exciting today.”

  Except celebrating Meg’s engagement to Sir Charles.

  To hide another wince, Sally began to butter one of the crusty rolls, although the thought of food made her gag. It was time to be brave and continue as she meant to go on, no matter what it cost her. She had a lot of practice at that. She spoke the words that murdered all her unworthy hopes.

  “No, I’ll need to come downstairs to give Sir Charles my approval and congratulate the happy couple—and I’m sure Meg wants to discuss arrangements.” She made herself take a bite of her roll.

  Caro looked puzzled as she reached for a roll and tore it in half. “What happy couple?”

  Sa
lly frowned. “Surely Sir Charles proposed last night.” She took another bite, although the bread tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

  Caro bit into her roll and closed her eyes in pleasure. “These are wonderful. Helena’s cook is a treasure.”

  Sally stuck to her guns. “As Meg’s aunt, it’s my duty to appear.”

  “Not a bit of it,” Caro said cheerfully. “Nobody has proposed to anyone. Or at least not as far as I know.”

  Sally frowned, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. “But Sir Charles and Meg went off to look at paintings.”

  “So they did. Are you worried that you’re failing as a chaperone?”

  “They were alone.”

  “They were. But Sir Charles is a gentleman, and anyway, Helena hunted them out before too long. No need to worry about scandal compelling a wedding.” Caro studied her with sharp eyes. “Or were you hoping that there would be a scandal, and our handsome baronet would have to propose?”

  Sally stifled a bleak huff of laughter. If only Caro knew how far she was from the truth. “He’s been courting her for weeks. I thought last night he might at last offer for her.”

  Caro looked surprised. “I didn’t realize.”

  “He’s been in constant attendance.”

  “Yes, but he’s always talking to you. Meg’s away chattering about horses with the boys, or talking about dresses with her friends.”

  “He’s only being polite because I’m Meg’s aunt.”

  “Do you think so?” Caro looked unconvinced. “I thought he’d set his sights on you.”

  Oh, this hurt. It hurt so much. Sally struggled to keep her voice bright, but she clenched her hand, crumbling the roll to pieces. “Don’t be silly. I’m too old for him.”

  Caro’s expression didn’t lighten. “Rubbish.”

  “Now you’re trying to be tactful.”

  “Me? Never.” Caro’s lips quirked with self-deprecating humor. “But if you’re positive he’s interested in Meg, I suppose you know your business best.”

  Could her fears be groundless? At least as far as an engagement last night was concerned. Now she thought about it, Sir Charles would be likely to ask her permission before he proposed. “Are you sure they’re not engaged?”

  Caro took another bite of her roll. “I saw them both at breakfast, and they said not a word about a wedding.”

  “Perhaps they’ve decided to wait until Sir Charles has gained my consent.”

  “Hmm. I still didn’t notice any air of conspiracy. If they’ve agreed to wed, I’m sure I would have picked up something.”

  Of course she would. It seemed Sally had no need to lurk in her room to avoid news of a betrothal. Pointless to be so relieved. After all, the fact that Sir Charles hadn’t proposed last night didn’t mean he wouldn’t propose later. But Sally swallowed the rest of her coffee and poured another cup, then set to work on her eggs.

  “They’ll be cold,” Caro protested. “Let me ring for some more.”

  “They’re fine,” Sally said. She was hungry. She’d barely choked down more than a few mouthfuls of last night’s dinner.

  * * *

  Charles was determined to tell Sally that he harbored no romantic interest in her niece. Then he’d move on to proving that he harbored romantic intentions toward her instead.

  But as the house party headed toward its end, it seemed Sally was equally set on avoiding his company. He learned to curse the sprawling pile of Shelton Abbey. It was too easy for his quarry to elude him.

  Her continuing coldness made him want to snarl. From the first, they’d shared an easy companionship. Now if he entered any room she was in, she found some reason to leave. She could barely endure addressing a few words to him. And when he cornered her into speaking to him, she persisted in addressing the invisible fellow over his right shoulder.

  It was all very well for Meg to counsel pouncing. But a man needed to get within arm’s length of the lady before he could take action.

  He’d led a fortunate life. Everything he wanted fell to him without undue effort. Born the only son to an adoring family with four older sisters. An assured and extravagant fortune. Clever enough to thrive at school. Strong. Athletic. Cultivated. Confident in society.

  The only prize that hadn’t tumbled into his hands merely for the asking was the only person important enough to make every other blessing seem insignificant. Damn it all to hell and back.

  When he’d decided he wanted Sally Cowan, he’d assumed getting her would be quick and uncomplicated. Now several months into his pursuit, he could almost laugh at his delusions. If he wasn’t so devilish unhappy, and thwarted, and bewildered.

  And time, which had seemed so plentiful a couple of months ago, became his enemy. The season had only a few weeks left to run. Then as most of the ton did, Sally returned home for the summer.

  The house party was at an end. Charles stood with Sally and Meg on Shelton Abbey’s front steps, waiting for the carriages to be brought around. West and Helena stood arm in arm behind him, ready to farewell the last of their guests. Caro and Stone and the children had left an hour ago. Brandon and Carey had just ridden away to another house party, a county away in Northamptonshire.

  But instead of Sally’s carriage rolling into view, her coachman rushed up.

  “What is it, Barton?” Sally asked, stepping down to the gravel to meet him. The small group of servants waiting to return to London craned their necks to see what was happening.

  “My lady, I’m sorry, but the right front wheel has splintered. Be blowed if I know how it happened. I checked everything last night, and it was right as rain.”

  “Oh, dear,” Sally said in dismay. “How on earth can that have happened?”

  “I’m at a loss, my lady. But it will take most of the day to set it right, which means we won’t make London tomorrow, even if we get off this afternoon.”

  “Sally, you’re welcome to stay until it’s fixed,” Helena said.

  Meg’s annoyed glance at her hostess strengthened Charles’s conviction that she’d taken the matter of her aunt’s future into her own hands. “But I’m engaged for the Sedgemoors’ ball the night we get back, and I do so want to wear my new blue gown.”

  “If we don’t make it, it’s not the end of the world,” Sally said.

  Meg looked sulky. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Then you’ll hear all about it afterward anyway.” Sally sent Meg a quelling glare, then turned to Helena. “Thank you, but you’ve had your fill of guests this last week.”

  “Not at all,” Helena said.

  West smiled at Sally. “You’re no trouble.”

  Meg shot Charles a meaningful look, confirming his suspicion that the broken wheel was no accident. A long trip back to London? Sally couldn’t avoid him if they were on the road together, and he’d be on the lookout for his chance to get her alone.

  He seized his moment and stepped down to stand beside Sally. “Why don’t you both come with me? I’d appreciate the company. That way, your coachman can make his repairs and leave when he’s ready.”

  Meg’s “Oh, how delightful that would be,” clashed with Sally’s “We couldn’t put you to such trouble.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Charles said smoothly.

  When Sally turned pale, he moved to catch her arm. For a sizzling moment, he touched her. How could she be so cold to him when she felt so warm?

  After these last frustrating days, his patience with her skittishness was rapidly running out. It was time she understood what he wanted of her. Somewhere on this trip, he’d say his piece, and if she sent him away, at least he’d know where he stood.

  “How kind of you to offer, Sir Charles,” Helena said, with a glint in her eye that hinted she was awake to Meg’s strategems and meant to promote them.

  “Helena, you said it would be all right to stay until the repair is made,” Sally said with a desperation that made Charles grit his teeth.

  “Of course you’re welcome, but wh
at a pity for Meg to miss the Sedgemoor ball,” Helena said. “It promises to be the highlight of the season.”

  “Aunt, please?” Meg looked as deprived as a pretty girl wearing a traveling dress in the first stare of fashion could manage.

  “It would be no inconvenience, Lady Norwood,” Charles said. Unwilling admiration at Meg’s cheek vied with curiosity about what she planned.

  “Aunt, it makes the most sense,” Meg said. “What can possibly be your objection?”

  With a hunted expression, Sally pulled out of his hold. On the verge of victory, Charles found it in himself to feel sorry for her. Because what could she say?

  He watched her square her shoulders as if preparing for an ordeal. Had he really fallen so low in her esteem? Or was Meg right that this jumpiness was a good sign? These last days, he’d had plenty of time to contemplate her behavior. If she found him attractive, but was muddle-headed enough to believe he’d chosen Meg, she had every cause to eschew his company.

  He hoped to hell that wasn’t wishful thinking.

  “Oh, I’m silly to hesitate.” She summoned a gallant smile for that invisible cove behind him. “Thank you, Sir Charles. I appreciate your kind offer, and I’ll gratefully accept.”

  “Capital,” he said with a composure that in no way expressed the jubilation in his heart.

  As Sally started to give orders to Barton and her other servants, Charles caught Meg’s eye. He hid a smile when she gave him a surreptitious wink.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  Sally would rather have all her teeth removed with pliers than spend two days on the road, struggling to hide her feelings from Sir Charles.

  Curse that broken wheel, however it had occurred. She hadn’t had her carriage out in the week since she’d arrived, so it must have been damaged on the drive to Shelton Abbey. Which was odd in itself. Barton always did a thorough check on the vehicle once it reached its destination.

  As they covered the miles to London, the day was beautiful and fragrant with late spring. A luggage coach followed with Sir Charles’s valet and Meg and Sally’s maids, but it couldn’t hope to keep up with a natty yellow and black curricle built for speed.