Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"He's regaining consciousness, Charlotte. He's back with us," Charlotte's father said, beckoning Charlotte to the bedside.

She had been asleep, dozing in a chair next to the window in the bedroom at Burntop Heights, but now she sprang to her feet and hurried to Jacob's bedside. The doctor had done an excellent job of bandaging his wounds, and as Jacob opened his eyes, Charlotte took his good hand in hers, smiling down at him as he looked up at her with a confused expression on his face.

"Charlotte? What's happening?" he asked.

"It's all right. You're at Burntop Heights, my father's house near Liverpool. You fainted, just as the customs officials found us. There's a lot to tell you," Charlotte said, glancing at her father, who nodded.

"Don't excite him, Charlotte. He'll need a great deal more rest," he said, but Jacob now tried to sit up, grimacing at the obvious pain he was feeling.

"Please, Jacob, lie still. It's all right. I'll tell you everything," Charlotte said, for a lot had happened since Jacob had lost consciousness behind the empty crates in the alleyway by the warehouses.

It had been almost a day since Charlotte and Jacob had been rescued by the customs officials. There had been a fight. Lord Baxter and the other smugglers had been arrested after the sound of their gunshots had been heard across the docks.

Charlotte had told them everything, and when her father's warehouse had been searched, the truth had been discovered. The Earl of Chester had been found smuggling tobacco, cognac, brandy, and tea. He had been using the legitimate business of Charlotte's father as a front to do so.

"But… I don't understand. Where's Lord Baxter? Didn't he…" Jacob said, his words trailing off as Charlotte shook her head.

"No… it's all right. Let me explain," Charlotte replied, and now she told him how the discovery of the smuggling ring had been made, and more importantly, how her father had finally come to believe her.

Charlotte's mother and father had initially been shocked when Charlotte and the unconscious Earl of Swadlincote had been returned to Burntop Heights. Charlotte's mother had scolded her, and her father had demanded where she had been, telling her Lord Baxter would be summoned at once.

But the custom's official had explained everything, and Charlotte's father had been forced to renege on his previous conclusions, finally allowing Charlotte to tell her version of events. To tell the truth.

"Then you're safe," Jacob said, when Charlotte's explanation had come to an end, and Charlotte nodded.

"Yes, I'm safe. And so are you. But you need time to recover," Charlotte replied.

"Charlotte, I…did I tell you why I came?" Jacob asked, and Charlotte blushed.

He had told her why he had come. The conversation of the previous day was imprinted on her mind. She had thought it over a dozen times since his words, his sentiment, and her own feelings.

"You did, yes. But, if it's not the truth…" Charlotte said, fearing he was about to tell her it had been a moment of madness.

But now, he squeezed her hand, smiling up at her as he breathed a sigh of relief.

"And did I tell you… did I tell you about Olivia?" he asked, and Charlotte nodded.

It had not surprised her to learn Olivia had been the source of the scurrilous rumors about them. She did not understand why Olivia had done as she had done. But jealousy was a powerful emotion, and one Charlotte could only assume Olivia had been overcome by.

"I know, and I'm, glad you've come to see her for what she truly is," Charlotte said, and Jacob nodded.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte. I don't know why… well, it was cruel of me. I hadn't expected… well… to feel like this," he said, and Charlotte smiled.

"Nor had I," she replied.

The feelings now embedded in her heart had come as an unexpected joy. When her father had first told her of the arrangement with the earl, it had seemed far from romantic. But little by little, with the discovery of shared interests, and finding herself at ease in Jacob's company, Charlotte had found herself open to the possibility of something more. But with something of an irony, it had been their forced separation that had led to the realization of her true feelings. Absence had made the heart grow fonder, and Charlotte had come to realize just how strongly she felt. She had fallen in love with the man she had been forbidden from even seeing.

"Then… what are we to do?" Jacob asked.

Charlotte had almost forgotten her father was standing next to her, but now she turned to him, looking at him with a questioning gaze. He had apologized for so readily believing what Olivia had written, and for forcing the matter of marriage to the Earl of Chester. Her father had admitted he had been blinded to the faults of his business partner, never for a moment believing him to be dishonest. Now that the truth was revealed, the way lay open for happiness to prevail if only Charlotte's parents would allow it.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte. I've already said it, but I'll say it again. I can see you're both sincere. Any man who would travel the length of the country with the intention of declaring his feelings in such a way is a man to be admired. And I know, too, I was wrong to judge your actions based solely on the vicious words of a letter. I've had to work my whole life long for what men like you, Jacob, take for granted. I couldn't risk losing my reputation so readily. But I was in error, and I can only ask for your forgiveness," he said.

Charlotte glanced down at Jacob and smiled. She knew it would not be easy. There would be those who would still believe Olivia's rumors, and those who would look down on a marriage between old and new money. But none of that mattered. Not if their feelings for one another were sincere.

"You have it, sir. And I'm sorry if my actions have led to difficulties for you. I didn't realize what I was getting involved in. But…" Jacob said, his words trailing off, as Charlotte's father shook his head.

"Difficulties? Not at all. You've saved me from disaster. You've saved us all from disaster," he said, glancing at Charlotte, who smiled.

But a thought now struck her. The question of what would happen next. Was there still to be an arranged marriage? They had become friends, more than friends. Yet, could what was now between them become something more again? Did Jacob want to marry her?

"I didn't do anything. I just… well, I knew I couldn't leave Charlotte to her fate. It was my fate, too. I had to change it for the both of us. None of what was written about us was true. Olivia admitted as much and…" he began, pausing suddenly, as he took a deep breath.

Charlotte kneeled at the bedside, squeezing his hand in hers.

"The doctor says you need rest, Jacob. None of this matters now," she said, but Jacob shook his head.

"No, but it does matter, Charlotte. It matters because I love you, and I can't hold back from telling you so, and from asking your father… well, please, Mr. Davidson, won't you reconsider and allow us to marry?" he asked.

Charlotte's heart skipped a beat. It was the strangest of proposals, and yet the proposal had already been made. There had been an arrangement, and the arrangement had been broken. It was up to her father what happened next, and now she looked up at him imploringly. Her father smiled. He did not often smile, but when he did–when he really smiled–his face seemed to light up, and now he laughed.

"Who am to stand in the way of the two of you? I'll say it again, Charlotte–I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't trust you. I thought you were na?ve. But I realize now I was wrong. And as for you, my Lord, I owe you an apology, too. I thought you were like so many other aristocrats, and so many men, if it comes to that–an arrogant rake. What a fool I've been. But I see it clearly now–I see your sincerity," he said, and Charlotte smiled.

"Then you'll allow us to marry, will you, father?" she asked, and her father nodded.

"Yes, Charlotte. You have my blessing. And perhaps more importantly, you have the assurance of your mother's blessing, too. If there's any doubt involved, I'll talk her into it," he said.

Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief, and now she looked at Jacob, who also seemed relieved. He smiled at her, and she squeezed his hand in hers.

"There's nothing to hold us back now," she said, and he nodded.

"Nothing at all," he said.

But another thought now struck her, and Charlotte turned again to her father, having one further request to make of him.

"There's the matter of Sara, too, father. I hope you don't still blame her for being a poor chaperone, do you?" she asked, and her father shook his head.

"No, Charlotte, I don't. And I'm sorry if you think I treated your maid badly. I'll see to it she's reinstated–though it won't be long until she becomes maid to a countess, rather than a merchant's daughter," he said, and Charlotte laughed.

It seemed a remarkable thing to think, and yet it was true, too. Charlotte was to be the Countess of Swadlincote. She was to have a title, and wealth, and status–she would have everything her heart desired, and yet there had only ever been one thing her heart desired, and now she had it in abundance.

"Oh, I don't care about all that. I'd be happy as the wife of a pauper if I was in love. And I am," Charlotte said, still holding Jacob's hand in hers.

Her father smiled.

"I'm proud of you, Charlotte. You didn't back down–you were strong. I admire that quality. I always thought… well, I thought reading all those books meant you lived your life in a dream world. But perhaps the characters helped you understand more about real life than I believed possible," he said.

Charlotte nodded. He was right–a book was a companion, its characters new friends–or enemies. To read the story of another person was to inhabit a different perspective. Their triumphs could be your own, their failings a warning. Charlotte was glad to think she had learned something from the books she had read, but she was even gladder to think her father now saw the merit in her having done so.

"Then you won't be so judgmental of my writing either, father?" she asked, and her father smiled.

"No, Charlotte, I won't. If you want to write–and if your new husband allows it–I won't make any further comments. Though I haven't forgotten our wager," he said, raising his eyebrows.

Charlotte had forgotten the wager made between herself and her father, but now she shook her head and smiled.

"There's still time, isn't there?" she said, and her father nodded.

"Before the end of the year. That's what we agreed, isn't it? If you can publish your novel by then, I'll never utter another word against your writing. I look forward to your proving me wrong. But we should allow Jacob some rest. Come along," her father said, beckoning Charlotte to follow.

But Jacob gripped her hand a little tighter, shaking his head as she turned to say goodbye.

"Please, Mr. Davidson. Might Charlotte be permitted to stay? I know we're without a chaperone, but… well, given the circumstances," he said, and Charlotte's father nodded.

"I think I can allow it, yes," he replied, and Charlotte smiled and pulled a chair up to the bedside.

Her father left them alone, and now Charlotte once again took Jacob's hand in hers as he smiled up at her from the pillows.

"Promise me you'll keep writing, Charlotte. I know you were having difficulties, but I believe in you. You've got a real talent," he said.

To her relief, Charlotte had found the bag with her manuscript in it discarded on the clifftop path where she had been abducted. The novel was nearly finished, and now she was gripped with a sudden desire to write–inspired by what had happened to her, and wanting Isabella's story to end in that same, happy way.

"I will. Actually, I was going to write while you slept," Charlotte said, and Jacob smiled.

"I'd be pleased if you did. Will you read it to me?" he asked, and Charlotte nodded.

"Why don't you close your eyes and I'll read you the last few pages. I'm almost finished," Charlotte said.

She had the manuscript in her bag, and Jacob nodded, closing his eyes as Charlotte took out the pages, clearing her throat as she began to read.

"The laird looked at her and smiled. It was not often he smiled, but when he did, his eyes sparkled, like the sunlight reflecting from the loch. Taking Isabella's hand in his, he drew her into his embrace, and Isabella breathed a sigh of relief, knowing it was over.

He had told her he loved her–the lowly shepherdess, safe in the arms of the mighty laird. Happiness lay before them; a happiness Isabella had never imagined for herself. They came from such different worlds, and yet now they were united in the simple fact of love–a love that had been tested and proved, refined and purified like gold and silver in the fire.

Closing her eyes, Isabella allowed herself to imagine what the future might hold, and in Hamish's arms, she knew it was a future they would share together," Charlotte read, and when she looked up, she found Jacob fast asleep, and it was as though Isabella's hopes were her own, their stories as one, for each had found the happiness they deserved.