Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

T he next morning, Charlotte stared out the window of her bedchamber. Dark clouds hovered, reflecting her mood. The gray skies scowled in ominous portent. Her hand trembled as she released the curtain and whispered a prayer it wouldn't thunder and lightning. At least, should it storm, the daylight kept the night's darker terrors at bay.

When Honoria had married the duke last summer, Lady Stratford kissed her daughter and said, "Happy the bride the sun shines upon."

Charlotte cast another glance out the window, and a derisive laugh escaped that the building storm forecasted her fate.

Despite Honoria's insistence that they could find another way to salvage her reputation, Charlotte knew accepting Simon's offer was the only way. And even marriage wouldn't undo the damage The Muckraker had already wrought. Lady Cartwright had been in Madame Treadwell's when Charlotte went for her last fitting, and the woman had given Charlotte the cut direct.

Lady Cartwright! The very woman who orchestrated a compromise between her own daughter and the Duke of Ashton. The nerve! The audacity!

Well, Charlotte would show them all. She'd hold her head high and act like nothing had happened.

She sighed. Who was she fooling? They'd laugh behind her back that she had married below her station, that she had been so disgraced she had no other choice than to marry a commoner—and a rake.

"Charlotte?"

She turned at Honoria's soft voice. Goodness, her friend looked exhausted. She held a hand to her back, her slight frame bulging with the weight of the child inside her.

Charlotte worried for her friend. "Are you sure you want to attend this debacle?"

"There is still time to change your mind if you want."

Charlotte shook her head. "No. It isn't like I would make a good match with someone else now. And Mr. Beckham has promised to respect all my wishes. He even put it in writing as I asked." An ironic smile tugged at her lips. "And at least he's not Lord Middlebury. Nash told me about the scheme Beatrix Townsend concocted to get out of that mess. Of course, Nash played a huge part in it. Which he was quite proud of. And that worked out well for her."

"Well, then we best get you to the church. Drake will accompany Simon, but I thought I would ride in the carriage with you. Miranda will meet us there."

As they turned to exit the room, Simon's father appeared. "Pardon, ladies. Lady Charlotte, I wondered if you would do me the honor of escorting you to church and walking you down the aisle. I'm not your father, but"—he splayed his hands out—"I will be your father-in-law."

Something strange lodged in Charlotte's throat. She'd hardly said two words to Simon's family at supper the previous evening. Granted, her lack of participation didn't deter the rest of them from chattering excitedly. Joyous exuberance emanated from them. Even Frannie, the quiet one, cracked a few jokes at Simon's expense, which—to Charlotte's further annoyance—he received in good fun. Such family love and acceptance was foreign to Charlotte, and although they tried to pull her into the conversation, she felt like an orphaned child outside in the cold, peeking in through a window and gazing upon a warm hearth and full table.

No one brought up Roland again, but Charlotte felt him lurking in the shadows. And yet, Mr. Beckham was offering to act in Roland's stead. Why would he offer such kindness?

Suspicion colored her words. "Did Simon ask you to do this?" And more importantly, if he did, what would he want in return?

"Don't be angry with him on your wedding day, my lady. He only mentioned that your brother was unable to attend, and you had no other male relative available."

Unable. Simon had tempered the truth, but in Mr. Beckham's eyes she could see he knew. The mass in her throat grew, and she pushed it down so she could speak. "That would be lovely, Mr. Beckham."

"Oh, and before I forget." Mr. Beckham reached into his pocket and pulled out a strand of pearls. "From your future husband—a wedding gift. He mentioned you have been unable to locate your jewels."

Unable again . She had no jewels, not any longer.

He held them out. "May I?"

It was a generous and thoughtful gesture. Certainly not one she expected for a marriage of convenience. She nodded and turned her back to him, allowing him to slip the necklace around her and fasten it.

Charlotte traced her fingers over the lustrous pearls, noting their fine quality. Simple and elegant, something she would have chosen for herself. How did he know they would be so perfect?

"Oh, Charlotte, they're lovely," Honoria said .

"Almost as lovely as the bride." Mr. Beckham smiled and held out his arm. "Now, shall we proceed? You have an anxious bridegroom awaiting you."

As she slipped her hand over his arm, her gaze flitted to Honoria, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. "None of that, Your Grace. Weddings are supposed to be joyous occasions."

If only it truly was.

"And no Your Grace , today, Charlotte. At least not when we're alone. Today we are simply friends and equals."

As they settled in the carriage, Mr. Beckham regaled them with stories of Simon as a boy. Mischief followed him everywhere, and with five younger sisters, he directed the majority of his pranks toward them. And none of it surprised Charlotte.

"Once," Mr. Beckham said, wiping tears from his eyes from the last account of ridiculous behavior, "Simon snuck into Rebecca's room at night and tied her braids to the bedpost."

"Oh, my goodness!" Honoria said, her hand held over her mouth to hold in her laughter.

"Did you beat him?" Charlotte asked.

The man laughed. Laughed.

Then his eyes widened. "Good gracious. You're serious."

"Well, yes. Didn't you punish him?" Punishment was Charlotte's close companion as a child—regardless if she deserved it. She could recall times when she'd received a beating simply for good measure after one of her brothers had done something naughty.

"Punish?" Mr. Beckham seemed to consider the word. "In a matter of speaking. Disciplined, for certain. For Simon, staying still was torture. As you no doubt have noticed about your future husband, he is a whirling dervish. The worst sentence for him was to be kept in his room for a day with nothing to do except read. "

Honoria seemed to take it all in. "That might explain his disdain for books."

"Oh, he doesn't hate them," Mr. Beckham continued. "He just prefers doing rather than reading about it. There was nothing worse for him than to read about the adventures of knights and not be able to run outside and pretend he was the one fighting dragons and winning the fair maiden."

"And racing chariots, no doubt," Charlotte said, remembering how he drove the phaeton like a demon.

Mr. Beckham reached across the seat and patted Charlotte's hand. "You do understand him! And now he has won his fair maiden and is off to start a new adventure."

Before Charlotte could respond, the carriage slowed, coming to a halt before the church. Fat drops of rain plopped against the pavement and church steps in greeting. She felt numb, empty inside, as her gaze locked on the church doors where her future awaited.

Rather than an adventure, Charlotte envisioned her upcoming marriage as another punishment for something she hadn't done. And like Simon, sitting in his room relegated to reading rather than doing, she felt trapped in a prison of someone else's making.

Simon paced the area next to the transept. Rain battered against the church windows with angry fists. A warning? His skin felt tight and his hands clammy.

Drake huffed. "Will you stand still for one moment? You've pulled your cravat loose from tugging at it."

As Drake repaired the damage, Simon's fingers tapped restlessly against his leg. "Do you think she's here?"

Drake gave a curt nod. Whether it was from satisfaction that he'd fixed the neckcloth or in answer to Simon's question, Simon wasn't sure, until he said, "Honoria will see to it."

When Simon had explained everything that had transpired, Drake didn't even question Simon's plan to marry Charlotte. "You must, Simon. It's the right thing to do. I'm proud of you. I know how hard that was for you."

Simon forced a smile. "It's not so bad. She hates me. I hate her. I'll probably be dead in a year or so and leave her a wealthy widow. She wins."

"Don't say that! And why didn't you tell me you were on the verge of another attack when we left for Somerset?"

Simon arched a brow at his friend. "Because Honoria needed you more than I did."

Ignoring his own admonition not to fidget, Drake ran a hand around his neck. "But if I'd been there, this wouldn't have happened."

Simon refused to think about what ifs. Looking back accomplished nothing. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one viewed it, the vicar appeared and motioned Simon and Drake to take their places.

Drake's besotted gaze followed Honoria as she took her seat in the front next to Anne Weatherby, and a bittersweet longing washed over Simon. He never considered himself a romantic, but at that moment, he wished more than anything that his marriage would be one like his friends'—happy and filled with love.

His mother and sisters beamed at him from the other side of the church.

Inside, he felt hollow, as if someone had reached inside and scooped out his intestines.

Until the doors of the nave opened and Lady Miranda made her way to the front of the church. Simon held his breath, waiting for Charlotte to appear. A long moment followed before she entered the church.

Air still trapped in his lungs, he could only stare. Dazzling in her new gown, she strode forward on his father's arm. The cream-colored fabric complemented her dark coloring to perfection. And she wore the pearls he gave her.

Surely, that was a good sign.

She didn't smile when he caught her eye, but she didn't glare at him either. She simply appeared—resigned. He finally let the air out of his lungs. When his father placed Charlotte's hand in his, the only one to express any emotion was his father, who appeared on the verge of tears. The man no doubt expected a grandson within a year.

Each recited their vows without stumbling. Although Simon's I will rang louder than Charlotte's, neither hesitated, and Simon reluctantly admired her strength to face the situation head-on. It was as if he were concluding one of the complicated business arrangements he'd negotiated for Drake.

Her eyes widened for a second when he slipped the ring on her finger. He'd chosen a perfect opal set in a simple gold band flanked by two sapphires. The opal reminded him of Charlotte, multicolored, unpredictable and changing, but breathtakingly beautiful.

The hollow sensation returned, this time located in his chest, but he brushed it aside as soon as the ceremony ended and friends and family descended upon them, huddled under umbrellas outside the church.

Among them, Drake's Aunt Kitty, the Countess of Gryffin, who had received wind of it from Drake, leaned upon her cane some distance from his family.

"Kiss her, Simon!" Georgie said, while his mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Now, Georgie. Such things are private." Simon peeked toward Charlotte, expecting to see a look of horror on her face.

She shrugged. "It's fine. They expect it."

He leaned in and whispered, "A chaste peck then." Such was his intention, but when he brushed his lips lightly against hers, tingles shot through him. Suddenly, he wanted more. He threaded his umbrella-free arm around her waist and deepened the kiss. Fevered visions of getting her out of that lovely dress raced through his mind.

Perhaps he was having another malaria attack? He pulled back, surprised she hadn't pushed him away first. "My apologies."

Her dark eyes widened and appeared almost black as she stared at him. She lifted a hand to her lips—which had captured his attention to the omission of all else. Pink bloomed on her cheeks. "It's fine. Just don't let it happen again."

The slow smile that had sent many ladies into a swoon crept across his face. Oh, she very much wanted it to happen again.

As did he.

What in the world was that? Charlotte resisted brushing at her tingling lips again. Everyone watched them with interest. The Countess of Gryffin's gray brows rose. Mrs. Beckham and several of Simon's sisters—she couldn't tell which—sighed.

And Simon, the rake, grinned like the buffoon he was.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," she whispered. "If that was a chaste kiss, I shudder at what you think of as carnal."

He laughed, the cad. "I might enjoy making you shudder."

Oh. Oh! "You, sir, are incorrigible."

He placed his hat on his head and gave it a little tap at the top. "So you've said. Repeatedly. Might I suggest you expand your vocabulary? I understand the duke has a magnificent dictionary in his library."

The countess hobbled toward them. "Should I wish you joy or condolences? I believe I've never witnessed a more somber bride. And you, sir!" She smacked Simon on the arm and lowered her voice. "I read that gossip rag. If even half of it is true, I'm ashamed of you. But at least you're doing the right thing by the girl."

"Thank you?" Simon said, more question than statement.

The countess's gaze softened as she raked it over Charlotte. "If anyone can get this rascal to toe the line, I believe it's you. He needs a firm hand."

Simon chortled a laugh, and Charlotte suspected he'd imagined something inappropriate. She had grown accustomed to such reactions from her brother, Nash.

Holding out his arm, Simon led her to—of all things—the phaeton.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. It's raining. Don't you have another conveyance? Or perhaps I can ride back to Pendrake House with Honoria."

He adopted the most innocent of expressions, belying the rake within. "I have the top up."

"It's still open in front. We'll get soaked."

"Not the way I drive. We'll race right through the raindrops."

She snorted her disbelief. "That's what I'm afraid of." She folded her arms over her chest. "No."

"I promise. I'll behave." He waggled his dark brows. "It will be my wedding gift to you."

"What? To frighten me into an early grave? A wet grave, I might add."

His only answer was to laugh and hand her into the carriage of death.

Settling next to her, he picked up the ribbons and gave them a snap. "Now that we're alone, are we going to talk about that kiss?"

It was precisely what she didn't want to talk about. But the memory of the kiss burned her lips.