Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

A t the sideboard the next morning, Simon whistled as he piled food on his plate. He'd slept soundly. Why did the expression say like a baby ? He peeked over his shoulder at his best friend. From the looks of him, Drake appeared not to have slept well at all. "Rough night?" Simon asked, adding one more piece of bacon before turning around.

Drake peered up over his cup. Wisps of steam wafted from the dark beverage.

"Is that coffee?"

Drake nodded. Half-moon shadows darkened the skin under his eyes.

"But you hate coffee."

"It keeps me awake. I don't know if it's the coffee itself or the taste." Drake scrunched up his face as he took another sip.

Unfamiliar guilt snaked through Simon's chest. "Are you certain you'll manage without me? Charlotte and I can change our plans." A small voice inside him pleaded, say you don't need me . He pulled in a breath and waited.

Drake shook his head. "Go. I wrote to Mother and Juliana, and Honoria managed a letter to her parents. We expect they will descend upon us any day. Of course, she doesn't expect Colin. Margery's death devastated him. Between my mother and Lady Stratford, they'll have everything running smoothly."

Simon took his seat, breathing a sigh of relief. Thank you, God. He sent an encouraging smile toward his friend, hoping his next words would cheer him. "And no doubt Juliana will keep them busy with the ‘smoothing' as she leaves chaos in her wake."

Drake chuckled and sipped more of his coffee, the distaste on his face not as exaggerated. "Hopefully enough to give Honoria and me some peace. I welcome their help, but . . ."

"Say no more. Family is wonderful—in small amounts. They won't all be staying with you, will they?"

"No. Mother and Juliana will, but I expect Lord and Lady Stratford will be more comfortable in their own home here in London. Even so, they will probably be underfoot most of the day—no doubt asking a multitude of questions about your marriage if you were here." He yawned, then sipped again. "This stuff isn't so bad once you get used to it."

"You are looking more alive than dead, so perhaps it's working, too."

Drake's famous one-sided smile tipped his lips. "You wait. When you and Charlotte have your first child, I'll be first in line to note your deathly appearance."

The mention of having children twisted the earlier guilt into something worse—deprivation. "Unless things have changed, children don't magically appear," he muttered, more to himself than Drake. Chances of him getting Charlotte with child were bleak. But the kiss had been promising . . .

"You mean you still haven't . . ."

"Haven't what?" Charlotte breezed into the room in a cloud of—wait. She'd changed her perfume. Notes of vanilla tickled his nose, lighter and fresher than her usual lilac .

Simon exchanged a glance with Drake, pleading with Drake to remain silent.

"Paid the staff's wages for the month," Simon lied. He met Drake's amused expression. "No, we haven't. But I expect we will shortly."

In the process of pouring herself some tea, Charlotte halted and spun toward him, her brow furrowing in that too familiar manner. "We? Is someone else responsible for paying the staff's salaries besides you?"

"No. I'm responsible."

"You said, ‘We haven't.'"

Leave it to the woman to pick up on the nuance he'd meant only for Drake. She was too intelligent for her own good—or rather, for Simon's.

Drake chuckled, lifting his coffee once more. "You were speaking metaphorically, were you not, Simon? Since, in reality, I pay the staff's wages, but you disburse them." Amusement danced in his friend's amber eyes.

Simon wanted to punch him—as a friend, of course. In his own estimation, he was the least aggressive man he knew, with Drake coming in a close second. Why fight when you could have fun?

Charlotte took a seat several places away from him, one slice of toast and a blob of jam on her plate.

"It's a long journey. Perhaps you should eat a little mo—" His mouth snapped shut at the icy glare Charlotte delivered. "Or perhaps not."

Drake chuckled. "You're learning," he whispered.

After delicately chewing one tiny bite of toast, Charlotte asked, "How is Honoria this morning?"

"Eager to get out of bed. Ashton promised to come by today to see how she is faring," Drake said.

"I'm glad I'm not a woman," Simon quipped.

Charlotte ignored him. "And Lady Kitty? "

"Making her presence known every few hours. Frampton said we could set our clocks by her cries."

"I'd love to see her and say goodbye to Honoria before we leave," Charlotte said.

"Honoria asked for the very thing when she shooed me out of the room earlier this morning." Drake rose. "But now, I should get back to her."

Simon thought he would never leave.

Once Drake disappeared, Charlotte said, "I wouldn't say this to his face, but he looks dreadful."

Simon pulled back in surprise. "When have you failed to deliver an insult—especially if it's the truth?"

"I don't insult people I like." A ghost of a smile crossed her lips, hidden quickly by her teacup.

"Ouch." Simon threw a hand to his forehead. He cracked one eye, catching the twinkle in hers. "You should smile more often, especially when it reaches your eyes."

The twinkle vanished. "I don't have to do anything you tell me to." In a huff, she rose. "I'll be ready at ten, after I say goodbye to Honoria and Kitty."

He dropped his head in his hands. It was going to be a long journey to Wiltshire.

Charlotte did indeed say goodbye to Honoria and little Kitty, holding the infant in her arms again as Simon taught her. She'd never imagined herself one to become all soft over babies, but when Kitty grasped her finger with her tiny fist, a strange—not uncomfortable—twinge squeezed in her chest.

"Remember your promise." Honoria's gaze flitted to Simon, who stood nearby.

The cad's lips pressed together as if holding back a smile.

Lips .

Kisses—one in particular came to mind.

Alone in a carriage with Simon for hours on end? It was going to be a long journey to Wiltshire.

Drake reassured them both again, and veritably pushed them out the door. "Go. Get to know each other better. Come back happy."

A tall order indeed. Charlotte never regarded Drake as an optimist.

As the carriage bounced along the Bath Road, Charlotte tried to read her book—tried being the operative word.

She huffed in disbelief at the part where Elizabeth first sees Pemberley—and by association, falls in love with Mr. Darcy. Shallow girl.

Simon moved from his seat across from her to sit next to her, peering over her shoulder at her book. A few moments later, he moved back to the opposite seat, only to repeat the process multiple times.

"Would you please sit still?"

His knee bounced endlessly even when he stared out the window of the carriage.

"And cease that knee jiggling." She gave a harrumph and turned back to Elizabeth's tour of Pemberley.

Simon banged on the carriage roof, and it slowed to a halt.

Charlotte peeked out the window, expecting to have arrived at a posting inn. Country road stretched as far as she could see. "What are you doing? Why are we stopping?"

Without answering her, Simon bounded from the carriage, leaving the door swinging back and forth.

The footman riding on the back descended and held out his hand. "Do you wish to exit, my lady?"

She most certainly did. If nothing else, to see what her buffoon of a husband was up to.

She expected to see him off in the tree line, using the greenery as a necessary. Instead, he was running down the road .

"What's happening, my lady?" Rose called from her seat atop the carriage.

That was precisely what Charlotte wanted to know. "What on earth is he doing?"

The footman shook his head. "Not quite sure, my lady."

Seated next to Rose, Simon's valet, Mr. Brown, said, "He's done it a few times before when we've traveled to and from Hartridge House and London. He runs for a while, then turns and runs back."

That settled it. She had officially married a madman.

"How far are we from a posting inn?"

The footman asked the driver, who stated it was approximately another two miles to Maidenhead. Thank goodness it was still daylight, and they would be traveling farther before spending the night. No doubt Simon would make some obscene joke about staying overnight in the unfortunately named town.

"Will we spend the night at Reading?" she asked the footman, who relayed the question to the driver, who in turn confirmed, barring any unforeseen circumstances, that was their destination for the day's journey.

Almost a speck on the horizon, Simon finally turned and headed back.

Wind blew at Charlotte's bonnet, catching underneath the brim and tugging it backward. She studied the sky, grateful the clouds were white and puffy rather than dark and foreboding.

Simon slowed his pace as he approached, then bent over, his hands on his knees, panting heavily. "That felt wonderful."

Charlotte shook her head, hoping the bonnet was still firmly seated. "You are?—"

"Incorrigible. Really, Charlotte, you need to expand your vocabulary."

She huffed. "I was going to say out of your mind." Then she grasped the footman's offered hand and climbed back into the carriage.

The stretch between the impromptu stop and Maidenhead proceeded without incident—and without Simon's constant restlessness. Once they'd changed horses at the posting inn and had some refreshment, they continued their journey in relative peace.

Indeed, once he settled himself back in the carriage next to her, he leaned his head against the squabs and fell asleep, snoring softly.

Oddly, the sound didn't annoy her as she expected, but rather lulled her into a state of drowsiness herself. Even as she tried to read how Mr. Darcy explained Mr. Wickham's dastardly plans for Georgiana, Charlotte's eyelids grew heavy, and the print on the pages fuzzy.

Before she knew it, the carriage had come to a halt again, and she opened her eyes to find Simon grinning down at her like a fool, her head resting on his—ahem, broad—shoulder.

"Sleep well?"

She jerked upright. "I was simply resting."

He laughed. "You were snoring." He held up a hand. "A most delightful little snore, mind you." He tilted his head and pointed a finger at her lips. "Although you do have a little drool right there."

She slapped his finger away and quickly swiped at her mouth, then peeked down at her white gloves for a telltale sign of moisture—and found none.

"You, sir, are a liar." She scooted away from him, only to have him follow her. His thigh brushed against her, but already pressed against the side of the carriage, she could go no farther.

"Not about the snoring." He bumped his shoulder against hers. "Relax, Charlotte. Lots of women snore. It's not something unique to men."

"And how would you kno—?" Oh .

He gave an insouciant shrug but said nothing.

Curse the rogue. How could she forget about his dalliances? Did he think knowledge of his experience would win her over? Inwardly, she grinned, anticipating his disappointment.

Light within the carriage dimmed as dusk descended, making it impossible for her to continue reading. Even staring out the window was pointless when only blackness remained.

Pulling out his pocket watch, Simon said, "We should be reaching Reading soon. If we rise early tomorrow, we will make it to Swindon by late afternoon." He stretched and yawned. "If memory serves, the inn has soft beds."

"Separate rooms," she said through gritted teeth.

A flash of disappointment flickered across his face, so brief she wondered if she had imagined it. "And here, I believed we were making progress after our kiss last night."

Why did he have to bring up the kiss? Her lips tingled with the memory of his pressed against hers. Yet, she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how he affected her, and she balled her hands into fists. "You flatter yourself—as usual."

"And you delude yourself." He shrugged again. "So be it. You can only lie to yourself for so long."

The carriage slowed, and the urge to jump out and race away as he did earlier gripped her with such ferocity, she grabbed at the cushioned seat instead, holding herself in place.

He exited first and held out his hand to assist her descent, but she refused. Unfortunately, when she stepped down, she stumbled on the uneven ground and tilted precariously.

With unmatched speed, his arm wrapped around her waist, righting and stabilizing her. "You're safe. I won't let you fall." His whispered breath tickled her neck.

Safe? She hadn't felt safe for the last twenty-three years of her life, which, considering she was nine-and-twenty, was an exceedingly long time. Long enough to sense warning signs and slip into her armor of self-protection at the first hint of danger. In truth, she wore it almost constantly. Yet, something not only in Simon's words, but his tone led her to believe—oddly—it was true.

It was a foreign feeling, like being in a strange country and not knowing the customs and rules of behavior.

Simon, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms about forging into the heart of the unknown, dangerous or not.

Pushing the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind, she followed him into the inn.

"Good evening, my good man!" Simon greeted the innkeeper with a dazzling smile. Did candlelight actually glint off the man's teeth? "My wife, my servants, and I require your best rooms for the night."

Simon signed the register while the innkeeper retrieved the keys.

"Our best is number three, sir. For you and your good lady." The innkeeper laid down three keys on the counter.

"We shall require one more room," Charlotte said.

The man frowned. "Beg pardon, my lady?" He pointed at each key as if she were an imbecile. "One for your man servants, one for your lady's maid, and one for you and your husband."

"That is unacceptable. My husband and I require separate rooms."

When the man shook his head, Charlotte's stomach dipped. "I have no more rooms."

Simon continued to grin like a dolt. "It's fine, my good fellow. We will make do." After handing Mr. Brown and Rose the keys for rooms four and five, he took Charlotte by the elbow. "Upstairs, now," he whispered. "Don't make a scene."

Charlotte jerked out of Simon's grasp. "Perhaps you can stay with the other men." However, when Mr. Brown opened number four and Charlotte peeked inside, the bed only appeared large enough for two people, and neither Simon, Mr. Brown, nor the footman were small men .

"I will not ask one of these fine men to sleep on the floor. Not when a perfectly good bed that will hold two married people awaits in the other room. Unless you would rather share it with Rose and allow me to take number five?"

Share a room with a servant! Who did Simon think she was? Honoria?! Charlotte darted a glance at Rose, who seemed no more eager to share a room with her employer than Charlotte did with her.

To assist in her decision, Simon opened number three. Lushly appointed for a posting inn, it boasted a large canopied bed, a small settee, and even a writing desk. A cozy fire burned in the hearth as if waiting only for her. She exhaled a sigh.

"Very well." She chewed her bottom lip—a nasty habit she'd been punished for as a child. But the settee gave her an idea.

Simon dropped his valise on the bed. "I'll go request some food for all of us while Rose makes you comfortable."

He stepped out, closing the door behind him with a sound click .

All Charlotte could concentrate on was the bed.

Rose cast her gaze down to the floor, her mouth curving suspiciously.

"I can see you thinking, Rose. But you would be advised to keep whatever it is to yourself. Now ready me for bed."

"Yes, my lady." And although Rose turned around to unpack Charlotte's nightrail from her traveling bag, the smile in her voice was unmistakable.

Yes. The settee would be a perfect solution.