Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

S imon flicked the line in the water, jerking his rod aggressively and hoping to catch at least one fish. He turned as footsteps squelched against the rain-soaked ground behind him. Had Charlotte sought him out? He pushed down the disappointment at his father's welcoming wave.

"Are you trying to entice the fish with your lure or beat them over the head and knock them out?" His father stepped into the calf-deep water beside him and began expertly flitting his line, the rhythmic snap of his wrist causing the lure to dance across the surface of the river.

Simon had tried to emulate his father's technique for years, the movement so graceful it appeared effortless. Perhaps he had been a bit too vigorous in his technique. He blamed it on Charlotte.

Staring ahead at the rushing water, his father said, "Surprised to see you here. Thought you and your new wife would be holed up in the cottage for days on end. Is everything well?"

Simon grunted, the sound reminding him of Charlotte's response earlier that morning .

"Hmph," his father grunted back. "Your mother thinks I don't know."

Warning rang in Simon's head, and he snapped to attention. "Know what?"

"I saw that scandal sheet she tried to hide from me, detailing the reason you married Lady Charlotte." Attention still on the river, he added, "Is it true?"

"Partially, although that rag twisted it into something sordid."

His father shook his head. "Gossip can ruin lives. And regardless of the circumstances, you did the right thing by your wife. I'm proud of you." His line reeled out, and the rod bowed. "Got one!"

How could the man be there less than five minutes and catch something when Simon had worked his line for nearly an hour without a nibble? "Don't lose him."

"Ha!" His father shot him an exasperated look. "Who taught whom? Grab the net."

"It's a big one! Reel him in, Pa! Don't let the line snap!" Excited as he was when he was a boy, Simon watched his father's expertise, giving the fish enough line to run and exhaust itself, and then gradually reeling it in. Simon scooped him up in the net. "He's a beauty. But it's not Gus."

"No. Close though, maybe his brother."

"Is the rascal still alive?"

His father shrugged as he removed the fish from the hook. "Dinner or set the poor bastard free? What do you think your wife would want?"

Simon froze at the last question. What was his father getting at? "Why do I have the feeling you're not talking about the fish?"

His father chuckled. "Because you've always been a smart lad."

The steady fall of raindrops creating concentric circles on the river's surface slowed. Bright sunlight broke through the clouds, sparkling like diamonds on the water .

Peering up, Simon shielded his eyes. "Looks like you made the only possible catch today. Set him free before he dies. Let's see if he can grow as big as Gus."

With a plop , Simon's father released the big fish back into the river, and he swam off as fast as he could.

Simon trudged out of the river and sank onto the bank, mulling over his father's words. "Charlotte didn't want to get married. Truth be told, she doesn't like me much, but I was the lesser of two evils, so to speak."

His father joined him, stretching out his legs. "Between you and...?"

"Another man her brother wanted her to marry—Lord Felix Davies. Davies and her brother discovered us together." Simon shook his head. "And for once in my life, I was completely innocent, as was she. But the bruise on her cheek spoke of how Davies would have treated her, and I couldn't allow that."

His father grasped his shoulder, the grip not as strong as Simon remembered. "As I said, I'm proud of you for that. But you're wrong. I think she likes you just fine."

Simon snorted, the sound oddly reminding him of Charlotte. "Then you're not paying attention."

"Your mother couldn't stand me at first."

Simon's head jerked toward his father. "I don't believe it. She adores you."

"Now. But then . . ." He shook his head. "In truth, I didn't care much for her either. But we discovered we had made false assumptions, and when we grew to know each other better, we found not only a common bond, but a deep respect and love. Hate isn't the opposite of love, indifference is. Love and hate are very similar, both deep emotions. There can be a push-pull between them. Perhaps it's not that Charlotte hates you, but that her feelings frighten her, so she pushes you away."

Although his father was known for being loquacious, Simon had never heard him wax so philosophically. It rendered him speechless.

Which was good because his father continued. "I will admit, learning your wife was Edgerton's sister took me aback. But the sister isn't the brother, and it's unfair to judge her by someone else's actions or reputation."

Finally finding his voice, Simon shook his head. "She's disagreeable in her own right." And truthfully, he couldn't imagine Charlotte being frightened of anything.

"Then it's up to you to find out why. If it's truly who she is, then you will have to choose to accept it or not. But, I suspect buried underneath her prickliness lies a kind, loving woman." He rose and stretched. "Now, I'm going to keep fishing before the sun drives them all deeper."

Simon gathered his rod and tackle and bade his father farewell. As he strode back to the cottage, he pondered his father's words. Was there a reason for Charlotte's abrasiveness? If so, what could it be? Granted, living with Edgerton couldn't have been pleasant. But Simon had known men who had harsh upbringings and grew to be perfectly congenial fellows.

Had he been quick to judge her the moment he learned of her familial connections at Drake's house party the previous summer? Did those judgments color his actions and, in turn, affect hers?

Questions bouncing in his mind made him uncomfortable. He pushed them aside, vowing to ponder them later. More a man of action than thought, perhaps he would discover the answer to those questions by engaging Charlotte in different activities—hopefully leading to one activity in particular.

If he were honest with himself—which he truly tried to be—he wanted to bed Charlotte more than he had any woman since Joy. The similarity ended there. Apart from his desire for them, the two women were nothing alike.

He took a circuitous route back home, stopping at the stables. Why, he had no idea. But a preternatural tugging pulled him as if someone or something awaited him.

Joseph, the groom, looked up from where he was brushing out one of the horses. "Mr. Simon. I understand felicitations are in order. I wish you joy upon your marriage. Is your lady wife with you?" The man craned his neck to peer around Simon.

"Thank you. No. She's back at the cottage."

Joseph cocked his head. "Will you be wanting a horse saddled?"

Did he? With the sun coming out, a ride would be nice. Then he remembered Charlotte and his father's words. "No. I have no idea why I'm here. Just an impulse."

Soft mewing came from the corner, catching Simon's attention. Cuddled together in a bed of hay, a mother cat lovingly cleaned her kittens, the little fur balls climbing over her, vying for her affection.

"Ah. You've seen Daisy and her new litter. Miss Georgie has laid claim to the black one. Now that they're eight weeks old, I was going to bring him to the house later today when the rain let up."

"I can take him." Simon squatted down by the little family. He held his hand out for the mother cat to sniff, then scratched behind her ears. A calico kitten attacked his finger with its little teeth. He chuckled. "The fierce warrior defends his family."

Joseph came beside him. "That one's a female. Calicoes usually are. Full of spirit, she is."

Like Charlotte .

"Anyone claim her?"

Joseph shook his head. "She's yours if you want her. I expect you'll have your hands full."

"Perfect," he said, gathering the kitten and her little black brother in his arms. "I'll come back for my tackle if that's agreeable. I wouldn't want to drop one of these precious bundles. "

Kittens squirming and meowing in protest, he strode first to the cottage to surprise Charlotte, but none of the servants knew where she had gone.

"Well, let's at least please one female, shall we?" The kittens meowed in agreement, and they all set off for the main house.

The footman took Simon's rain-soggy hat, his gaze flickering down to the tiny balls of fur in Simon's grasp. "Your wife, mother, and Miss Georgie are in the large drawing room, sir."

Excellent.

Blissful domesticity slammed Simon in the chest at the scene, and he paused in the open doorway. His mother wasn't present as the footman had stated. But sitting next to Georgie, Charlotte smiled at his sister with a warmth he'd only witnessed in relation to her closest friends—Honoria in particular. It was a surprising tableau.

He leaned against the door frame, gazing at her with wonder.

Georgie exhaled a sigh. "I hate embroidery. I'd rather be fishing with Simon."

Charlotte laughed, the rich alto of her voice washing over him like warm sunlight. "He didn't ask us."

"Ow!" Georgie stuck her thumb in her mouth. "Baiting a hook is no more dangerous than this needle."

"Let me see that." Charlotte took Georgie's finger and examined it, then placed a kiss on the tip. "Better?"

Georgie nodded, then threw her arms around Charlotte's neck.

The warmth he experienced from Charlotte's voice settled into his chest, heating him from the inside out as she fussed over Georgie's hurt thumb. He'd never seen this side of his wife before. Kind. Compassionate. Open. And his father's words echoed in his mind. Perhaps he should look past her prickliness to the woman beneath.

One of the kittens meowed, and both ladies turned their heads .

"Simon!" Georgie sprang from her seat and rushed over. "You brought him!" She plucked the kitten from his arms. As she raced over to show Charlotte, Simon followed her.

"And one for you." When he held out the little calico to his wife, her gaze shot to his, and her eyes widened. The surprise and affection in them nearly undoing him.

Wonder of wonders. He'd actually pleased her.

"For me?" Charlotte's heart squeezed at the little ball of fluff. No one had ever given her a pet. She'd always wanted one, but other than his hunting dogs, her father had forbidden animals in the house. Roland had followed his example.

Yet, her husband, who expressed his dislike for her, had brought her an adorable kitten for her very own. With a tentative hand, she accepted the gift.

So tiny, it meowed vocally. "Oh, it's all right, little one. I won't hurt you." She brought the kitten to her face, the fur soft against her cheek.

"Careful, she might scratch you," Simon said, his hand reaching out, ready to pluck the kitten away should it misbehave.

"You would never hurt me either, would you?" She kissed the kitten's nose, and it meowed again. "She's so soft."

Georgie took a seat next to her, cradling her own little black kitten against her chest. "Haven't you ever had a kitten, Charlotte?"

Charlotte shook her head, her gaze glued to her new love. "Once I found one in the stables and brought it inside our home. My father tore it from my hands and threw it outside, stating cats were only good for mousing."

Simon scratched her kitten behind its ears. "Well, they are good for that, but like people, there can be many sides to them. Even a predator wants love, too. "

Charlotte lifted her gaze to her husband, warmth expanding her chest. Was there hidden meaning in his words? An uncomfortable knot formed in her throat. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. What will you name her?"

Charlotte held the kitten at arm's length, studying her tricolored coat. Remembering the dessert she and Simon shared several evenings after their marriage, she pronounced, "Trifle."

Simon's dark brow hitched. "Like the dessert?"

"Yes. And also because she is so tiny."

A deep chuckle rumbled from Simon, one Charlotte was loath to admit she found alluring. "She won't always be so little. They do grow, you know."

"Of course," Charlotte answered, a setdown in her tone. "But that's the beauty of it. She will prove the opposite of what people expect. Won't you, Trifle?" She kissed the kitten on the nose again, eliciting another meow.

"I like the name," Georgie said. "And she does look like the dessert."

Simon balanced a well-muscled thigh on the arm of the sofa next to Charlotte, giving the kitten another scratch. "She even has a little brown patch of fur on the top of her head like chocolate shavings."

Charlotte jerked her gaze toward him. "You remember that?"

"Contrary to belief, I have a splendid memory of things important to me."

Oh. The budding warmth in Charlotte's chest burst into a full-blown fire. Quickly, she schooled her features and turned toward Georgie. "What will you name yours?"

"Sir Nightclaws of the Meow Table."

Simon guffawed. "Georgie, have you been reading the tales of King Arthur?"

"It's an excellent name, Georgie. But it is rather lengthy."

Georgie pouted, then her face brightened. "I'll call him Nightly for short. "

As Simon reached across Charlotte to pet Nightly, the scent of rain mixed with sandalwood and shaving soap tickled her nose. Pleasant scents all of them. She expected him to smell of fish. Perhaps he was occupied elsewhere. With another woman? Tension coiled in her stomach like a nest of vipers. However, naming the cause would force her to admit her feelings.

"Didn't you catch anything on your fishing excursion?"

Both eyebrows slid high on Simon's forehead, and he locked eyes with her, the implication of her statement clearly understood. "No." He turned his attention toward Georgie. "But Father did. Caught a big one."

Shame burned her cheeks.

Simon glanced toward her, a faint smile touching his lips.

"Was it Gus?" Charlotte asked, burying her hot face into Trifle's soft fur.

His gaze bouncing between Charlotte and Georgie, Simon blinked. "You know about Gus?"

Charlotte waved it away, eager to hear if Mr. Beckham had landed the legendary fish. "Georgie told me."

"No. It wasn't Gus, but it was nearly as big."

"Will we have trout for supper?" Georgie asked, then placed a kiss on Nightly's head. "Maybe Nightly and Trifle can have some."

"I'm afraid not, Poppet. Father released him back to the river. But take heart. Father didn't give up as easily as I did. Perhaps he'll still bring home something for the table. And honestly, I didn't know about the kittens until I had finished my fruitless effort."

Georgie popped up from the sofa. "I'm going to show Nightly to Mama!" She raced out of the room without a goodbye.

Simon's gaze followed his sister, and he laughed again, the sound vibrating on Charlotte's skin and raising gooseflesh. She began to see her husband with new eyes.

Thoughtful .

Caring.

Gentle.

"So. You like her?" Simon gave Trifle another scratch and was rewarded with a meow.

"I do."

"You say that with more conviction than you did at our wedding." For a moment, something flickered in his blue eyes. Pain? Disappointment? Regret?

The emotion vanished so quickly, perhaps she had imagined it.

"Since the sun decided to come out and ruin my fishing, what do you say we take a trip into Swindon? I can show you around. Introduce you to some of the locals."

"What of Trifle? It seems unfair to leave her so soon."

"She'll be fine. We'll let Georgie watch her, and she can play with her brother. It will be good for them both."

"And there are shops?"

"Now that you know I'm not destitute, is the plan to bleed me dry with shopping trips?"

A smile tugged her lips. "I will do my best."