Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

J oyous thoughts of shopping dashed from Charlotte's mind the moment a groom pulled up the curricle. Although not a phaeton, the sleek gig was nearly as bad—made for speed. "What about the carriage we journeyed in from London?"

Simon slid an incredulous glance at her. "I would think you'd know a carriage such as that one is meant for long journeys, not for short jaunts on a sunny day. Swindon is but a half-hour's drive." He held out his hand, motioning her forward. "Now, come."

When she hesitated, he exhaled a heavy sigh. "Very well." Placing his hand on his heart, he adopted a serious affect most unlike him. "I vow to drive so slowly, even the snails shall pass us by."

Reluctantly, she grasped his hand, energy passing through his gloved hand to hers. After assisting her into the seat, he climbed next to her and flicked the ribbons. At first, he kept the horses to a slow walk, but even Charlotte found the pace excruciatingly slow .

"At this rate, we won't arrive until nightfall and the shops will be closed," she mumbled.

"Only trying to please my wife." However, his expression was anything but pleased. A muscle in his jaw pulsed and his knuckles stretched the kid leather of his riding gloves.

"Please increase the speed before you have an attack of apoplexy. I'm not ready to become a widow quite yet." The moment the words flew carelessly from her lips, she regretted them. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to broach the subject of early death."

"Your apology makes it worthwhile. That and—this." He snapped the ribbons with more vigor and the horses broke into a trot, the jolting change of pace flinging Charlotte back in the seat.

She grasped the top of her bonnet, keeping it in place. "Perhaps it's my early demise I should be concerned about."

He flashed his signature grin. "Nonsense. You're tough as nails."

Pride expanded her chest at his offhanded compliment.

As they rounded a bend in the road, buildings emerged, and Simon slowed the curricle. Quaint little shops with colorful displays of their wares tempted Charlotte. "Oh, a milliner." She grasped Simon's arm, tugging it. "With the way you drive, I shall need to purchase more bonnets lest one fly off my head."

After pulling the curricle to a stop, he jumped down and offered his hand. "Then that shall be our first stop."

The moment they entered the shop, heads turned. A woman Mrs. Beckham's age glanced up from where she was showing a younger woman a lovely creation with an enormous feather. "Simon! Oh, dear boy, you've returned to us." She shoved the bonnet into the other woman's hands and raced forward.

Close on her heels, the younger woman followed. Blond and rather pretty, her face split into an enormous smile.

"Mrs. Westly." Simon bowed over each lady's hand, brushing a quick kiss across their knuckles. "Miss Throckmorton. Or is it missus something or other? Has some lucky man snatched you away from the rest of us?"

Dash it all. The man couldn't stop himself from flirting even when married. Of course, Charlotte wasn't so na?ve as to think he would stop admiring other women. Theirs was far from a love match.

The younger woman, Miss Throckmorton apparently, blushed, casting a cursory glance Charlotte's way and, as quickly, dismissing her as inconsequential.

"Oh, Mr. Beckham, how you do go on!"

Charlotte refrained from rolling her eyes. She truly did want to make a good impression on these people. Instead, she forced a smile, one she hoped appeared more genuine than what she felt at that moment, and held her tongue.

Miss Throckmorton donned the bonnet and preened before Simon. "What do you think, Mr. Beckham?"

Simon leaned back and tilted his head, a finger pressed to his lips. Lips she had recently kissed. "Hmm. I'm not sure if that color does justice to your engaging blue eyes, Miss Throckmorton."

Charlotte forced back the gag and gave Simon's ribs a subtle jab with her elbow.

"Ough. Forgive my manners, ladies. Charlotte, allow me to introduce Mrs. Westley, the owner of this fine establishment, and Miss Throckmorton. Ladies, Lady Charlotte Beckham, my wife."

Miss Throckmorton's sunny, bright smile devolved into a stormy frown, her former dismissive glance growing devious and predatory.

" Lady Charlotte?" Mrs. Westley's brows lifted so briefly Charlotte might have imagined it. "Well, Simon, you have done well, it seems. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Charlotte."

Miss Throckmorton didn't seem to agree as she continued to shoot icy daggers in Charlotte's direction. She pulled the bonnet off her head and pushed it toward Mrs. Westley.

"You have a lovely shop, Mrs. Westley. The way my husband drives"—Charlotte darted a glance to the pouting girl—"I shall be a frequent customer."

Simon chuckled, then pointed toward the discarded bonnet. "May I?" After taking it from Mrs. Westley's outstretched hands, he held it in front of Charlotte. "But I think this cream color goes perfectly with your eyes, my dear." He placed the bonnet on Charlotte's head, then criss-crossed the ribbons under her chin.

Charlotte wondered if he planned to choke her with them.

He leaned back to assess the effect. "What do you think, Mrs. Westley? Miss Throckmorton? Doesn't my wife look lovely in this?"

What game was Simon playing at? Mischief danced in his blue eyes. He had something up his sleeve, for certain.

Although Mrs. Westley gave a resounding yes , Miss Throckmorton only grunted.

When all was said and done, Simon balanced three stacked hat boxes in his arms—including one containing the bonnet Miss Throckmorton cast aside—as they bade farewell to Mrs. Westley and Miss Throckmorton. He placed them on the floorboard of the curricle, then paid a young boy a half-penny to keep watch while they continued to shop.

"Does everyone fawn over you or just the women?" Charlotte grumbled as they strolled past the other shops, exchanging greetings and introductions with people passing by.

Truly, the face of everyone they met lit up when they caught sight of her husband, but especially the women. Young or old, it didn't matter.

"Can I help it if I'm an overall likable person? You act as if it's a crime to have people like me."

Not a crime. Just something Charlotte was not familiar with in the least. "And must you flirt so openly? It's a wonder a jealous husband hasn't shot you dead."

He barked a laugh. "Perhaps husbands aren't the only ones jealous. Hmm? Might there be a touch of green-eyed envy in your own heart?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She sniffed and turned her head so as not to expose the truth to him. She was jealous. And the thought rankled.

During their evenings together, with the shared kisses and Simon's patient seduction, she'd begun to believe he might truly like her. Want her. Her . That perhaps she had become special to him.

And she'd slowly started exposing her buried heart, bit by bit, pushing away the layers of protection she'd carefully constructed over the years. Like the sun peeking through an overcast sky, a shred of hope emerged that finally she could trust someone enough to make herself vulnerable. To risk the hurt. To lay her heart open in someone else's hands.

Foolish. Na?ve .

Terrifying .

She cursed the crack in her armor allowing him to sneak in.

He lavished the same attention and affection on everyone he met. He made each woman feel like she was the only thing in his universe when he spoke with her.

Layers of protection slipped back into place.

Just another conquest, she wasn't special to him at all.

As sure as if a cold wind had swept in, Charlotte's mood changed. Simon prided himself on understanding women, but Charlotte was another matter altogether. She'd seemed pleased when he insisted she buy the bonnet with the ridiculous feather Miss Throckmorton had been considering. And there could be no doubt she adored little Trifle. He mentally patted himself on the back for the stroke of genius in giving her the kitten.

But somewhere between the milliner's and the bakery, she'd grown taciturn and sullen.

Not that that was out of the ordinary for his wife. But he'd been encouraged by the few smiles he'd coaxed from her so far that day, only to have his hopes dashed as she grew more distant during each interaction with other people.

But was it all people or certain people in particular? When he greeted Mrs. Peabody, a widow near Aunt Kitty's age, Charlotte's hand on his arm remained relaxed. Charlotte even sent the old woman a smile.

Before Simon could puzzle it out further, his stomach tightened when Charlotte said, "Oh, a bakery. I wonder if they have plum tarts."

He tugged on Charlotte's arm to direct her to the other side of the street.

Charlotte scowled. "What are you doing?"

"We have a cook who bakes." True, but not his primary reason for avoiding the shop.

"Simon! Simon!" Simon's stomach clenched at the familiar feminine voice, and he tugged a little more aggressively on Charlotte's arm.

But it was too late. Mixed with the sweet scents of the bakery, Hester's cloying perfume assaulted him from behind.

And the day had been going so well. Simon exhaled a sigh.

He had not ended his brief liaison with the woman on good terms. She had misinterpreted his need for comfort and escape from grief for something more lasting, and when he'd enlisted in the military, she'd cursed him for toying with her feelings.

As Charlotte swiveled toward Hester's voice, her hand on his arm tightened. "Who is that ?" she whispered.

With his most charming smile plastered on his face, Simon turned. "Why, hello, Hester." He kept his voice chipper, as if he'd truly been happy to see her.

Time had apparently erased all negative feelings from Hester's mind. Her gray eyes flashed with interest as she seductively ran a hand up his free arm, not once giving Charlotte even a cursory glance.

"Portia Throckmorton told me you were back, and I had to see for myself." Hester batted her eyes at him.

Charlotte cleared her throat, reminding him she was there. As if he could forget.

"Lady Charlotte, may I present Miss Hester Pace." He shifted his attention to Charlotte, but her gaze was locked on Hester. "Hester is a serving maid at the Hungry Hound. "

Charlotte's hold on his arm became a death grip.

Hester's hand remained on his other arm, the caress much too intimate for encounters in public.

"Lady Charlotte is my wife."

The moment he uttered the additional words, Hester's hand dropped from his arm. "Wife?!" Her brow furrowed, and her mouth dipped as she puffed out her bottom lip. Simon never believed any woman ugly, but the scowl on Hester's face at that moment was decidedly not attractive.

Not like Charlotte's, where he itched to kiss between the lines forming between her eyes.

"Darling"—Simon patted Charlotte's hand, at the same time sliding a glance toward Hester from the corner of his eye, certain the endearment landed when she winced—"Why don't you go ahead? Choose any store that pleases you, and I shall join you in a moment." He leaned and whispered, his next words for Charlotte's ears only. "Unless you wish to stay while I tell Miss Pace I am a happily married man. Your reaction might lead her to question my veracity."

"Very well." Charlotte nodded toward Hester. "Miss Pace." Her tone could have frozen the air around them .

Both Simon and Hester remained silent as Charlotte slipped into the bakery. Simon sighed. Why couldn't she have chosen any other shop?

"So it's true?!" Hester's high-pitched voice drew his attention back. "I didn't want to believe that scandal sheet. And why'd you marry such a cold fish?" Hester's eyes widened. "Oh! She's a hoity-toity lady. Did you marry her for her money?"

Sharp words crowded on his tongue. Had he been around Charlotte too long? He reminded himself even a serving wench should be treated like a lady. "You know very well I don't need money."

"Her connections to high society, then?"

"No. I already have connections with a duke." Lord, he hated using Drake as a counterargument.

"Well, it can't be that you love her. What's she do? Lay there while you?—"

Even he had a breaking point. "Enough, Hester. She's my wife, and the reasons we married are our own."

Hester's offending hand returned to his arm, stroking it suggestively. "Well, you know where to find me when you're ready for a bit of fun."

With his thumb and forefinger, Simon removed Hester's hand. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline. Now, if you would excuse me. I need to join my wife."

"You can't be thinking about going in the bakery. Samuel Waters will skin you alive when he sees you again."

"It's been seven years. I'm sure he's calmed down."

Simon didn't want to go into the bakery, but remaining with Hester was just as disagreeable. What was he thinking, suggesting he and Charlotte come to Swindon? Like so many times in his life, his impetuosity led him into another sticky situation.

Although he couldn't avoid it forever. If he lived long enough to inherit Rosehaven Park, he would have to become a staple in the community .

In six long strides, he ate up the pavement leading to the shop. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Aromas of freshly baked bread and sweet biscuits surrounded him, permeating the air stronger than they had outside, making his mouth water. Charlotte stood at the counter, her back to him, but Samuel was nowhere in sight, thank goodness. Perhaps he could whisk Charlotte away before?—

Samuel emerged from the back room, carrying a tray of tarts. "Plum tarts fresh out of the oven, miss." His gaze darted toward Simon, his face reddening, his mouth in a grim line. Bang! He dropped the metal tray of pastries on the counter. "How dare you come in here!"

Charlotte spun around, and her eyes locked with his, confusion furrowing her brow. With a quick scan of the shop, she no doubt deduced Samuel could be addressing no one but him. "Samuel." He tipped his head toward the man. "I've come to fetch my wife."

"Wife?!"

Must everyone's reaction to his marital status be so incredulous? Although, Samuel had more reason than most to doubt Simon's seriousness when it came to the lifelong commitment.

Wiping his hands on a towel, Samuel gaped at Charlotte. "You're married to this blackguard?" He pointed at Simon. "Nice young miss like you?"

Charlotte? Nice young miss? Simon withheld the laugh. No need to make matters worse.

"I am, unfortunately," Charlotte said, the wry tone twisting the knife in Simon's back a little more. "Now, if I could have a dozen of those plum tarts, we'll be on our way."

Simon wisely remained silent, hoping to deter Samuel from elaborating more fully the reasons for his animosity.

With each tart Samuel removed from the tray, he frosted Simon with a glare. Finally tying the package with a string, he handed it to Charlotte.

Simon pulled his purse from his pocket. "How much?"

"No charge." Samuel veritably growled the words.

Charlotte's gaze bounced between Simon and Samuel. "That is very kind, sir."

"Hmphf." Samuel glared again.

As Simon lifted the package from Charlotte's hands and opened the door, Samuel muttered, "I just hope you choke to death on one of those tarts, you bastard. It'll be better than you deserve for killing my daughter."