Chapter 33

CHAPTER 33

O nce Charlotte had eaten, bathed, and dressed, she sought out Simon. Her blush had finally cooled, although truth be told, each time she thought of him kissing her—there—her cheeks heated anew.

My, but the man was talented. No wonder so many women pursued him—that particular thought souring her stomach.

He promised to be faithful, but could she trust him? Did she even really know him? She had no definitive answer to the first question, but the second was a decided no.

"Have you seen Mr. Beckham?" she asked John, the footman.

"He went fishing, my lady."

Right. He'd said as much after he had thoroughly discombobulated her with his tongue. Her cheeks flamed again.

"He requested his curricle be readied in case you wished to spend time at the main house. I would be happy to drive you."

A deliciously wicked idea popped into her head. "That won't be necessary, John. I'll drive myself."

After donning a bonnet, pelisse, and kid leather gloves, she climbed into the curricle John had brought to the front of the house.

John cast her a dubious glance. "Have you driven one before, ma'am?"

"No. But how hard can it be?" An experienced rider, she presumed controlling the animals would be similar. She took the whip from him, reluctant to use it on the sleek animals. "Do you hit them with it?" she asked, unable to keep the horrified tone from her voice. She'd always refused to use a crop when riding.

"Oh, no, my lady. Never. Just crack it above them. The sound alone spurs them faster."

Relief flooded her. Then the rest of John's response landed as hard. Faster. She set the whip on the seat next to her and picked up the ribbons. The two matched chestnuts raised their heads in readiness, and Charlotte snapped the ribbons as she'd seen Simon do—careful not to strike the horses' backs.

The carriage jerked forward. "Oomph!" Charlotte refrained from reaching for her bonnet and instead held tight to the reins.

"Be careful, my lady!" John's voice drifted off behind her.

Charlotte's confidence grew as she guided the horses forward, following close to the path she'd walked the day before. Moving at a trot at first, the horses seemed to yearn to break free into a gallop.

Or was that her imagination? Perhaps she'd been around Simon too long. She laughed at the notion, then picked up the whip. "Please don't let me hit them," she mumbled, then cracked it in the air above them.

The horses broke into a gallop, throwing Charlotte back against the small bench-like seat's back. "Oomph!" she said again, a little more loudly.

Wind rushed against her face, the smell of the previous night's rain, fresh and clean, tempting her nose. A rabbit scurried from the path ahead of her, and her heart rose to her throat, hoping the horses didn't trample the little thing. She imagined it shaking its little fist in the air and cursing her for her reckless driving.

By the time she reached the main house and pulled back on the ribbons, she was windblown and completely exhilarated. A footman opened the door and raced forward to hold the horses. Mrs. Beckham hurried forward. "Charlotte! Oh, my dear! Is something amiss?"

As the footman assisted her down from the curricle—which she no longer considered a death trap—she laughed. "Not at all. Simon is off fishing again, and I've come to call."

Mrs. Beckham held a handkerchief to her bosom. "Oh, thank goodness." She wrapped an arm around Charlotte's waist and led her inside the house. "Although I should definitely have a talk with my son about leaving his lovely wife alone so frequently this early in your marriage."

How quickly Charlotte had grown to like Simon's family. "It truly is fine, Mrs. Beckham. Simon grows so fidgety if he isn't doing something, he would drive me mad if I insisted he stay in the house with me."

Mrs. Beckham's smile widened. "My son chose wisely when he married you. You understand him well. Call me Judith, Charlotte. Remember?" The warmth in Judith's eyes pinged Charlotte's heart but not as much as Judith's next words. "Or Mother."

As Judith instructed a servant to bring tea, Charlotte marveled at her good fortune. Who would have imagined being caught in a scandalous situation would have such a positive outcome? Not only had Simon made good on his promise not to force her in the marriage bed, he'd actually proven to be a gentle and giving husband.

That alone would have satisfied Charlotte, but she'd also gained a loving family and a beautiful home. The Beckhams had welcomed her with open arms, and although Judith would never completely fill the void left by Charlotte's mother, acceptance into their family overwhelmed her. Never one prone to tears, a strange sensation pricked Charlotte's eyes.

But would the Beckhams be so accepting if they knew the real reason Simon had married her?

As she settled onto the sofa next to her mother-in-law, the truth burdened Charlotte. "Judith, there is something you must know about my marriage to Simon."

"If you're talking about what the scandal sheets reported, I don't put much credence in gossip." Judith's cheeks darkened. "Although I will admit I enjoy reading it."

Charlotte blinked. "You knew?" Charlotte's appreciation of the woman's kindness increased tenfold. "Well, in my case, it's true. Part of it anyway. Simon married me to save my reputation. Ours is not a love match."

With her lips pressed together, Judith delivered a look perfected by all mothers when chastising their children. "Charlotte. I have eyes. You may not love my son—yet—but Simon's heart is yours. It's written all over his face every time he looks at you."

In the past, such a statement would have resulted in Charlotte suggesting the individual consider acquiring spectacles, but she held her tongue. She was enjoying the newfound relationship with Simon's family too much to jeopardize it.

Luckily, Judith continued, patting Charlotte's hand. "And I have no doubt in time Simon will win you over. He has a way about him."

Indeed . A way he used on all women. Perhaps Judith's active imagination was selective, and the affection she witnessed on Simon's face was no different from when he gazed at any other woman.

A maid deposited a tray with tea and scones, and Judith poured them both a cup. She handed one to Charlotte. "In fact, I would venture to say you're on your way to loving him," Judith continued, apparently not able to drop the subject. "You have a certain glow about you this morning."

Charlotte choked on her tea.

Judith's eyes crinkled at the corners as she gazed at Charlotte over the rim of her cup.

Salvation rushed to her aid in the form of Georgie. "Charlotte!" She plopped next to Charlotte on the sofa, her dark curls bouncing against her slender shoulders. "You came back!"

"Of course she did," Judith said. "She's family."

Oh. That strange pricking occurred in her eyes again.

"Where's Simon?" Georgie asked.

"Fishing," Charlotte said, happy to have Georgie change the subject. "How is Sir Night of the Meow Table faring? Was he frightened of the storm last night?"

Georgie's blue eyes widened. "He was! How did you know? Was Trifle scared, too?"

"Not as frightened as I was." Goodness, did she just admit that? She blamed it on the Beckhams and their unfailing acceptance.

"Oh, you're being silly," Georgie said, giving Charlotte a gracious out.

A footman entered, then lowered a silver salver toward Judith.

Charlotte recognized the cream-colored parchment Judith lifted from the tray.

A copy of The Muckraker had made its way to Wiltshire.

Simon whistled as a fat brown trout flopped in his net. "Ah. You will make a fine reward for Trifle." Not even the fact Gus had evaded his lures yet again could sour Simon's mood.

Sunlight dappled the ground and streaked the river's surface. Fish had descended deeper, reducing his chances of any further catches. Simon packed up his tackle and headed back to the house, eager to see Charlotte again.

Had he really missed her after only being apart for a few hours?

Perhaps loving someone, being in love, wasn't so bad after all. At least Charlotte didn't love him in return. When he finally succumbed to the accursed malaria, she wouldn't grieve. And if things continued as they had the previous night, she would have a child to dote upon and occupy her mind. Perhaps many children.

He quickened his pace at the idea of making said children.

When he arrived at the cottage, John told him Charlotte had taken the curricle.

"You didn't offer to drive her?" Simon asked, unsure if he was more surprised or angry.

"I did, sir, but she insisted." John leaned forward, his gaze casting around him before whispering, "She can be rather frightening, sir."

Simon laughed. "Indeed. And her bite is even worse than her bark. She punched Albert Mooney in the nose."

John's eyes widened. "She didn't?!"

"She did. It was glorious to see. Bloodied him good." Just remembering the fire in Charlotte's eyes spurred him to find her. "Have Joseph ready a horse for me, and here"—he handed John the basket with his catch—"have Madge clean this and prepare it for Trifle."

John peeked in the basket, his brow lifting. "The whole fish for the kitten, sir?"

Simon scrunched his lips together and huffed. "Perhaps not the whole fish. But as much as Trifle wants, then Madge can do what she wants with the rest."

John nodded and raced off, no doubt imaging a good fish pie for his supper.

Charlotte driving his curricle. Simon shook his head. He'd love to have seen it. Perhaps he'd leave the horse at the main house and have Charlotte drive them both back. Back and forth, he paced in front of the cottage. What is keeping Joseph? Simon could have been halfway to the main house already.

Finally, the groom approached with Simon's favorite horse, Max. Not waiting, Simon rushed forward and mounted, taking off like a shot and leaving a trail of windblown cherry blossoms in his wake.

Upon arriving at the main house, he tossed the reins to a groom and his hat to a footman. "Where is my wife?" My wife . Damn, but he'd grown to like the sound of that. My wanton wife. Even better.

"In the drawing room with your mother, sir."

At the doorway to the room, he paused.

With her back to him, Charlotte had her head bowed. Trepidation tickled up his spine. What was wrong? However, when Georgie looked up from her place beside Charlotte and grinned at him, he relaxed.

He held a finger to his lips and sent his sister a conspiratorial wink, catching his mother's attention as well. Then, silently, he tiptoed up behind Charlotte and placed his hands over her eyes.

"Guess who?" He placed a soft kiss on the nape of her neck.

"Someone who has been catching fish. Ugh, Simon, your hands reek of it."

Blast. Right. The woman had him so befuddled he didn't even think to wash his hands before rushing off to see her. "At least you acknowledge I caught some. One, to be exact. Trifle shall feast upon it."

Georgie stuck out her bottom lip. "You didn't bring any for Nightly? You are my least favorite brother."

Simon tousled Georgie's curls. "I'm your only brother." The statement reminded him of his duty to his family and, more pleasantly, the prospect of producing an heir.

But as he gazed down, he saw the reason for Charlotte's bowed head. He plucked The Muckraker from her hand .

"What the devil is this doing here?" His gaze darted toward his mother. "Are you still sending for this tripe?" He waved the detestable paper before him.

Chagrin painted his mother's face. As well it should! "I meant to cancel my subscription. Truly I did."

"Hmm. A likely story." He scanned the contents, his gaze snagging on the name Felix Davies.

Reports have indicated Simon Beckham has whisked his new wife, Lady Charlotte Talbot Beckham, off to Wiltshire away from the prying eyes of society. One can only guess at the reason, but this reporter speculates that the new Mrs. Beckham is increasing. No doubt the couple will welcome a birth before the decent period of nine months has passed.

Felix Davies, who had courted Lady Charlotte, and in fact had proposed marriage, is heartbroken. Witnesses state Lord Felix is appalled at Lady Charlotte's scandalous behavior, wondering—if he had in fact married her—would the first child of their union even be his?

Simon tossed the gossip rag aside. "I should call him out."

His mother gasped, and Georgie let out a whoop of excitement.

The more sensible of the three, Charlotte arched a brow. "Who? The Worm or the perpetrator of The Muckraker? "

"Both." Anger bubbled in his veins like molten lava.

"The Worm?" Georgie asked Charlotte.

"Lord Felix," Charlotte answered. "Although he doesn't deserve the honorific. He's lower than a worm, but it's the best I can do." Charlotte turned her attention to him. "There is something about the article that is bothering me."

Simon huffed. "Well, that's obvious."

She waved it away. "Not what you're thinking. There's a clue in there somewhere. I can feel it."

Simon moved around, nudged Georgie away, and sat next to his wife. "About the identity of the instigator of this? " He lifted the wadded-up gossip sheet.

Her eyes full of questions, his mother's gaze bounced between him and Charlotte.

"May we tell Mother?" he asked. When Charlotte nodded, he proceeded. "Charlotte and her friends are on a mission to unmask the perpetrator."

"Oooh. How exciting." His mother straightened, and he could envision the wheels turning in her mind, no doubt hoping to become part of the quest. "And you think the article provides a clue?"

"Yes. It's there, tickling my brain"—she motioned at her head—"but it's eluding me. Why is there so much attention on us in the last few issues? It's the height of the Season, and the other bits of gossip in that rag are benign reports. Who cares about Lord Middlebury's gout?"

"Do you think the cad has a vendetta against us in particular?" Simon asked.

"I don't know." To her knowledge, the scandal sheet had not reported Simon's impromptu visit to the gaming hell on their wedding night. Not that she wanted to mention that in front of Judith. "Judith, when did you receive the issue prior to this?"

Judith darted a chagrined glance toward Simon. "Right before we received word from Simon about your betrothal, the one we were discussing earlier."

"And you receive every issue?"

"I will cancel, I promise."

"It's fine, Judith. No one is blaming you for the havoc this blackguard wreaks with his pen." Charlotte pressed her lips together, frustrated the answer danced just beyond her reach.

"Perhaps you need a distraction. To clear your mind," Simon said, waggling his brows.

Pink darkened Charlotte's cheeks, and his mother lifted a hand to cover her mouth .

"What?" Georgie asked, her blue eyes narrowed.

"Never you mind." Simon waved a finger at his sister before returning his attention to Charlotte. "What say you, Lady Wife? Would you care for a ride?"

Georgie's body straightened to attention. "Can I come?"

"No," both he and his mother said in unison.

"You are incorrigible," Charlotte muttered.

Leaning in, he whispered, "And don't forget. Insatiable."

Eager to return to the cottage, Simon rose and offered his hand, pleased when Charlotte slipped hers into it willingly and—dare he hope—as anxious as he to be alone?

"Before you go," his mother said, rising to bid them goodbye. "The town's May Day celebration is two weeks from now. Everyone will expect you both, to wish you joy upon your marriage."

"Not everyone," Simon muttered, thinking of Samuel.

Charlotte glanced toward him. Then his goddess came to his rescue. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

The beam of joy on his mother's face warmed his heart. "I hoped you would offer. I'm on the committee for food and decorations, and with old Mrs. Bailey's rheumatism acting up, we're short a person. Your experience among the ton will surely give our yearly gathering a touch of elegance."

"Mother is very proud of her part in things, but I think she's right."

"Well, I would be happy to assist. Besides"—she graced Simon with a mischievous grin that displayed her dimple—"I'll need something to occupy myself while Simon is fishing."

Lord, he needed to get her back to the cottage as fast as possible. After a quick goodbye, he escorted Charlotte from the room, calling to a footman to bring his curricle around.

As they waited at the front door, he pulled her close. "I can't believe you drove over here yourself. "

Charlotte squared her shoulders, and he kicked himself for possibly offending her. He needed to be in her good graces.

"And why not? I'm just as capable as any man."

"Well, if you drive like you pack a punch, I would say not only as capable, but more capable. I only meant you seemed to dislike fast vehicles."

"Only because I'm not in control. Once I got used to it, I found it most exhilarating."

With the carriage awaiting, he handed her up. "Did you drive fast?"

When she nodded, he climbed in beside her and handed her the ribbons. "Then, by all means, take us back to the cottage posthaste."

A quick snap of the ribbons, and Charlotte had the horses taking off so quickly, Simon had to hold on to his hat.

He liked this marriage business, and he liked his wife.

No. Scratch that. He loved his wife.