Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

T he days following Simon's meeting with Edgerton flew by. He'd written to his family with the news of his upcoming nuptials. Word arrived from the bishop on a Monday that, after carefully considering the information Simon presented to the vicar, he would issue a license for Simon and Charlotte to marry at the time of their choosing.

Charlotte insisted on wearing a new gown for the wedding. And when Madame Treadwell assured them the gown would be ready the following Wednesday, Simon called on the vicar and set the wedding for Thursday morning next.

Lady Miranda agreed to be Charlotte's witness for the ceremony. And although Simon had written to Drake to inform him of the startling development, he held little hope his friend would be at his side to support him in his moment of . . . joy. Lady Miranda suggested her brother, the Viscount Montgomery, would be happy to act as a proxy.

Charlotte refused to contact her brother, so Simon wrote on her behalf, appealing with the man to put aside his personal feelings and, as her closest living male relative, give her away. The marquess's answer came in the form of several large trunks containing all of Charlotte's clothes.

Ripped to shreds.

Thank goodness Simon had taken her to the modiste after they had met with the vicar—which resulted in a rather large bill. Simon's sympathy for his father increased. How could women's clothing cost so much? As he'd rather not be bothered with bills for fripperies, he'd have to increase Charlotte's pin money allotment. Let her manage her own purchases.

On Frampton's suggestion—perhaps instigated with encouragement from Charlotte—the remaining staff was called back into duty. The house bustled with activity as if the wedding were a cause for celebration. Flowers arrived, filling the house with fragrant scents of hyacinth, peonies, and lilac.

As Simon turned sideways, narrowly missing a footman carrying a vase with an enormous arrangement of pink and white peonies into the large parlor, Frampton announced, "Your family has arrived, sir."

With the words barely out of Frampton's mouth, Simon braced himself as his sisters launched themselves at him.

"When can we meet her?" Frannie asked.

Kate swatted his arm. "Why didn't you tell us you were courting?"

Georgie bounced on her toes as she clasped his arm. "What's she like? Is she pretty?"

"Of course, she's pretty, Georgie! Simon wouldn't marry someone who was plain."

Beth frowned. "You're being shallow, Rebecca."

"Girls, girls," his mother intervened. "Let Simon catch his breath." She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "But I want to know all of those things as well. I read the scandal sheet but didn't tell your father. "

His father stood silently by, grinning at the scene. The knave!

"Father, come get these females off of me," Simon said, still hugging three of his sisters close to him. He needed either more arms or longer arms to wrap around them all.

"You're on your own, son. That will teach you to find a sweetheart without so much as a by-your-leave to your family."

Simon extracted himself from all the feminine hands and strode to his father. "It's good to see you're in fine health, Father."

His father's blue eyes widened. "Why wouldn't I be? Fit as a fiddle." He patted his midsection. "Although a little wider in the middle."

"Still speaking in rhymes, I see."

With a hard swat on Simon's back, his father let out a huge guffaw.

Lord, how he loved his gregarious family.

Frampton remained in the doorway, his typically stoic expression one of a man who had been run over by a coach and four. When the Beckhams gathered in toto, they had that effect on people. "Shall I bring tea, sir?"

"And sandwiches. Georgie has the appetite of a horse." He slid a glance at his youngest sister.

She pouted, much like twelve-year-old children do. "I do not!"

"Very well. Frampton, no sandwiches, then."

"Wait!" Georgie called. "I didn't say I didn't want them."

After Frampton bowed and left them, Simon's mother pulled him toward the sofa. "You said so little in your letter. Tell us about Charlotte." Her eyes told him she would have more questions when they could speak privately.

"First, it's Lady Charlotte, and I would advise you all to be respectful."

His father settled into a wingback, away from all the women. " Her family is of the peerage? Judith, you failed to mention that." His father sent his mother a chastising glance.

"Oooh, Simon." His eldest sister, Rebecca, turned toward him from where she had been admiring a portrait. His own situation made him wonder why, at three and twenty, she still hadn't married. She was pretty enough. Of course, he found all women were pretty, and being his sister, he may have been a trifle biased.

"Yes," Simon answered, reluctant to put forth too many details at the moment. He'd prefer they not make any judgments before meeting his intended. "Her brother is a marquess. And to answer Georgie's question, yes, she's very pretty with her dark hair and eyes. Fair warning, she's a bit prickly. Outspoken, too."

Frannie, his third eldest sister, straightened. "Did the duke introduce you?"

"In a manner of speaking. She attended Drake's house party last summer."

Smoothing her skirts, his mother gave him the look . "I'm still disappointed in both you and His Grace for that act of duplicity. But I suppose since it worked out well . . ."

Like a naughty schoolboy, he grinned at her. "It was all Drake's idea."

"Really, Simon. You should show more respect. He's a duke." Always the odd woman out, Beth's serious nature brought him to task.

"He doesn't mind. Truly. I think if he'd had his way, he would have allowed me to continue acting as duke in his stead."

"Thank heavens he didn't."

His head swung toward the door at the seductive alto. A teasing smile tilted her lips, and color rose to her cheeks. "Charlotte! You're back." Both he and his father bolted from their seats.

Charlotte's gaze flitted to each of his sisters, finally piercing him with her dark eyes. Lord, those eyes pulled him in and dragged him under until he struggled to breathe.

Georgie let out a little, "Oooh. You're in trouble."

More trouble than his adorable, rambunctious sister realized.

A sea of dark heads and laughing voices swelled before Charlotte. Panic knotted in her throat as seven smiling faces turned toward her. Were they all like her future husband? How would she endure so much ebullience all at once? All the happiness—the joy would suffocate her. How could she trust so many nice people?

When Frampton had told her Simon was in the large parlor, she'd only wanted to tell him she had returned from the modiste. Even though Simon offered to take her in his phaeton, she insisted on going by herself, having barely survived Simon's reckless driving previously. But at that moment, she'd wished she had simply gone straight to her room.

The older woman among the tide of females rose and approached, her hands outstretched in greeting. "My dear Lady Charlotte. Simon's description of you pales in comparison to reality." As the woman clasped Charlotte's hands in her own, she turned toward the older gentleman. "She's lovely, Teddy, isn't she?"

"Indeed," the man, who could only be Simon's father, answered. Although older, he had the same merry blue eyes and handsome face. "Our son has acquired himself a diamond, Judith."

Charlotte's gaze snapped toward Simon. What in the world had he told them?

The man himself slithered up to her. "Lady Charlotte, may I present my mother, Mrs. Judith Beckham and my father, Mr. Theodore Beckham. "

A girl about ten or twelve—Charlotte was terrible with the ages of children—rushed up, grabbing Simon's arm. "Me next, me next."

"Georgie hates that as the youngest, she's always introduced last." He gazed down at the girl, his eyes filled with such affection it squeezed what Charlotte imagined was her heart. "This bit of fluff is my sister Georgina. But even at the ripe age of twelve, she prefers to be called Georgie. I think she was Father's last attempt at another son, and she's trying to accommodate him."

The elder Mr. Beckham chuffed a laugh.

Charlotte thought Georgie was rather like a young Anne Weatherby. If so, Mr. Beckham had his hands full, poor man. "I'm pleased to meet you, Georgie."

Simon continued the introductions.

Rebecca, the eldest, executed a perfect curtsy. Simon teased her that he would have to find her a husband because she was growing dangerously close to being on the shelf. "Why soon, you'll be Charlotte's age. How old are you again, darling ?"

Charlotte glowered daggers at him, hoping one would land directly in his chest.

Beth, the second eldest, announced she was very pleased to meet a woman who could tolerate her brother enough to marry him.

"Whether I can tolerate him is yet to be determined, Miss Beth." Charlotte stole a peek toward her intended, dismayed when he had no reaction.

"Oh, don't change your mind," fifteen-year-old Kate said, a genuine pleading in her voice. "Mama has been so worried he would never marry. Papa can't live forever, you know."

Mr. Beckham coughed. "Don't bring out the shovel yet, Katie girl."

Frannie, the middle sister, stood off to the side. Simon pulled her forward. "Don't be shy, Frannie. Charlotte doesn't bite." He delivered one of his devilish winks. "Much. "

Charlotte decided she liked Frannie, who seemed to be the one calm port in the storm of Beckhams. Quiet and reserved, Frannie seemed to take in everything around her as if she were collecting it for future use. "Simon says your brother is a marquess."

Oh, she really didn't want to talk about Roland, especially after what he did to her gowns. But she also didn't want to be rude to the girl. "Yes. The Marquess of Edgerton."

Mr. Beckham stiffened. His head jerked toward Simon, then to his wife, his eyes questioning.

Simon shifted, his usual carefree demeanor vanishing. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Um. I may have failed to provide that one little detail."

The mood in the room changed in an instant, and the entire Beckham family—moments ago warm and gregarious—appeared uncomfortable.

Guilt by association. Over the years, Charlotte had grown accustomed to the feeling. She turned toward Simon. "Perhaps I should excuse myself and allow you time with your family in private. I didn't mean to intrude." As if she wasn't already aware, Simon's family's reactions confirmed it.

The marriage was destined for disaster.

Silence fell over the group—taut and awkward.

A footman and maid appeared with trays of tea and sandwiches.

Quiet Frannie spoke up. "She can't help who she's related to." She took Charlotte's hand, and although Charlotte's first reaction was to pull away, she resisted. "Stay, Lady Charlotte, and have refreshment with us."

The girl's blue eyes, lined with thick dark lashes, so like her brother's, met Charlotte's with a sharp understanding. Charlotte found such unexpected kindness overwhelming. She really needed to remove herself from the situation.

Before she could open her mouth and make her apologies, a commotion arose from deep in the house. Voices grew closer, and Burwood barreled into the room. Moments later, Honoria waddled in behind him. Charlotte worried she would have the baby on the spot.

"Drake!" Simon threw his hands out as if he'd expected the duke.

Honoria's gaze slipped between Charlotte, Simon, and his family, her face a mask of concern. She stepped close to Charlotte and whispered, "Has the wedding occurred already?"

Charlotte shook her head. "It's tomorrow. My condolences about Lady Compton. But you shouldn't have left on our account."

"There wasn't anything else I could do. I felt so helpless. Simon's letter gave me purpose."

"It's not your mess to clean up."

Honoria's brows lifted. "A mess? Simon was vague in his letter." Honoria's gaze darted toward Simon, who had pulled Burwood into a fierce hug. "What happened?"

Charlotte nodded toward Simon's family, who had seemed to forget about her and were greeting Burwood. "Not now in front of his family. I was just trying to extricate myself when you arrived."

"Food!" Burwood exclaimed and plucked a sandwich from the tray. "I'm famished. We hurried back as soon as we received your letter, Simon."

Honoria gazed at her husband with so much love, Charlotte had to look away. "You would think he was the one feeding two people."

A sandwich half-shoved in his mouth, the duke turned and hurried to Honoria's side, wrapping an arm around her waist. He swallowed with a gulp. "I'm an insensitive dolt. Do you want a sandwich?"

"No. I want to be introduced to our guests and then go upstairs with Lady Charlotte. My back hurts from our journey. "

Charlotte waited while Simon made the introductions, reassured that Honoria had made the perfect excuse for her exit.

"You will stay with us, of course. I'll tell Frampton to prepare rooms. Now, if you would all excuse me." Honoria took Charlotte's arm and led her out of the room.

When they were at the staircase, Honoria leaned in. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"Let's get you upstairs first and settled. This is going to take a while."

As Georgie attacked a cucumber sandwich, and Simon's other sisters and mother prepared tea, Drake pulled him by the elbow. "What the blazes, Simon? I'm barely gone two weeks, and you decide to get married. Did you finally come to your senses and admit your feelings for Lady Charlotte?"

"What feelings? Loathing? Annoyance? The way she drains all the joy from a room?"

"Attraction?"

Simon wanted to wipe the smug look off his friend's face. "Attraction aside—and I admit to nothing—I can't talk about what happened right now with my family present, although my mother has read about it in that scandal sheet."

" The Muckraker ?"

"Yes. And I'd like to keep it from my father and sisters. As far as they know, this is a love match."

"And just how do you expect to pull that off?"

"I fooled society into thinking I was a duke. How hard can this be?"

"Need I remind you that you're not the only party in this arrangement? What about Lady Charlotte? Does she truly want this?"

"No. But she knows it's the only way. "

"Simon!" his mother called. "Quit monopolizing the duke."

"We'll discuss this later. But will you at least stand by my side tomorrow?"

"Yes," his friend said. "But I won't like being part of this deception."

Honestly, neither would he.