Chapter 24

"It was so kind of you to join us, Your Grace," Lord Macallister said as he raised his glass of wine. "A true honor."

"Think nothing of it," Charles said with a feigned smile as he, too, raised his glass of wine. "Your lovely daughter told me that you wished to meet me, so what better time than now."

"Well said," he chuckled, taking a large sip. "And with all that has happened these past few days, my feeling is that you could use the distraction."

"Yes, well..." Charles took a deep sip. And then another. "I would really rather not talk about it."

"Father..." Lady Beatrice hissed. "I told you, His Grace does not wish to be reminded of what happened." She looked across the table at him, offering an apologetic smile. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. Truly."

"It is fine."

"And for today too," she continued, her smile now coy and knowing. Even flirtatious. "Again, I can't help but lament that it always seems to be me who brings you bad news."

"It is not your fault," he assured her.

"Still..." She flashed her eyes at him. "I promise it won't happen again. Good times only, from now on."

"Well said," her father chuckled. He reached down the table and took his daughter's hand, giving it a squeeze. And when their eyes met, a look was shared that had Charles' stomach turning.

What was he doing here? Oh, he knew why he was. And that he had no choice. A promise made for a favor given, although now he was wondering if that favor was even worth it. It had been a gamble, he had known, a final attempt to salvage a romance that he now knew to be dead. And seeing as it was, he would have liked nothing more than to lock himself in his room and be alone, to mourn the death of his engagement to Lady Felicity once and for all, as he knew now that there was no hope.

Alas, he had promised Lady Beatrice that he would attend supper tonight with her and her father. A supper that he was told was to do with his business, but he was now beginning to suspect had an alternate purpose.

"Does my daughter not look lovely, Your Grace. She is a true treasure."

"She does," Charles agreed with a soft smile.

"She does what?"

"She looks lovely."

"Oh, Your Grace..." Lady Beatrice giggled and waved him away as if he had offered the compliment on his own. And as she did, she fluttered those eyelashes and made very suggestive eyes at him, ones that were rather awkward considering her father was watching.

"Yes..." Charles cleared his throat. "Lord Macallister, shall we talk business? Your daughter told me that you had an interest in --"

"Later, later," he waved Charles down. "There will be time for such things after we eat and drink. For now, however, let us get to know one another a little better."

"What would you like to know?" Charles asked cautiously, avoiding looking at Lady Beatrice now because of the suggestive way she eyed him.

"Everything, Your Grace," Lord Macallister said. "Everything."

Charles was beginning to suspect that Lord Macallister had no intention of going into business with him at all. Further to that point, he all but knew now that this was just some ruse to get him to agree to dine with Lady Beatrice. He had always known she fancied him and that there was little she would not do to see him become hers. But this? This was something else entirely.

It made Charles wonder, too, at how untrustworthy she was and if anything that she had told him could be believed. After all, she was the one who had first delivered the news of Lady Felicity"s feelings about him. And she was also the one who delivered his note to Lady Felicity– and returned the next day to tell him that Lady Felicity scrunched said note into a ball and tossed it in the fire.

Was it possible that she had been lying? Would she really go through all of that just to be with him? There was no way.

"So, Your Grace," Lord Macallister began. "I admit, I was hesitant when my daughter asked that you join us for dinner. With everything I have heard of you..." He chuckled.

"Father..." She hissed at him.

"What?!" he laughed. "The point I am trying to make is that she has assured me that you have changed. And after your brief engagement to Lord Drowshire's daughter, I can see that you have. I agree with my daughter, she was a fool for letting you go."

"Such a fool," Lady Beatrice agreed and flashed her eyes across the table at Charles.

"Tell me, what are your plans for the future?" he asked.

"Excuse me? I'm afraid I do not know what you mean."

"Do you intend to wed? Have children? That sort of thing?"

"Father..." She hissed at him again, widening her eyes.

"In regard to the stud farm, of course," he hurried and cleared his throat. "If we are to go into business together, I want to know that you are a family man, is all."

He did not want to be here. It felt wrong. Under the guise of speaking business, Lord Macallister was clearly trying to set Charles up with his daughter. And more to that point, his daughter was clearly trying to be set up.

Technically, there was nothing wrong with it. Charles was single. The woman he had loved, for he was admitting that to himself now, had spurned him. By rights, he should have jumped at the chance to fall back into his old ways. Wasn't that what people said about him, after all? That he was a no good rake who loved nothing more than bedding women for fun?

Charles had changed. He had no desire to go down that path again. And he certainly had no desire to consider marriage. It was sad to say but, for now, Charles was very much imagining the rest of his life to be spent alone, for he knew deep down that he would never find anyone like Lady Felicity again.

"To be honest with you?" Charles sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I have no desires for either."

"Excuse me?" Lord Macallister balked.

"He is joking, father," Lady Beatrice chuckled. "Just joking."

"I am afraid that this is far from a joke. The stud farm no longer interests me. Marriage no longer interests me. A family? Ha! As far from my realm of thinking as could be."

The shock on both their faces made the outburst all the more worth it.

"But... but you will wish to marry soon?" Lord Macallister said. "If you do not, your name --"

"Is already so dirty that all the polish in the world will not clean it. In fact..." Charles was done. Through with being polite. Finished trying to fit in. He had tried that, he had failed, so what was even the point? "I am very appreciative of you inviting me to supper. I am. But..." He pushed his chair back and stood. "I think I might leave."

"What?!"

"Your Grace!" Lady Beatrice leapt from her chair. "Where are you – this isn't -- you are not supposed to --"

The sound of shouting coming from the adjoining room cut through Lady Beatrice. The great doors to the dining room were closed, muffling the cries coming from beyond, but they grew louder within seconds, only to explode as the door was thrown open.

"You cannot be here!"

"I think I can be." It was Harry of all people, striding into the dining room with a sense of purpose, as if he was invited and was running late.

"What is the meaning of this!" Lord Macallister jumped to his feet.

"My Lord!" A manservant hurried into the room. "I tried to stop him but he would not listen!"

"Harry?" Charles balked. "What are you doing here?"

"Who is this?!" Lord Macallister strode around the table. "And what is going on? How dare you --"

"Save it," Harry cut him off with a flick of his wrist. Then, he turned to Charles. "Let me guess, you are surprised to see me?"

"An understatement, to say the least. Harry, what are you..." Words fled him as he looked behind Harry, certain he was seeing things because that was the only explanation. "Lady Felicity?" he gasped, stumbling back as if struck. "What are you... what are... you're here?"

"Good day," she said softly, her smile slight but growing more by the second.

"Do not listen to her!" Lady Beatrice cried suddenly as she jumped to her feet. "She is a liar!"

"Beatrice, what is going on?" Lord Macallister demanded.

"Yes, what is going on?" Harry cried loudly through the noise. "Lady Beatrice, perhaps you would like to explain?"

Her eyes went wide. "I... there is nothing – it is all lies! Your Grace!" She looked for Charles. "You must believe me. Everything they say. It is not true!"

Charles was only partly listening. His attention, all of it, was for Lady Felicity alone. It had only been a few days but he had forgotten how beautiful she was. Like an angel come to life, it was as if a halo shone around her as she walked next to Harry. And the way that she looked at him, the way her eyes lit up, he knew right then that everything he thought he had known was a lie.

"You are quite the storyteller," Harry continued. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two crumpled pieces of paper. "I have read your work. As has Lady Felicity. In fact, the only person who hasn't had the chance is His Grace."

Charles gave his head a shake and looked at Harry. "What are you talking about?"

"You sent me a letter," Lady Felicity spoke suddenly, her voice still soft, nerves rattling her. "Three days ago, you sent me a letter."

"A letter?" Charles frowned. "I most certainly did not."

Harry scoffed and handed Charles one of the pieces of parchment. Charles read it quickly, his mood turning from confused to vile within seconds. "You!" He pointed at Lady Beatrice. "This was you!"

She could not have looked more taken aback. "I... I... it was not --"

"You wrote this?" His eyes went wide, and he was back on Lady Felicity. "Lady Felicity, you must know, I did not write – I would never write this. You must believe me."

"I know," she smirked. "At least now I do." She fixed a glare on Lady Beatrice. "Beatrice has that honor. As well as the second letter you wrote me."

"The second letter? I did write a letter to you, which Lady Beatrice give you this morning...?" He trailed off as Lady Felicity shook her head.

"I doubt you wrote this." Harry handed him the second letter.

Charles read it and the fury he felt doubled. "This is... I did not write..." His body shook. "How could you write this?!" he accused Lady Beatrice. "What were you thinking?!"

"Beatrice?" Lord Macallister interrupted. "What is going on?"

"I had no choice!" she wailed, throwing her hands down by her side. "I had to! She made me do it --" She pointed at Lady Felicity. "She swept in and stole him from me! I am the one who is supposed to be with His Grace! Me! Not her! I had to!"

"What are you saying girl!" her father shouted.

"Your daughter is a bit of a trickster, Lord Macallister," Harry said. "I do hope that this story doesn't get out. I hate to think of what people would say."

The shouting continued. Lady Beatrice trying to justify herself. Her father wanting to know what happened. And Harry, making things all the worse for them and taking a little too much pleasure in it. But Charles barely heard any of it.

He had eyes only for Lady Felicity and she had eyes only for him. As the others argued and fought, he walked down the table to meet her. He felt nervous, which was strange, as if it was their first time speaking. His heart pounded away. His body ran hot. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth.

Then he met her eyes and saw in them how she truly felt. He saw the way her chest rose, and her cheeks flushed. He saw the love that embodied her, that had made her come here tonight because she could not wait another day. She loved him as he loved her and in that, Charles knew what he had to say.

"My lady," he said as he reached her.

"My lord," she replied.

"So..." He smiled; it reached his eyes. "Shall we get out of here?" He held out his hand for her to take.

She eyed it for less than a second before resting her hand in his palm. "I thought you'd never ask."

And then, together as one, they left behind the scene of chaos that was Lord Macallister's dining room.

They didn"t walk, however. They seemed to float instead, their love lifting them up and carrying them. No need to say it yet. No need to confirm before they left. The fact that she was here said it all, and Charles knew that now, he had the rest of his life to find out just how much he meant to her and to show her just how much she meant to him.