Chapter Twenty-One

K nowing Charlotte was also an early riser, Belle speedwalked to her friend’s house, hoping William was not there. Thankfully, he wasn’t, and she could enjoy their long-standing tradition: whoever was struggling spilled her woes over breakfast and heard the other’s thoughts and advice.

“Belle!” Charlotte kissed her on both cheeks before asking the footman to send a request to the kitchen staff for Belle’s favorite breakfast, coddled eggs.

“Hello, love. How are you?”

“I am trying to take your advice and allow William to court me.” Charlotte narrowed her gaze. “How are you? Is this about the footsteps in your house when I was there?”

“Yes.” Belle threw herself into a dining chair and grabbed the teapot, pouring for both of them.

“New patron?”

“No.” Belle folded her hands around her teacup to tether herself and struggled to meet her friend’s gaze. “I haven’t shared this because of everything going on with you and William these past months, so please do not be angry.” She brought Charlotte up to date on her retirement plan, her wish to marry and have children, and her use of the Black Widow’s matchmaking.

“I had no idea! I feel like a terrible friend.”

Belle clutched Charlotte’s hand. “Please do not. ’Tis something I had to do alone. I know it will be difficult no matter whom I marry, and I needed to be certain I wanted it enough to weather that storm. Turns out, I do.”

“But... not in London?” Charlotte’s lower lip jutted in a pout.

Belle rolled her eyes. “We can visit. Long visits. That pout may work on Puppy”—the nickname for William that Charlotte had made the mistake of sharing with her—“but not on me.”

Her friend giggled. “If you promise. Lots of long visits, please.”

“Right, then. Here’s the rest...” She told her of Bessie passing Luke to her for rehabilitation and her discovery that he was the son of a former benefactor. Not just any man, either—the one she’d nearly stayed with, marriage or no, with whom she’d been half in love.

“Let me see if I understand,” Charlotte replied after the litany. “History aside, you find Luke attractive, compatible, caring, and amenable to marriage and children.”

Belle shot her a withering look.

“Shall we address your concerns?” Charlotte ticked a finger. “An age difference. ’Tis rather hypocritical of you to cite that after all your encouragement that I ignore it.”

“There is not a class difference for you and William.”

“We’ll get to that. I’m dismissing the disparity in age.”

Belle crossed her arms, more than a little fearful of what else her friend would refute.

“You’ve been in love with someone before him.” When Belle opened her mouth to dispute that, she hurried to add, “Or close enough to consider spending your life with that person.”

“That person being his father .”

“Seems a close enough parallel to Charles and me.” Charlotte referenced her first husband, who had died suddenly a year before she met William. “Charles was old enough that he could have been William’s father in another realm of reality. He was very supportive of me and my strengths, even when they were not traditional pastimes for a woman. He also would have wanted me to find happiness.”

“You know you are oversimplifying this.” Belle glared at her.

Charlotte grinned, then mock-glared back at her friend. “You know you are over-complicating this. Look, many people fall in love before they find their happily ever after. It does not sound as though Luke and his father have a close familial relationship now. So you would not break any bonds, even if the earl does not accept you as a match for his son. On the other hand, why would he not? If he cares for both of you and he is as kind as you say he is, he’d want you both to be happy.”

Her greatest fear was that Luke would regret marrying her for a myriad of reasons. Estrangement from his father was only one of them. But she wasn’t ready to state that out loud. “What if he rejects it out of hand and demands Luke marry someone else?”

Charlotte twisted her lips. “That is between them. William told me Luke was planning to go home to hash it out with his father. He knows there is a risk he’ll walk away without the earl’s blessing for any of it.”

“I want him to succeed. I know there is some part of the story missing. North was so different with me than how Luke sees him.”

“Then if nothing else, you may be the key to bridging that gap between them. In whatever role you want to go in. Perhaps you take the trip with Luke and see how their conversations go?”

“He has already left.”

Charlotte shrugged. “You can always follow.”

She stifled a shudder, imagining knocking on North’s door and having to tell him she was there to support his son. She had no place as a mediator. They were grown men who had to find their own way.

“But Belle,” her friend’s face was solemn. “None of this addresses the real problem.”

“The class difference.” Belle flattened her lips at the reminder. She was unsuitable, and that would not change.

“No.” Charlotte was shaking her head. “The fact that you do not see yourself as worthy.”

Belle blinked.

“Men marry untitled or lower-titled women all the time for their dowries. Gracious, more and more are marrying the merchant class.” They both gave fake gasps at that and giggled. “You are simply a different kind of merchant. A very successful one.”

Belle snorted. She wished she could think of it that way, but there were too many challenges in the House of Lords, in school for their children, and a myriad of other circumstances.

“You are equal to any of them, Belle. Those men in your house were there with you, remember that. They chose you and are not better than you. I choose you as a friend, as do William and now Luke. And... North chose you as both. In some ways, I cannot imagine a better family to marry into.”

“Now you’re being na?ve.”

“I prefer optimistic, thank you,” Charlotte answered with a grin. “Were you not going to marry some lord who needed a dowry, anyway? How does this lord differ?”

The difference was that she loved him and thus cared about hurting him with her past.

Charlotte pushed. “You care about him being hurt.”

Dratted woman read her mind. She nodded.

“I know you, Belle. You would never marry in cold blood. Let’s face it: you don’t need to. I know what you have saved. You said yourself you want to marry for companionship and to have a family. I think that all this sounded like an excellent plan in theory. Now that you’re faced with the reality, you’re balking. You’re questioning whether you deserve these opportunities. Now, repeat after me. I am equal to any man and better than most, and I deserve to be loved.”

“I . . . I . . .” Belle shook her head.

Charlotte took her hands and squeezed. “We’ll work on it. Please, think about all I’ve said. Those men from your past are walking around guilt-free; why shouldn’t you? You offered a valuable service and were well paid for it. And you’ve found a man who understands that and accepts it. Do not let him get away.”

She hated to admit it, but Charlotte was correct. Oh, she still could not envision herself joining Luke and North for a family dinner, as she felt queasy the one time she did picture it. More than the Ton’s attitude toward her, she dreaded the repercussions for Luke. But she deserved to be loved—by someone who would not be harmed by her past.

In a desperate bid to try to move past her feelings for Luke, Belle visited the Black Widow again.

“Where is your husband-to-be?” Bessie asked, her face hidden behind her standard veil, the lighting in the office dim enough that Belle barely saw her lips move.

Belle narrowed her gaze. “He is not my husband-to-be, and he is in Northumberland for the holidays.”

“Hmm. What did you want to see me about, then?”

She led with the request she thought would be easiest to resolve. “Please allow me to pay off Lord Lynwood’s debts to you.”

“That is against policy. You may give him the money to pay them, but I cannot release a marker to someone without the debtor’s knowledge.”

“But . . . why?”

“Surely you can imagine the ways in which an unethical sort could hold a debtor’s vowels over them for control.” Bessie shrugged.

“Are you insinuating I might be unethical?” Belle’s spine snapped taut.

“Not at all, my dear, or I would not have taken you as a client. However, rules are rules,” the widow answered, her tone mild.

“As I said, he’s not in London. You’d have your funds a month earlier by taking them now.”

Bessie shook her veiled head, dismissing the matter. Changing the subject, she asked, “Is he requesting his father’s permission for your marriage?”

“No.” Belle frowned. “He is a grown man. He does not need permission.”

The widow smiled. “Why are you not with him then? Are you or are you not betrothed?”

“That is the other reason I wished to speak to you. I’ve realized my guidance to you was not specific enough. I require a non-titled husband. Ideally, not even a second son. Perhaps a merchant?”

“That is not the way it works, Belle. I gave you your match. But I confess to curiosity. Why narrow the parameters now?”

Belle swallowed her panic. She did not want to go through this again after her conversation with Charlotte, but she needed the matchmaker’s help. “Honestly, I never dreamed you would suggest a match with a titled lord. Wedding me would blacken his reputation and that of his family, including children, beyond repair.”

“You do realize the whole purpose of my matchmaking service is to help people whose reputations are already besmirched, do you not?”

“Yes, but there is a vast difference between a titled lady caught in a compromising position that may or may not have been her fault and a courtesan. Particularly one who has had a dozen high-profile attachments to members of the House of Lords.”

A low chuckle came from beneath the veil. “Have you considered that those members and others who have or had similar ‘attachments’ have no basis on which to judge you?”

“No.” That response mirrored Charlotte’s far too closely for Belle’s comfort. “Those were dalliances. This is marriage. And heirs that will later serve in the House of Lords.”

“Pish. As though that place is not full of bastards already, being paraded about as rightful heirs.” The widow waved a hand. “Why would you think you are good enough for a dalliance but not for marriage?”

Charlotte’s voice echoed in her head again. Both were intelligent women, and in any other circumstances, she’d believe they were correct and she was not. But this was her life. “That is not what I said. I said they’d see me as not good enough.”

“Since when do you care what they think?”

“If it were just me, I would not. But for Luke’s sake, and the children’s...” Realizing how specific she’d been, Belle trailed off.

The widow’s lips curled. “He did not seem concerned at our last meeting.”

“I am concerned for him—them. Hence my request to avoid titled lords in this quest.”

“’Tis too late. Your account is closed. You have your match. If he had rejected it, I might have been able to do something. But you have yet to identify how he does not meet the guidelines you provided, and neither he nor I see an issue with the union. In fact,”—she glanced down—“your solicitor has already paid my fee.”

“I’ll pay another fee. Please.” Belle was begging now, desperate.

“You’d be better served by considering your attitude. You should not settle for whom you think you deserve. This is a lifelong commitment, and you bring considerable assets to the table. If Lynwood views that as enough, why shouldn’t you? Many a harder challenge has been faced and conquered by a united front between loving partners.”

“No one said anything about love,” Belle muttered under her breath as she stood.

“Ah, but you both did. You simply need to acknowledge it.”

Belle had deliberately waited until Luke had left London to discuss him with Charlotte, for fear that her friend would talk her into going.

As it was, she could not get Charlotte and the widow’s words out of her mind. She, who had never feared anything, might be afraid of being spurned because she didn’t feel worthy. Well, that and the link to her past with North.

She’d also found a pair of boots she’d hidden in her room and a comb that Luke had left at her house. Knowing it was safe now that he wasn’t in residence, she walked them over on a gray morning.

By the time she arrived, a drizzle had begun. When she said she was a friend of Luke’s and referenced knowing he was going north for the holidays, the footman evaluated her clothing and deemed her worthy to wait inside, despite being an unknown, untitled person.

He took the items from her and disappeared to hand them off to a maid and find a cloak so he could step out and call her a hack.

Grateful not to have to walk home in the rain, she waited in the front hall. Stepping over to a table to put her gloves down, she spied the pile of letters that had remained unopened during his stay with her. They were now opened and lay in a haphazard pile, the top one unfolded. Without meaning to, she skimmed it.

It was from North to Luke. Slipping it aside, she read the next one. He asked about Luke’s activities, expressed concern about how much he’d drunk during their time together, and requested that Luke write to him, as he hadn’t heard from his son in months.

She recognized North’s brusque tone in the letters. Given their past association, she knew his words were meant as quiet support and interest. But having also heard Luke’s interpretations of his father’s actions since his mother’s death, she saw how the questions could be taken as overly stern and placing conditions on his affection. What was missing was a mother’s, a wife’s, softness to cushion North’s unyielding approach by encouraging him to be more vocal about support and pushing Luke to communicate better.

Charlotte’s words echoed in her mind. In some ways, I cannot imagine a better family to marry into. Her suitability for marriage was a separate issue, but her friend had been right about this. She was uniquely suited to bridge that gap between father and son, having been privy to both of their thoughts.

Drat it all. She was going to have to travel to Northumberland in the middle of winter.