Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

THE MEANING OF LOVE

" T here will never be snow, will there?" Lizzie pouted, arms crossed in front of her little chest as she glared at the gray skies outside the windows. "I want snow." She turned to look over her shoulder at him, as though Charles could simply snap his fingers and make it happen.

If only , he thought. "Patience," he counseled his little sister as well as himself. "Good things will come to those who wait."

The scrunched-up expression upon Lizzie's face told him quite clearly that she did not care for his advice. With another disappointed huff, she left the drawing room, grumbling under her breath.

"You look distracted today," Charles's mother remarked from her seat by the fireplace. "Is there anything on your mind?"

Somehow, Charles could not shake the feeling that his mother already knew. "I asked Miss Hartley to marry me," he blurted out, once again not bothering to hide anything from his mother. She probably truly knew already, and he also cherished her advice.

"You did what?" came his father's shocked voice from the doorway. His eyes were wide, and after a moment, he began shaking his head from side to side. "Surely, I must have misunderstood you. You couldn't possibly have…" As he moved closer, his gaze moved back and forth between his wife and his son.

Charles straightened, aware of the amused curiosity in his mother's gaze. "I assure you; you did not misunderstand. I offered to marry Miss Hartley last night."

His father raked his hands through his hair, still staring at him. "Why? Why after only meeting her the day before? Why the rush?" He glanced at his wife, who sat comfortably in her chair, curiously observing everything.

Charles exhaled a deep breath. "You must give me your word that you will not share what I'm about to say with anyone." He looked from his father to his mother.

While his mother did not hesitate to provide her promise, his father frowned, suspicion coming to his eyes. Then, though, he sighed and nodded. "Very well. You have my word."

Charles swallowed. "It is as I suspected," he told his parents. "Miss Hartley is to marry Mr. Carter in order to prevent a scandal." He gritted his teeth, seeing the tension upon his father's face grow. "She's with child."

For a moment, Charles feared his father might explode, his face turning a shade of dark red that looked alarming. However, before he could say or do anything, Charles's mother simply asked, "Is the child Lord Strumpton's?"

"It is. She thought herself on the brink of matrimony and so…" He shrugged.

His father exhaled a deep breath then met his eyes. "Charles, I can see that you care for her, but that is not a reason to marry someone. Surely you must know this."

"I am not a child," Charles insisted, knowing very well that he was acting irrationally. Yet he could not help himself. Neither could he explain his actions in any way that would convince his father. Charles knew so. "I… I love her," he finally said, feeling an odd rush of warmth well up in his chest at saying so out loud. Indeed, he had known from the first moment, and yet speaking the words somehow felt different.

His father laughed, a shocked sound, not one meant to ridicule. "How can you love her? You don't even know her." He shook his head. "And what of her? Does she love you?"

Charles gritted his teeth, knowing his answer only provided his father with further argument.

"I saw the way she kept looking at Lord Strumpton," his father replied, his voice now gentler. "She cares for him, does she not? And she would marry him if only he were to propose." He moved closer and placed his hands upon Charles's shoulders, meeting his eyes. "You are not her choice. Please, understand. Do not throw your life away. It is a miserable fate to be married to a woman who loves another."

Charles swallowed hard. "Perhaps… Perhaps her heart will change."

"And what if not?" his father challenged. "And what of your heart? What if your heart changes? What if you sacrifice your life for this girl only to realize that what you feel right now is only an infatuation? You are young. How can you even know what love is?"

A spark of resentment flashed in Charles's heart. Yet before he could say anything, he heard his mother chuckling.

"Something amusing, dear?" Charles's father asked, looking at his wife through slightly narrowed eyes.

She smiled at him. "Indeed, darling, you are most amusing."

Relaxing, Charles grinned and faced his father once more, all resentment now gone. "Tell me, Father, how long did it take you to know that you loved Mother?" He lifted his brows challengingly.

Suddenly tightlipped, his father shook his head, then exchanged another one of those meaningful looks with his wife. "I don't want you to get hurt," he mumbled on a sigh, looking from his wife to his son. "Of course, though, this is your choice."

A knock came on the door, and their butler entered, carrying a silver platter with a letter upon it. "For you, my lord," he said, holding it out to Charles.

Inhaling a deep breath, Charles took it, his hands trembling. He did not recognize the handwriting. How could he? In his heart, though, he knew this letter was from Miss Hartley.

Lord Hawthorne,

I thank you for your kindness, yet I am afraid I must refuse your most generous offer. It would not be right for me to place this burden upon you. Still, I shall never forget the kindness you showed me.

Yours sincerely,

Beatrice Hartley

In a single heartbeat, all hope vanished, and Charles sank heavily into one of the armchairs. He did not even resist when his father took the letter from his limp fingers.

"At least the girl shows some sense," his father remarked dryly, then passed the letter to his wife. "I am deeply sorry for your heartbreak, Son, but I cannot pretend that I am not relieved at this outcome." He stepped closer and placed a hand upon Charles's shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. "I believe, someday soon, you shall come to understand."

Charles hung his head, unwilling to listen to his father's words. Indeed, he much preferred the gentle regret he saw in his mother's eyes.