Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The following morning, Charlotte was sitting in the drawing room, her stockinged feet on the warm wooden floor as she embroidered small flowers into a tablecloth. Her mood had indeed lightened. Seeing the duke had lifted her spirits in ways she had not truly expected—and she still didn't understand why that might be. Was she really so frivolous as to fall for a handsome face? But he had made her feel better, it was as simple as that.

That was why she was both surprised and overjoyed when the butler entered.

"The Duke of Ashbourne for Miss Charlotte," he said.

Her aunt, who was sitting opposite her reading a novel, looked up. "I didn't realize you were expecting guests," she said. "What is the purpose of his visit?"

"It is the calling hour," Charlotte replied. "It should hardly be a surprise that someone calls, even if it is rare these days. As for the purpose, I don't think there is one. Uncle Elliot and I bumped into him at the theater last night, and he asked if he could call on me. I agreed, naturally, because it was the polite thing to do."

And because I want it more than anything.

"There is always a purpose," Aunt Lydia hissed as she slid the ribbon in her book and placed it to the side. "Men like that always want something."

Charlotte frowned. "He seems quite decent, actually. I would have thought you'd be pleased."

Aunt Lydia didn't reply with her words, but her expression was oddly thunderous. "Show him in, Beaumont," she snapped.

Charlotte quickly pushed her embroidery beneath the cushion, suddenly embarrassed by the thought of being caught doing something so mundane, so conventional. It was her being different that attracted him, after all, was it not? She ran her fingers through the fine locks of hair that fell around her face, then pinched her cheeks to bring a little color.

"Stop fussing," Aunt Lydia snapped. "There is no need for it. It's not like you are trying to attract the man!"

"Good morning, Lady Fairchild, Miss Charlotte," the duke said as he entered, bowing to them both.

Charlotte got to her feet to curtsy but to her surprise, her aunt remained seated, not even offering the duke the courtesy of a greeting.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Charlotte replied. She kept her gaze lowered, acting demure as she had seen so many do before. "What an unexpected surprise this is."

"Unexpected?" he asked with an eyebrow raised. "I suggested it last night."

Charlotte's cheeks colored further with no need of pinching fingernails. "Yes, of course, but so soon?"

The duke grinned. "I have always believed that when one wants to do something, they should do it immediately and without hesitation."

"I suppose you would like some tea, Your Grace," Aunt Lydia said.

Charlotte once again blinked at her in surprise as she waved for the maid to fetch the tea. Her aunt could never have been accused of generosity, but she was normally at least polite. In that moment, her civility was spread so thin as to be see-through.

"That would be lovely," the duke replied, bowing once again to Charlotte's aunt. He glanced at Charlotte, his lips twitching into an amused smile as they shared a moment, and she saw that he was not bothered by her rudeness at all. If anything, it amused him.

"Very well," Aunt Lydia said with a barely concealed huff.

"But actually," the duke interrupted her, "I cannot stay that long. Alas, business calls. But I promised I would visit, and I have."

"Going so soon?" Charlotte asked.

The man hadn't even sat down, and he was already looking for a way to escape. Perhaps seeing her in her natural environment made him realize what a terrible mistake he had made. That Charlotte was not worthy of his time after all.

"I'm afraid so, but I wanted to call to ask you a question."

"Oh yes?" Hope reared again, and she wondered if these wavering emotions were all part of that elusive thing they called love.

Don't be ridiculous.

"Yes. I was wondering if you'd like to go riding with me tomorrow. I would have written a note, but that feels so impersonal."

Charlotte wanted to leap around, to cry out in delight, but she held herself as still as she could, refusing to give into the emotion.

"I'm afraid my niece doesn't like horse riding," Aunt Lydia said.

"That's not true at all," Charlotte said, her head snapping around to her aunt, her brow furrowed in confusion. "I adore horse riding, and you know it."

From the clench of her aunt's jaw, Charlotte knew she would be in trouble for her impertinence later, but she desperately didn't want to lose this chance to ride with His Grace.

A beast between my thighs…

"And who shall chaperone you, Charlotte?" Aunt Lydia demanded, a fire from her eyes. "You know full well that my old knees cannot take horse riding these days."

"Annie will come," she retorted. "Won't you Annie?"

She looked pleadingly at the maid, whose eyes were as wide as the saucers she carried. Annie looked to Aunt Lydia then back to Charlotte, her jaw bobbing up and down as she tried to think what to say.

"I remember you telling me that your father was the groom on the estate where you grew up. I have no doubt you can ride. You'll come, won't you?"

"Er… yes, of course, my lady. Whatever it is you require."

The poor maid ducked her head and scurried out of the room, no doubt fearful of whatever Aunt Lydia would have to say on the matter. Charlotte felt a touch of guilt, but it was worth it, if only to spend another afternoon with Alexander.

When Aunt Lydia spoke again, it was with a frown. "I am not convinced that—"

"That's sorted then," the duke interrupted, throwing Charlotte a wink that made her giddy. "You are most kind for sorting that, Lady Fairchild. And I shall send my cook over with a salve for knee pain. She is a genius when it comes to the old remedies."

There was no way Aunt Lydia could refuse now, not without looking terribly impolite—if not worse. She forced a smile, though it was weak. "That's most kind, Your Grace, but I have all the salves I need. I do hope you enjoy your trip out with young Charlotte tomorrow."

As soon as the duke had left, Charlotte did as Annie had and scurried from the room to her bedchamber—in part because she did not want to face her aunt, and in part so that she could daydream in peace.

***

Charlotte purposely mounted her horse side-saddle the following day, as she knew a lady should. She felt the duke's eyes boring into her, watching her carefully. Was that a note of disappointment she detected in him? Had he actually expected her to mount as a man would?

No. Charlotte shook her head. He had never seen her ride, so he had no reason to think she would ever do so differently. It was all in her imagination, and yet she somehow knew that he wouldn't be disappointed if she did.

In fact, he might even like it.

"It is a beautiful day for a ride, Your Grace," she said, raising her face to the warm sun as she picked up the reins.

"It is indeed," he said, "but not nearly as beautiful as seeing a lady sat upon a horse."

She blinked at him, not quite sure how to take his words. He was so rarely kind in such a way. He was not a man to offer compliments but to tease her. And she had so rarely—if ever—been called beautiful . She was far from the conventional beauties of the ton . Not knowing quite how to react, she fell back on her usual habit, and laughed.

"Yes, I suppose Annie does look rather nice on a horse."

The duke rolled his eyes then kicked his horse and began slowly meandering through the park. Charlotte followed close behind though to her relief, the maid stayed a respectable distance behind. Charlotte searched for something intelligent to say, something witty.

What would Chelsea say?

"The flowers look beautiful today," she ventured, though she cringed at how pathetic she sounded. The duke merely glanced over his shoulder at her, then continued forward, and she kicked herself. "And the park is unusually quiet," she tried again.

The duke slowed his horse and half-turned so he could look at her, the horse's shoes clacking against the gravel path.

"I must admit, I had thought we had moved past the banalities of polite and boring small talk, my lady."

Charlotte's temper flared. "Well perhaps if you hadn't so rudely disappeared from my life and then reappeared like a rabbit popping out of a hole, then I—" She stopped and stared at him disbelieving. The man was laughing. Actually laughing! "And what, pray tell, is so funny?"

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Nothing at all."

"And do gentlemen often laugh at nothing ?" she demanded, irrationally incensed.

"Often, yes," he replied with a tease on his lips. "After all, we are so very different from you gentler ladyfolk."

"We are not so different, you and I. Men and women, at their hearts, are one and the same."

Charlotte turned her nose up and pushed her horse forward, taking the lead. The duke allowed her forward a few paces before following her. She arched her back as she rode, hoping he could see the curve of her body, the plumpness of her buttocks, and she shook her hair out like a peacock fanning his feathers.

"And there is the Miss Charlotte Fairchild I have come to know and love."

Love? Charlotte's back straightened and her muscles tensed. Surely he didn't mean it? He couldn't. It wasn't possible. Love was not on the agenda for their friendship. Love was a foolish thing for foolish people, and neither of them were foolish.

Except maybe I am, just a little.

Alexander had obviously also noticed his faux pas for he cleared his throat. "I mean it in the most platonic of ways, naturally."

"Naturally."

They meandered around the park happily, reminiscing about Cheslea's wedding as if it were years before, and talking about their dreams for the future.

"I'll be honest, I hadn't expected to ever become duke," Alexander said.

Charlotte glanced over at him. He looked completely relaxed, seemingly at peace, perhaps more so than she had ever seen him.

"How so?"

"The title belonged to my uncle," the duke explained. "But alas, the man became terribly ill and, well, the rest is history as they say."

"Oh, I am sorry for your loss."

"He's not dead," the duke replied. "At least not in body. In mind and spirit?" He sighed. "That's a different matter altogether."

"Where is he now?" Charlotte asked, her intrigue piqued. "Not in the gaol, surely?"

"Of course not! I couldn't bear to think of him in such a wretched place."

"So you care for him?" Charlotte looked at him in a new light. There seemed no end to this handsome man's abilities.

"We have a nurse. And the physician visits often, of course, but—"

"That must be terribly difficult for you, especially when you have a duchy to run. But it is honorable, too."

The duke sighed. "It can be, I admit, though I do not wish to be ungrateful or sound resentful, for I am not. But… well," he waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Let's talk of happier things, shall we? Like the opportune coincidence that led to us bumping into one another at the theater."

"Opportune indeed," Charlotte said. "My uncle is not a fan of the theater and as such, I rarely get to attend. It is quite the coincidence that we ended up there together."

He looked at her with a wry smile. "Fate is not always the cruel mistress she is purported to be, my lady. Sometimes, we ought to be grateful for the kindness she shows us. It is twice now that she has brought me into your company."

Despite herself, Charlotte blushed. She had never been one for swooning or acting coy, but Alexander's sweet words had penetrated the wall of hardness she had built around herself, nudging at the romantic heart she hid deep inside. It was rare, too, that he was kind rather than mocking, and though she enjoyed his teasing, she found she rather liked it when he spoke sweetly too.

"You mean to say it was fate who brought you to the trees near the lake? Fate that caused you to stand and watch?"

"Ah, fate may have driven me there, but she did not make me watch. That was all you, Miss Charlotte. I could not tear my eyes away from the beautiful, mysterious creature in the water now, could I? You were quite the sight to behold."

Charlotte guffawed, snorting unladylike through her nose. "It seems the angels have your tongue today, Your Grace, for you are full of compliments—even if they are skirting on the edge of inappropriate."

"Skirting, yes," he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "But isn't that where most of the fun is to be had?"

Charlotte pressed her lips together and looked away, grateful that the maid rode far enough behind them that she was out of earshot. She wanted to say so much—that she would follow his lead, that she trusted him to show her what fun truly was.

That she hadn't stopped thinking about his touch since the moment they left Hampshire, and she had craved it ever since. She said none of those things, remembering her manners, her aunt, her promise to herself that she would never fall for a man, never become merely someone's wife. But goodness, did she want to.

"Speaking of fun," he continued after a long moment, "it is the Clarence Ball in just a few days—always one of my favorites of the season, and I have no doubt that this year will be no different. Will you, perchance, be attending?"

Charlotte hadn't planned on attending. She hadn't been to a society ball in many months—perhaps even years—and neither did she have any desire to go.

Until now.

"Most certainly, I will."