Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Charlotte wiggled her fingers above the bishop, considering her next move. She pursed her lips, pushing them this way and that.

"Take your turn," Chelsea pleaded. "I've been waiting forever."

Charlotte looked up at her through her lashes. "It's only been a moment, not forever. Don't be so impatient!"

Chelsea huffed and fell back against the wooden frame of the chair, crossing her arms.

"And now you just seem petulant," Charlotte added as she picked up the bishop and moved it two squares diagonally across the board. "There? Happy now?"

Chelsea sat up again and examined the board. She picked up a pawn, shifted it forward one space, then returned to her slouching. She never had as much patience or forethought for games such as chess yet was always unhappy when Charlotte consistently won. Charlotte didn't mind. She continued playing her best as she always would. She wiggled her fingers over the board again, trying to decide what to do next.

"It's so lovely here, isn't it?" Chelsea said, looking around the room. She smiled a simple smile, full of peace and happiness. "I've always adored Father's country seat."

Charlotte glanced up at her then murmured in agreement. She picked up her bishop again and knocked Chelsea's pawn from the board.

"It's certainly very different to the hectic ways of London. I must admit, I'm rather enjoying the quieter life, though I suspect I'd be bored of it after a time."

Chelsea shifted another piece on the board, not truly caring where it went. "Can you believe we've been in Hampshire for two weeks already, though? It has positively flown by."

"Thank you for inviting me," Charlotte said. She finally looked up from the board and smiled properly at Chelsea. She was incredibly grateful to her for getting her out of London. The Hurtle family had done so very much for her since her mother's death, and they meant the world to her. While nothing had been wrong with her life as such, nothing had felt quite right either, and a change of scenery was doing wonders for her constitution.

"I am glad to have you here. I cannot imagine dealing with my mother's fussing if you were not present. We would end up with red flowers and red ribbons at the wedding. Can you imagine!"

"Peach is a much better option," Charlotte replied with a smile. "When are your parents arriving? I thought they would already be here."

"Father's been held up by some business or other, and of course Mother couldn't possibly travel without him—but that just means we get to enjoy ourselves a little before they arrive!"

She returned her attention to the board. Though beating Chelsea was always easy, she always liked to test her own skill. She often wondered what it would be like to play against a man, for she had only done so with her uncle, Elliot, and she was certain he let her win because she was a ‘mere' woman. She wanted to pit her intelligence against a worthy opponent, and yet her apparently fairer sex meant she never got the opportunity.

She imagined a man's hand, large and rough from work, reaching out across the chess board to cup her cheek. She would send the board flying across the room to straddle his lap as she'd read about in the novels she'd kept hidden beneath her pillow lest Lydia find them. She would shower him with kisses, her tongue running across the flesh of his neck. She would nuzzle into his chest, caressing the thick muscles and—

"I quite agree," Chelsea said, interrupting her fantasy.

"Agree with what?" Charlotte said, blinking as she came back to herself.

Chelsea snorted with laughter. "That we get to enjoy ourselves a little before my parents arrive, silly! I didn't realize chess required quite so much of your attention."

Charlotte's cheeks flushed, but she lowered her head, hoping Chelsea would not notice.

Chess. Think of the chess.

"Of course. And in the meantime," Charlotte said, glancing up at her as she picked up her rook and rolled it between her fingers, "there will be plenty of peace and quiet."

"About that," Chelsea said, half an eye on the chess piece. "You do know it won't be quiet for much longer, don't you?"

"Ah yes," Charlotte said. She put the rook down, knocking off one of Chelsea's knights. "The infamous arrival of the family."

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "You mock too easily, Charlotte. There are a lot of people due to trickle in for the wedding. Mother and Father have invited half of England. I'm sure I haven't met a single one of them."

"As is their prerogative," Charlotte pointed out. "It's their chance to show off what a beautiful daughter they have and how well she has done marrying a man such as Lord Leming. You should be proud. It's your turn."

"Oh, I am," Chelsea clarified. She made no move to take her turn. "I am looking forward to seeing family in particular. And I must admit, I feel a little like a princess. All this fuss, just for Leonard and I."

Charlotte pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing. The name Leonard Leming would never stop being amusing to her, but poor Chelsea hadn't seemed to notice.

"You deserve it," she said instead. "Take your turn."

"But that's not what I meant," Chelsea said with a shake of the head. "We still have weeks before they arrive. But my cousin is due any day now."

"Take your turn," Charlotte repeated, a little firmer this time.

Chelsea sighed. "But I'm tired of chess. Why don't we go for a walk instead?"

Charlotte laughed. "Because you are losing?"

"Because I don't have a logical mind like yours!" Chelsea retorted. She rose from her chair and began walking around the grand drawing room, her fingers brushing across fabrics and materials.

Her mother had always favored grandeur over subtlety. The walls were lined with flowery wallpaper and the furniture upholstered with damask fabric. The chandelier was far too big for the room, and the grand piano had been polished to within an inch of its life. But somehow, it all still worked.

Charlotte shrugged, then picked up her queen and dotted the piece around the board unhindered, easily taking out Chelsea's king and knocking it off the board. She grinned to herself, satisfied with the results, then turned and looked at Chelsea.

"You don't have the patience, you mean."

"Either way." Chelsea shrugged, her brightness showing a lack of care one way or another. "But that matters not. What matters is the imminent arrival of my cousin and his friend, the Duke of Ashbourne. Did I tell you about my cousin, Stewart? He's coming early to help with the preparations. Surely I mentioned him? In fact, you met a few times when we were girls."

Charlotte resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had no desire to find herself embroiled in a match-making situation, and had she realized that she might be at risk of that, she never would have come to Hampshire at all.

Unless he is willing to break the rules with a turn in the woods and a flash of flesh.

"I remember a gangly older boy, if that's what you mean," she replied blandly. "But no, I can't say you mentioned his early arrival before I agreed to come."

"He is my favorite of all my cousins," Chelsea beamed. "I think you'll like him."

"You do surprise me," Charlotte replied dryly.

"Not like that," Chelsea said on a giggle, though it clearly was very much like that . "But I do think you'll like him. I'll introduce you as soon as they arrive."

***

Alexander groaned as he lowered himself into the dining chair. "It really is quite amazing how sitting down all day can truly exhaust one."

"Traveling is not mere sitting though, is it?" Stewart said.

He pulled out the chair opposite Alexander and sat down while tired maids worked around them, providing them with glasses of wine and plates of leftover food—meats and cheese and jam.

They had finally arrived in Hampshire, and they were to stay at the country seat of Stewart's uncle, Lord Hurtle. But it was almost midnight. The household had retired for the night, meaning they had been greeted by the butler and swiftly offered a quick meal.

"The carriage always feels luxurious when you first step into it," Alexander agreed. "But after several hours of being forced into a single position, it begins to feel like torture. My poor, weary muscles have been crying out for some movement since this morning!"

Stewart reached forward and selected the tastiest looking bits of meat for his own plate, but Alexander merely nibbled on a chunk of bread. His exhaustion had killed his appetite along with his energy.

"But we're here now," Steward continued. "And we can rest and recuperate for a few weeks. The wedding is in six weeks, meaning we have at least four before the rest of the guests start arriving. It'll be fun."

Alexander nodded, though he was unconvinced. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had fun . It felt somehow like an alien concept to him now, something from a past life. He would try, if only for Stewart's sake, but he wasn't sure he would be able to let himself go completely. Not with the weight of worry on his mind.

"And in the meantime," Stewart said, "we can try to come up with an answer to your woes. I'm sure that together we'll think of something. We're an intelligent pair."

Alexander drank back his wine in a single gulp, then held his glass out to be refilled by the silent footman behind him. That was the only sustenance he currently needed. "Either way," he said, "I am pleased to be out of London. It's so peaceful here. It allows one to think. Or at least it will, when I'm not so blasted tired."

"And your every desire shall be attended to here," Stewart said. "The Hurtle staff are renowned across London."

"I have heard that, yes."

Stewart picked up a thin slice of beef with his fingertips and fed it into his mouth. Alexander watched as he ate slice after slice after slice, stopping only for a little cheese or a gulp of wine, and he wondered how the man managed to keep such a slim build given the amount he ate. But then, Stewart had always been the same. At Eton, he'd eaten his share of dinner plus that of many of the other boys.

"It is a lovely house," Alexander agreed, looking around at the decor. "I can't believe I haven't been here before."

The dining room was everything he imagined for his own estate, if only he had the money to repair it. It was a long, thin room. One wall was lined with large windows, the iron frames a pristine white and the damask drapes in a deep, rich blue.

The opposite wall was lined with equally large and imposing portraits. Hurtles from years past, Alexander assumed, each looking down at the diners with expressions varying from stern to curious. At the far end, a fire burned low in the grate, the last of the day's flames flickering to nothing.

He picked up his cut-crystal wine glass. It scattered the candlelight across the table, little squares of light dancing over the food. There was something opulent about it, something unashamedly grand. The person who had designed this house knew exactly what they wanted, and they intended to show it off.

I only hope one day my own home will be the same.

"My aunt sends the workmen around at least once a year, updating every single room. My uncle always says she replaced looking after her body in favor of looking after the house."

Alexander almost choked on his wine as he laughed. "And he says that in earshot, does he? It's quite amazing the man is still standing."

Stewart smiled fondly, memories dancing past his eyes. "They bicker incessantly, but there's something endearing about the way they talk about one another. They pretend they don't like each other, but that flame of love burns brightly in both of them. I don't suspect one would survive without the other."

Alexander nodded and took another sip of wine. He remembered the feeling of love. Or at least, he had thought it was love. Perhaps now, he could see it for what it was: lust, pure and simple. His body had craved the touch of another so fully, so succinctly, that he'd fooled himself into thinking it was love.

But she did touch my heart, and how could she if it wasn't love?

It was true that Lady Lucille had broken his heart so completely that now he wondered whether it could ever be repaired. Whether it was love or lust, Alexander simply couldn't imagine putting himself in that situation ever again. Even seeing Lucille in passing now set a rage alight within him.

There had been a time when he thought Lucille would become his wife. He'd taken her physically more than once—or rather, she had taken him, always in the lead, always pushing for more. She was no innocent any longer, for he had driven his sword into her more times than he cared to remember.

He thought of the curve of her neck, the way he had kissed her down over the mounds of her breasts and the flatness of her stomach. The way he had parted her womanhood with his tongue, tasting the very core of her. He licked his lips now, remembering the sweet nectar, but quite ignoring what a cruel and manipulative woman she was.

It was in part that he had ruined her honor that he had begun to consider options for an engagement, but when she had discovered his debt, she deserted him, preferring instead his wealthy best friend, Earl Harold Carmeyer.

He is no friend of mine any longer.

And Alexander was far too decent to reveal the truth about her salacious nature.

"You are thinking about her again, aren't you?" Stewart said.

Alexander started and realized that he had his wine glass curled into his chest and that he had been staring into space. Staring into his own thoughts. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, putting the glass down.

"I was thinking about how good it is to be away from London," he repeated, his mind seemingly unable to come up with something else. "And away from work."

"It must be equally as pleasurable to be away from all those mothers trying to pair you up with their boring daughters," Stewart said with a laugh. He picked at the breadcrumbs remaining on his plate, as if he needed to get every single last drop of food. "Don't you find it tiresome?"

Alexander chuckled. "Sometimes, though I need only to tell them the figures on my ledger to ensure they stop. Debt will put off even the most eager of matrons. No one wants a pauper for a daughter, duchess or otherwise."

"Ah, so we need to restore your coffers and then find you a wife," Stewart teased.

Alexander threw him a mock glare. "On that unpleasant thought, I'm going to retire for the evening. I shall see you tomorrow. Don't stay up too late, will you? We all know how you need your beauty sleep."