Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

" S hould you like me to read it to you?"

A little surprised at Lord Kentmore's offer, Charlotte took a moment before she answered.

"You would like to read the poem to me?"

Lord Kentmore shrugged.

"I do not see why not. I am able to read, Miss Hawick, in case you were uncertain about that."

Charlotte laughed, only to pull the sound back into herself. These last few days with Lord Kentmore had brought a significant change in his manner towards her, and the ease of their conversations had brought about something of a softness within her. Try as she might, she could not hold onto the anger and the frustration which she had once held so near.

"Well?"

Lord Kentmore tipped his head, one eyebrow lifting, and Charlotte's breath hitched, uneven in her chest as the gold in his eyes seemed to swirl, bringing a fresh awareness to her of just how handsome he was.

Be careful, Charlotte, she reminded herself, sitting up straight and reaching for her tea. He is still a rogue yet.

"If you wish to read it, Lord Kentmore, I will listen to you," she said, trying to keep the smile from her face. "I do hope that you read well."

He grinned at her and her heart leaped, betraying her.

"I believe that you must be the judge of that, Miss Hawick, and you give your opinion very decisively, do you not? I will not be in any doubt as to whether I read well or not once I hear it!"

At this, Charlotte could not help but smile.

"At least you know me well enough to understand that," she said, seeing a twinkle come into his eyes. "Very well, Lord Kentmore. I shall listen and I shall give you my thoughts thereafter – on both the poem and the reading."

Lord Kentmore chuckled, picked up the paper, and rose to his feet. They were quite alone in the drawing room, albeit with the maid in the corner, the door open, and her Mama's promise to return to them within a few minutes, but it gave Lord Kentmore ample time to read this new poem to her. There had been three new poems in The London Chronicle since the last one that Charlotte had thought well of, each changed from the first she had read. It was as though the author was beginning to step forward, to consider his true emotions, to speak of them with great honesty, and she found that to be rather refreshing.

"Then I shall begin." Lord Kentmore cleared his throat, his eyes on the paper and a seriousness beginning to fill his expression, pulling his smile away. "A poem from the anonymous gentleman." Taking a breath, Lord Kentmore set back his shoulders and then began.

"‘ I am a ship, sailing the vast, open sea,

The horse which runs wild, freedom in its veins.

Yet, I feel myself constrained,

The wind pulling me, filling my sails,

A scent of home and happiness begging me to return.

To throw aside such freedom, can I bear to do it?

To set my feet to an as yet untrodden path,

But one which will determine it forevermore?

There is but one thing which can demand it of me.

One thing that cries out to make itself known.

The whisper on the wind is your voice.

The scent in the air, your sweet perfume.

Can I give it all to you?

Or will I take to my heels and search freedom once more?'"

Charlotte did not speak for some moments. Instead, she let the words sink into her soul, her eyes having already closed as Lord Kentmore read. There was something about the poem which spoke to her, something which reached out and called to her heart. Lord Kentmore's voice had held a gentleness to it which she had never heard before, a sweetness to it which had reverberated in her very soul. She had never expected him to be able to read with such delicacy, with such tenderness, and yet, it was as though he had written each and every word and was filling it with his own emotions.

"I do hope that my reading was satisfactory for you."

Opening her eyes, Charlotte let out a small sigh, then smiled at him.

"I must say, I am astonished."

Lord Kentmore looked at her, then much to Charlotte's surprise, came to sit beside her, a fervency in his gaze which she had not expected to be there.

"Astonished?"

"Yes," she answered, a strange swirling in her core at his nearness. "I did not think that you would read so well, Lord Kentmore."

He closed his eyes for a moment, ducked his head, and then smiled.

"I am very glad to hear it."

And I did not think that he would be so affected by my consideration of him.

"The poem was beautiful," she continued, as he looked back at her. "It held such feeling, I confess that my heart was stirred."

"Truly?" Lord Kentmore's hand settled on hers, though he did not ever lift his gaze away from her face, and Charlotte started in surprise, her heart quickening. "You thought well of it?"

Blinking quickly, Charlotte looked away, licking her lips as all manner of emotions began to climb through her.

"I did, truly." She managed to turn her gaze back to him. "You know the author, yes? I am sure that he must be pleased that there are so many young ladies in London who are eager for his poetry."

"Mayhap, though not all of them are as discerning as you, I am sure," came the reply, his hand never lifting from hers, his hazel eyes searching her face. "My dear Miss Hawick, to know that I have pleased you means a great deal."

Charlotte said nothing, finding herself drawn to him in a way that was most disconcerting, appreciating that he valued her opinion of his reading of the poem. She had no desire to pull her hand away, no thought of rising from her chair to put the appropriate distance between them. Instead, the thought came to her of the first time had kissed her and, without meaning to, her eyes went to his lips. What would it feel like to have them pressed to hers again? Would there be the same passion as there had been when he had thought her to be someone else?

"Miss Hawick," Lord Kentmore breathed, leaning a little closer to her. "I must ask you if–"

He is still a rogue.

"Might I ask if you still have every intention of returning to your previous interests once we are wed?" Ice washed over her as Lord Kentmore pulled back, his hand taken from hers at the very same moment. The thought of their kiss had brought to mind the fact that he had been intending to kiss someone else and, with that, the realization that she was being nothing but foolish in thinking of him in any way other than as a rogue. "You and I have become a little closer these last few days, Lord Kentmore, but that does not change the fact that you are determined to be a rogue still, once we are wed – or whenever you decide to return to it."

Lord Kentmore frowned, a shadow coming over his expression.

"What is it that you want me to say, Miss Hawick? I have already assured you that I will not do so."

"For the time being," she stated, angry with herself for letting her feelings become affected by him. "You know very well that I do not wish to marry a rogue."

"Yes, you have made that very clear."

Charlotte took a breath, a sudden sense of desperation beginning to flood her.

"What I want is to hear you state that you will be as any gentleman ought to be when he is wed: singularly devoted to his wife."

Lord Kentmore looked back at her for a long moment. Nothing was said between them, no words came from his mouth and Charlotte had none to say either. Eventually, Lord Kentmore closed his eyes, forced a smile, and lifted his shoulders.

"Miss Hawick," he said, making Charlotte's heart squeeze with a sudden, sharp pain, fearing what his next words would be. "I cannot say what changes the future might bring. What I might say, however, is–"

"I am returned!" Lady Morton sailed into the room, just as Lord Kentmore placed his hand back upon her own, only to pull it away just as quickly. "Now, tell me, Lord Kentmore, have you been to a play recently? I have heard that there have been some marvelous productions of late, though I have not yet been so fortunate as to attend them."

Charlotte could do nothing other than listen to her mother speak, picking up her teacup and drinking what was left of it while Lord Kentmore answered in the most jovial voice, as though nothing of difficulty had been spoken between them. What Lord Kentmore had said had not brought her any sort of joy or reassurance. He had not said that yes, he wanted to be committed to her, desired to be a devoted husband who never again returned to the life of being a scoundrel. Instead, he had made a vague remark about the future and then had been forced to fall silent. Perhaps it was just as well he had not been permitted to say anymore, given the sorrow she already felt.

Why is my heart so foolish as to let itself warm to a gentleman who can never return my interest? Charlotte berated herself silently as her mother laughed at something Lord Kentmore said. He cannot commit to a change in his life, he cannot promise to turn away from his roguish ways. And despite how much I might wish it, he cannot ever commit to me.

Charlotte meandered through the garden of her father's townhouse, letting her fingers brush across the soft petals of the flowers there. She smiled to herself, only for a sudden thought to capture her attention.

Lord Kentmore.

The bouquet of flowers he had brought to her the previous day had been the first she had ever received from a gentleman and, as he had offered it to her, her heart had cried out – and even now, though she wanted to forget it, she could not. That cry had been one of affection, one of hope that it would be returned, though Charlotte was quite sure it would never be so. The more time she spent with him, the more she desired for him to be devoted solely to her, to turn his back entirely on such things, and yet, even now, he had not spoken to her of that. He had given her no assurance – so why did her heart continue to betray her with whispers of hope?

Sighing to herself, Charlotte continued through the garden, wondering at her own, tumultuous thoughts. She did not want to have her thoughts linger on Lord Kentmore, did not want to continue to consider all that she desired from him, for to do so would mean building up a hope that would, most likely, be shattered.

"Charlotte?"

She turned her head, seeing Lillian sitting on a bench near the scarlet roses.

"Lillian, I did not know you were here."

"I thought to come outside for a short while." Lillian held up The London Chronicle, a smile dancing about her lips. "I thought you might wish to see the poem that has been written within?"

Charlotte hesitated. Things had not been particularly warm between herself and her sister of late and though she had found herself thoroughly captured by the poems which had been printed in The London Chronicle, she did not desire to discuss them with her sister. Lillian had been enjoying Charlotte's close connection with Lord Kentmore in her own way, and had never enquired about how Charlotte felt at the prospect of marrying a rogue but had, instead, seemed to take great delight in it all. That had pushed Charlotte even further from her.

Evidently, her thoughts must have shown in her expression for Lillian's face fell and the paper was quickly settled in her lap.

"I have already read it," Charlotte said quickly. "That is to say, Lord Kentmore read it to me earlier this afternoon."

Lillian nodded and looked away. "I know that you are displeased with me still," she said, her voice a little quiet. "Looking back, I mayhap ought not to have done as I did, but I think that it has turned out rather well, has it not?"

Charlotte stiffened.

"If you mean to say that Lord Glenfield has taken an interest in you, then yes, I suppose that it has."

Her sister tilted her head, saying nothing as she looked into Charlotte's eyes for a long moment.

"That has been a pleasant consequence, I will admit, though you must understand that there is also concern in my heart for you."

Closing her eyes, Charlotte shook her head.

"You have not asked me about my feelings ever since the news of my courtship ran around society."

"Because I was sure that you would soon realize just how wonderful this is to be for you!"

"Wonderful?"

Charlotte's voice cracked.

Lillian nodded, her eyes wide with enthusiasm.

"Yes, of course! You are to be a Marchioness! Your standing in society will be great and–"

"And I would give it all up for a gentleman who truly cared for me, Lillian!" Charlotte threw up her hands, her frustration boiling furiously, a sharpness there that had not been present before. "Despite my standing, even though I will be a Marchioness and, no doubt, have a good deal more coin than I have ever had before, I would give it all up to marry a gentleman who truly had an affection for me." She saw Lillian's eyes widen, saw the way that she opened her mouth, but Charlotte continued on regardless, her chest tight, her hands curling into fists. "The Marquess of Kentmore is a rogue. He states that though he will give that up for the time being, it will not be forever. What hope have I of a happy future? What hope have I of any sort of affection or true kindness or consideration between us? And what is worse, what if I, in my foolishness, find myself drawn to the very gentleman who could not care anything for me? Have you considered such things, Lillian? Or is money and standing all that matters to you?" She shook her head, seeing Lillian's face slowly beginning to drain of color. "I have never dreamed of love. I have never once imagined a marriage filled with affection and happiness, not until the possibility of that was taken from me. Now, the one thing I never thought to hope for is the only thing I long for, knowing I shall never gain it."

Lillian let out a small squeak, one hand reaching forward, one finger pointing – and Charlotte turned.

Lord Kentmore was standing only a few steps behind her, his eyes wide, his expression one of utter shock, the color pulling from his face. Charlotte gasped, stepping back from him, horrified about how much he would have overheard.

And then, without warning, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Charlotte staring after him in dismay.