Chapter 12

CHAPTER

a

12

C harlotte hovered in the doorway to Win's library. The butler had been watching for her and she'd just been announced. The Dowager was present and impatiently waiting for her to arrive.

"Don't dawdle, Miss Cronenworth," she snapped. "Come in and sit down."

At the Dowager's sharp tone, Charlotte squared her shoulders and stepped inside. She'd meant to attend the meeting in better condition, but the minute she'd returned to her bedchamber after speaking with Boggs on the stairs, she'd been summoned to the appointment. She'd tried to delay the inevitable, so she could wash and change her clothes, but the housemaid who'd delivered the Dowager's message had insisted she not dawdle.

Charlotte had traipsed after the girl and she'd silently fumed the whole way. The Dowager was probably aware that she'd been riding, that she'd have liked to freshen up first, and the domineering harpy had been determined to have Charlotte at a disadvantage.

The room had been staged as if for an interrogation. The Dowager was seated behind the massive desk and there was a single chair across from her. She imperiously gestured to it, as if she were a queen and Charlotte a peasant. Charlotte marched over and slid down, and as she steadied herself, she realized that the ridiculous matron had taken special pains to guarantee Charlotte recognized the differences between them.

She was attired in a fabulous silver gown, her neck, ears, and fingers adorned with expensive jewels. Her hair sparkled with a diamond tiara. Obviously, she was eager for Charlotte to be intimidated, and Charlotte would admit to being a tad daunted, but why put on such a show? They could have had a civil chat, then parted company with no harm done. There was no need for so much pomposity.

The Dowager was fifty or so and it was clear she'd once been a great beauty. She was still striking, her stunning features evident. Her age simply enhanced her aura of gravitas and splendor.

She was definitely Win's mother. She looked just like him, and although they had the same blue eyes, his were merry and could light up with mischief, but hers were cold and hard, as if she'd never suffered a happy moment in her life.

She nodded to the butler and he bowed and shut the door, so Charlote was alone with her. A heavy silence descended, and Charlotte felt as if she were a child at school and about to be caned for an infraction.

She figured she should grovel a bit, hoping to lessen the tension that had developed, but before she could open her mouth to utter a platitude, the Dowager said, "My son has ordered that we confer. I don't see why I should have had to fuss with you, but I try to oblige him. Please tell me what you want and I would appreciate it if you'd be brief."

The rude comment was galling, and it took all of Charlotte's aplomb to keep from jumping up and stomping out. She had a temper and she couldn't abide snobs, insolence, or discourtesy. She didn't care how important the Dowager deemed herself to be. Charlotte didn't like her and wasn't keen to be insulted.

She began with, "Polly Dartmouth was a student where I was a teacher and—"

"Yes, yes, I know." The Dowager waved away the remark, as if Charlotte's explanation was irrelevant. "What do you want? Why are you pestering us?"

Charlotte's gaze narrowed and, lest she hurl a caustic retort, she forced herself to remain calm. "I have been Polly's teacher and I view myself as her friend. I have been informed that you are her guardian, and with Mrs. Pemberton's Academy closing, I would like to inquire as to what you plan for her."

"Is there some reason you are owed an accounting?"

"Yes. I'm concerned about her and I'll worry about her after I depart."

The Dowager studied her as if she were a curious insect that had slithered out of the woods. "You were employed at the Academy, and in my opinion, that is a very low position in the world. Why would you have the authority to question me on any issue?"

The snooty query was too much for Charlotte and she huffed with offense. "She's a smart, sweet girl. Somehow, you've wound up in charge of her, and I'd like to be assured that you will properly manage her situation."

"She was born in Manchester and she is heading back there to enroll in a new school. She will reside there until she is sixteen. Then she and I will decide on her next steps."

"What steps would those be? Are you referring to an eventual marriage? Is that it?" Sixteen was a good age for a female to wed, if she was paired with the right beau. "Or are you considering some sort of apprenticeship? She can't end up sewing in the workroom at a dress shop. She deserves a brighter future than that."

The Dowager harumphed. "Whatever happens, it will be in four years, and I fail to see how you'll be involved at such a distant time."

"I intend to stay in contact with her. She values my support and advice. She might be moving to Manchester, but she and I will correspond."

"Why should you be allowed to interfere in the choices I make regarding her?"

Charlotte threw up her hands in exasperation. "I'm fond of her. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"I don't like to be bothered and you are a huge bother."

"How could I have been?" Charlotte impertinently replied. "Up until this very minute, you and I have never spoken. You're being absurd."

"If I had wanted the girl dragged to Fog Bay, I would have brought her there myself. You have inconvenienced me and disrupted my busy schedule."

Charlotte spat out a snide laugh. "If I hadn't conveyed her there, she'd have been abandoned on the lane outside the Academy. Your guardianship was so lax that we had no idea that you should be apprised as to her plight. I tried to find her family, so if anyone has been bothered by this dilemma, I'd say it was me!"

She stood to leave, but the Dowager furiously said, "We're not finished, Miss Cronenworth. Sit down."

"You may not be finished, but I certainly am. I'll have Lord Dartmouth talk to you about Polly, and hopefully, he will be able to learn the details I am determined to have. I don't have the patience to tolerate you."

Despite the Dowager's glower, Charlotte might still have stomped out, but the older woman barked, "Sit down! Now!"

There was such a stern warning in the words that Charlotte obliged her. She shouldn't have, but the Dowager was very intimidating and Charlotte was definitely intimidated.

"A bit earlier," the Dowager said, "I was staring out the window, and I watched you walking with my son."

"Yes, so? He and I took a ride around the estate. He gave me a tour."

"I am not a fool and I'm not blind. How long have you been having an affair?"

The allegation was so startling that Charlotte's jaw dropped, and she might have been turned to stone. The Dowager was about to discuss Win? She was accusing Charlotte of illicit conduct?

"I think you're confused," Charlotte said. "The Earl and I are practically strangers. There's no inappropriate relationship occurring between us."

"Don't lie to me. Even from my elevated perch on the third floor, I perceived the affection that has blossomed."

"You're wrong. He and I were cordial at Fog Bay, and when you sent men to snatch Polly away, I was distraught over how it was handled. He delivered me to Dartmouth, so I could check on her. That's it. That's the extent of our acquaintance."

"He kissed you! I witnessed the outrage with my own two eyes!"

Charlotte's cheeks heated. You're mistaken about what you observed."

"I told you not to lie to me, and if you persist, you'll make me very angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

"Well, it seems to be your permanent condition, so how could I exacerbate it?" The remark was horrendously disrespectful, but honestly! Where did the patronizing witch get off with her insults and slurs?

"You have a very smart mouth," the Dowager said, "but then, in light of your history, I'm not surprised."

Charlotte scowled ferociously. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Do you imagine I am unaware of the identity of your parents? Your father was Harold. Your mother was Sybil. She was an insane deviant who shamed your family and scandalized the entire kingdom. Her deranged blood flows in your veins, yet you are in my home and digging your claws into my son. I won't stand for it."

"My mother was young and imprudent and that's all I'll say about her. I would appreciate it if you wouldn't speak ill of the dead."

"My husband, Reginald, was one of your father's investors, and he was lucky he wasn't bankrupted in the aftermath of your mother's folly. I'm entitled to have an opinion about this situation."

Charlotte began to shake. It was always traumatic for her to be forced to recall the humiliating incident. It had ruined her life, had left her father bitter and cruel, had brought Georgina and Arthur into their world. It had pitched Charlotte into a downward plunge from which she'd likely never recover.

"Would you excuse me?" she mumbled. "I can't listen to you on this topic."

"No, I don't excuse you. You possess an incredible fondness for my son. Are you in love with him?"

Charlotte scoffed, but she didn't sound very firm. "No. I barely know him and it's preposterous of you to assume an improper liaison has formed."

"I comprehend why a girl in your reduced circumstances would be charmed. Has he tendered promises to you? Has he perhaps tempted you with offers of marriage?"

"No!" Charlotte vehemently said. "I can't fathom how you've developed such peculiar ideas about me and him."

"Your mother is Sybil Cronenworth, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, so you are capable of any perfidy. If you're thinking you're Cinderella, and he might let you glom onto him, you are deluded. He would never be serious about you."

Charlotte had already been apprised of his lack of regard. He'd been very clear about where she stood with him: She could be his mistress. He'd been exceedingly blunt about it, but she was too dazed to devise a pithy response.

"I'm sorry you're so unhappy," she said instead, "and I'm sorry I've aggravated you, but we've chatted long enough."

"Tread carefully my dear or you will find yourself caught in a predicament you couldn't possibly have intended. When are you leaving?"

The abrupt change of subject was disorienting and Charlotte stammered, "I'm ... I'm not sure. I was expecting to tarry while Polly is still here too."

"I am in charge of her, so your continued presence isn't necessary. You'll depart tomorrow."

"Oh."

"This dalliance won't be tolerated by me, and with you being Sybil Cronenworth's daughter, it's obvious you're not our kind of people. Who can guess what sort of calamity you might stir if the rest of us aren't on guard? You'll go in the morning. Don't make me tell you twice."

Charlotte wanted to argue about the edict, but she was too stunned to comment. Win wouldn't like her to part so soon, but she would never ask him to countermand his mother's decree.

"I used to presume I was your kind of people," Charlotte dared to reply, "but with how awful you've been to me, I'm glad I tumbled out of your social circle. I'm much better off right where I am."

She rose and staggered out, and she'd have liked to claim she marched out with her head held high, but that would be a lie. She felt as if she'd been battered with clubs, as if the Dowager's words had pummeled her.

As she reached the door, the Dowager called, "Are we agreed, Miss Cronenworth? Will I be shed of you tomorrow?"

Charlotte didn't answer her. She simply raced to the stairs and ran up them, so she could lock herself in her room and hide, mostly from Win, so she'd never have to repeat any of the galling things his mother had just said.

v

"I'm here, Mother, as you requested. What is it you need?"

Win strolled into Agatha's bedchamber. He was dressed in his formal evening attire and about to walk down to supper, but he'd received a haughty summons from her, so he'd stopped by before he descended to the lower parlors.

Supper was always an ostentatious event at Dartmouth. The family viewed it as a way to remind everyone in the land of their longevity and prosperity. They were obscenely rich and they enjoyed flaunting their affluence, proving they could afford the largesse.

In earlier centuries, when the old portion of the manor had still been a fortified castle, they'd dined like kings and had allowed peasants to stand in the gallery over the main hall, so they could watch their lords eating while they, themselves, were starving.

The current generation of Wainwrights wasn't that horrid, but he would admit to being overly pompous. His ancestors had carefully built their wealth in order to arrive at the elevated spot they occupied, and they were imperious, magnanimous rulers. It was important to show the masses that the kingdom was stable, the Wainwrights were stable, the earldom thriving.

His mother was dressed too and she'd outdone herself. She was wearing an exquisite silver gown that shimmered when she moved, and she'd joined him in picking through the jewelry in the vault. She was covered in priceless rubies.

Even though it was a balmy summer night, she had a fire burning in the hearth, and she was seated in front of it and sipping on a glass of wine. There was a chair next to her and she motioned for him to sit down too. Two housemaids were hovering, and when she waved them out, he sighed with irritation. Clearly, she intended a distasteful conversation, and it meant they'd bicker before they went downstairs.

He stomped over and eased down, as she gestured to the wine decanter on the small table between them.

"Would you like some?" she asked.

"No. I'll wait until I'm with our guests. Just tell me what you want, so we can deal with it. I'm in a hurry." He'd had a gown altered for Charlotte, so she could eat with them, and he was anxious to see how beautiful she would look in it.

"Why are you in a hurry?" his mother inquired. "As far as I can discern, this meal is no different from any other. What's the rush?"

He bristled. "Agatha, do you have a topic to discuss or not? If there is no reason for me to attend you, I'll excuse myself and go."

She snorted at that. "You won't like what I'm about to impart, but I've decided to speak up anyway."

"Must you? Have I vexed you somehow? Or might I hope it was some other unlucky soul?"

"This afternoon, I was staring down in the garden and you were with Miss Cronenworth. Even from up on the third floor, I was able to perceive your heightened affection."

It was the very last subject he'd expected her to address and his cheeks heated with chagrin. "I am fond of her. I won't deny it."

"You're suffering from more than fondness. You're totally besotted. For pity's sake, you kissed her!"

He narrowed his gaze, as he struggled to remain calm. "I seem to recollect, when I was twenty or so, you once tried to lecture me about one of my amorous pursuits. I distinctly remember advising you that you were never to interfere in any of my romances, so I suggest you butt out."

"You're marrying in four weeks!"

"Yes, I am. What has that to do with anything?"

"I understand what kind of man you are. I recognize that you'll never be faithful to Jasmine."

"Mother! Please."

"But at the beginning of your marriage, you should be devoted to your wife for a bit of time. Jasmine is young and she shouldn't have to become a bride, while you're fixated on another woman. It would be too cruel."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'm not fixated on Charlotte."

Agatha snickered quite nastily. "Have you bedded her?"

"I won't dignify that comment with a reply."

"Then I will assume you have."

He tsked with affront. "Why must you always think badly of me?"

"I realize the manor belongs to you, but I live here too. We also have a cadre of impressionable footmen and maids who shouldn't be exposed to immorality. How dare you bring your paramour into this house!"

"She's not my paramour, so your fit of pique is exhausting."

"Don't pretend with me. You believe you're a complete enigma, but I know you better than anyone. You don't have friendships with women. You have passionate dalliances, and if you haven't commenced one with her yet, you're about to."

She was determined to hash it out, and it was impossible to dissuade her, so he shrugged. "Yes, I'm considering an affair. There! I've admitted it. Are you happy now?"

"Is she aware that it's simply an affair you're planning?"

"I have no idea how she views it."

"Liar. She's fallen in love with you. You showed her the estate today and she'll be presuming she's on the road to being your countess."

"Don't worry. I'm not about to wed her."

"Of course you're not. You relish the hunt, the chase. You're reveling in how you've ensnared her, and you're waiting for the moment you can push forward to the end. Why am I certain the conclusion you're envisioning is the total opposite of what she's anticipating?"

"I'd like her to be my mistress," he bluntly declared. "I imagine that news will shock you, but you insisted we discuss this topic. If you've learned details you can't bear to hear, it's your own fault."

Agatha looked horrified. "You can't enter into a carnal relationship with her. You've convinced yourself that you're cautious in your philandering, so you won't sire a child, but what if you do? What if the worst happens and she winds up increasing with your bastard?"

"You're bloviating about pointless matters. I haven't asked her to be my mistress and you already have her bedded and pregnant."

"Don't be flippant about this," she said. "You can't have forgotten the scandal with her parents."

He scoffed with disgust. "She was five when her mother vanished. You can't blame her."

"Her mother was later ruled to be legally insane. Lunacy was in her veins; it was proven in a court of law. Her husband had her convicted as a criminal adulteress, and he locked her away forever, due to her crazed frolic. Miss Cronenworth isn't responsible for the woman's choices, but she carries the same blood. It's a permanent stain she can't shed."

"You're being ridiculous," he grumbled.

"If you mix your blood with hers, what type of hideous abomination might you create?"

"Agatha! Stop it. You're starting to seriously annoy me."

"How long have you been acquainted with her? Three weeks? Four? Evidently, you haven't noticed any of her mother's odd characteristics, but you can't swear she doesn't have them."

A muscle ticked in his cheek and his temper was begging to explode. He took a deep breath to relax. He never raged or shouted, but she had a keen knack for goading him into a frenzy.

"She's not a lunatic," he carefully said, "and I have no desire to defend her to you. I like her very much and that is all you need to know about it. I am a grown man and you are my mother. You are not my nanny or my vicar, and you will not scold me about my licentious habits. Now then, I'm going down to supper. Would you like to walk down with me?"

He rose to leave, thinking she'd rise too, but she was undeterred.

"Have you told her you're engaged?" she asked. "Have you told her about the wedding?"

"No." Before he could ponder how callous his reply would sound, he added, "Why would I have mentioned it to her? My amour with her is separate from my commitment to Jasmine or what's occurring in London."

Agatha rippled with offense. "Will you pursue an affair just as you're about to march down the aisle with your bride? Is that the sort of son I raised? Will you behave that despicably toward Jasmine? And how about Miss Cronenworth? It's clear she's very fond of you. Could you hurt her this way?"

"I'm not about to hurt her."

"You're not? In my view, you're racing to disaster."

He comprehended that he was acting very badly, but he liked Charlotte so much. He simply couldn't stay away from her.

He kept hoping something would happen, that she would agree to be his mistress, or that he would decide he wasn't actually that interested in her. Neither of those scenarios was likely though, and his wedding was approaching with the speed of a runaway carriage.

He was lucky she hadn't learned of his betrothal as she'd been residing at Dartmouth. Servants liked to gossip, and it was a miracle she hadn't heard the truth from them. If she did? She'd never speak to him again.

"You're making too much of this," he halfheartedly said.

"In my opinion, I'm not making nearly enough. She believes you're about to propose!"

"No, she doesn't."

"She does! Don't delude yourself. She's plunged down Society's ladder and she desperately needs to be rescued by a champion. She assumes it will be you. When she discovers how duplicitous you've been, how terribly will it crush her?"

He eased down on the chair and poured himself a glass of wine after all. He glugged it down and stared into the hearth. Agatha was correct that Charlotte was expecting him to propose. Oh, she might claim she wasn't, but he sensed how avidly she was wishing they could end up together. He wished it too, but it would never transpire.

He should never have flirted with her, but he had, and they were both too besotted. Since he had no intention of crying off from his promise to Jasimine and her father, what were his options?

Agatha took pity on him and softened her tone. "I met with Miss Cronenworth this afternoon as you requested."

"Have you answered her questions about Polly?"

"Yes, but I also discussed your dalliance."

He winced. "Will you keep your nose out of my private business?"

"In this instance, I can't. I've ordered her to leave Dartmouth. First thing in the morning."

"I'm not ready for her to depart," he sullenly fumed.

"I realize you're not, but I won't permit you to treat her or Jasmine so outrageously."

"It's not up to you."

"Isn't it? I suppose you'll counter my command. That's fine; it's your house. It's your illicit amour. You're entitled to immerse yourself in any egregious mischief you please. But tomorrow is Thursday. If I come down to breakfast on Friday, and she's still on the premises, I will enlighten her about Jasmine. Don't force my hand. Let her slither off with her dignity intact."

"She makes me so happy. Why would you be so cruel to us?"

She smirked with derision. "I will be saving her from disgrace and dishonor, and I will be reminding you to carry on according to your rank and station. I will be reminding you of your duty to Jasmine." She nodded to the door. "We're finished and you're excused."

He glared at her, as a thousand vile retorts surged to the tip of his tongue. He yearned to hurl all of them, yearned to tell her how much he'd never liked her, how she'd been a cold, uncaring parent who'd never liked him much either. He yearned to tell her how glad he was to have met Charlotte, that she left him ecstatic in a way he'd never previously been, but it would be futile to clarify any of that. She wouldn't listen anyway, so it would be a waste of breath.

And despite how angry he was over her domineering manner, she was absolutely right in every comment she'd uttered. He was in the wrong with regard to Charlotte, and he was ashamed of how he was tricking her and leading her on. He couldn't stop though, which was madness in the extreme.

He poured himself another glass of wine, chugged down the contents, then smacked down the goblet so hard that the stem cracked off. He pitched the ruined cup at the hearth, where it shattered quite effectively. It was a petty, childish display, but he felt much better for having engaged in it.

Then he stood and stormed out, his fury out of control, but he was Earl of Dartmouth. He was a Wainwright. The blood of his exalted ancestors flowed in his veins and he knew precisely how to act in every situation. His presence was required down in the lower parlors, where the evening's guests awaited his grand arrival. Charlotte would be there too and he was excited to be with her.

He pasted on a casual smile and headed for the stairs.