Page 36 of Always the Chaperone
Not that he was entirely sure that he could explain it. It didn’t make sense, these letters from Charlotte.
Unable to prevent himself, William reached into his pocket and pulled out the pages Charlotte had sent him in response to invitations to dine, for walks, to a card party, and to this musical recital. He had only started sending more formal invitations when her name had not appeared in the Pump Rooms book for a week, and there had been no response from knocking on her door, other than Matthews’s stern frown.
Your Grace,
I must send you my sincere apologies that I am unable to attend the Coulsons’ card party with you tomorrow evening. I am sure you will have an enjoyable evening.
Lady Charlotte St. Maur
William’s jaw clenched. What did it mean? Why was she avoiding him so concertedly? And here was another one.
Your Grace,
I have no interest in a walk at the present time. Please share your invitation with another lady who is.
Lady Charlotte St. Maur
No interest? He could not fault her letters for politeness, but they were so distant. The sort of letters one would send to an elderly aunt whom you did not wish to visit. After all they had discussed, shared with each other, why did she suddenly have no desire to see him?
He sighed heavily as he read the letter he had received most recently.
Your Grace,
I regret to inform you that I am no longer available for engagements of any kind. Please cease contacting me on this matter, for my interest in such things will not change.
Lady Charlotte St. Maur
Cease contacting her as though he could wipe her from his mind? What had happened?
William’s gaze wandered lazily around the room. He watched the musicians without much interest—even studied some of the people, but all he could think about was Charlotte.
He loved her. There was no denying it, no reason to, except he had never had to work so hard for a woman’s affection. There were instances when he was sure she felt the same.
But not enough.
The violinist nudged the viola player beside him, and they both frowned at William. He shifted uncomfortably in the wooden seat and allowed his gaze to drift to the candles on the wall.
Why not? What was holding her back?
It was in these moments that he wished, more than anything, that Honora was still with them. John was intelligent, but Honora had a softness of heart and an understanding soul. She could have explained to him why Charlotte had placed herself at odds with him. Perhaps she could have even spoken with Charlotte, helped her to understand that he was in earnest.
William sighed. Wherever Honora was, he wanted her back. Thinking on it would bring him naught but pain. Though he hoped to see her at every event he attended. And now there was Charlotte.
It was strange. When he had been a soldier, marriage had been absolutely out of the question. Who wanted a war-worn soldier for a husband? A few ladies had accepted him into their beds, but he had gained more of a reputation for wooing than for bedding.
Now that he had a title and had found the right woman, she was not interested.
Someone nudged him hard on the shoulder, and William turned around with a snarl to see John. “What?”
John pointed toward the entrance. Irritated beyond belief to have had his thoughts disturbed once more, William turned to see Charlotte enter the room. Not alone, though. As his mind whirled, he saw two people with her—a young lady with too much rouge on her cheeks to be respectable, and a gangly gentleman who looked as though he didn’t know how to walk properly.
William sighed. Once again, Charlotte was acting as a chaperone. It would explain the drab blue gown several years out of fashion, the lack of jewels, and the complete lack of care spent on her hair. Not forgetting the look of boredom on her face.
Despite all that, her beauty eclipsed the others around her, despite their finery.
How could no one else see her remarkable beauty? It drove him mad the world did not notice.
“Lady Charlotte!” he shouted without thinking.
