Page 61 of Always the Chaperone
“She says,” he explained heavily, “she is just a chaperone. She does not expect to get married, she does not trust my intentions, and she cannot imagine herself getting married. Each excuse is a variation on a theme. She is always the chaperone and never the bride.”
There was more silence after this pronouncement, and then John spoke with a grin.
“Well,” he said matter-of-factly, “I can understand why she thinks that. I mean, she must be what—over thirty? Five and thirty, I heard. That is old, Mercia, too old for marriage.”
William did not think. His fist moved around fast and punched John firmly in the face.
John fell backward off his stool with a cry of pain, his hands clutching his face. Blood poured through his fingers.
William had risen from his chair, which had tipped over but was prevented from advancing on his brother because Orrinshire and Lord George were holding him back. He had not even noticed them move.
The club was silent, all heads turned to the fallen man on the ground. A pair of footmen moved slowly forward to check on the fallen man, and one proffered a handkerchief. Some in the room continued to stare, but the York had seen its fair share of disagreements, and this was between brothers. The murmurings rose, and the noisy chatter returned.
Chester had rushed to John’s side. “Christ, John, are you hurt? Is it broken?”
John accepted his hand. Standing unsteadily, he stared at his brother.
William stared back. He was panting, his heart thudding against his ribcage. He had never done anything so violent away from the battlefield and hated the taste of anger on his tongue—but had been so overcome with the desire to protect Charlotte, her name, and her honor.
“Take that back.” He was amazed he was able to speak, there was so little breath in his lungs, but the words managed to make their way out.
John’s nose was bleeding badly, but he did nothing to prevent the flow, allowing it to drip down his face, onto his collar and cravat. He stared at his elder brother without saying a word.
“I apologize. Hell’s bells, William, you know I like Charlotte. I was…it was wrong. I am sorry.”
Remorse burned through William. He reached out a hand, and his brother took it. “It is nothing.”
Orrinshire picked up the fallen stool and chair, and all five sat in silence.
John pulled out a handkerchief and started dabbing at the ebbing flow of his nose. “If Charlotte is that important,” he said thickly, “why are you here talking to us, instead of out there talking to her?”
He shrugged. That was a question he could not answer.
John snorted. “It sounds like she is afraid. If the five of us have learned anything, it’s that you are most afraid when you have the most to lose.”
Chapter Seventeen
Charlotte paused beforethe door and took a deep breath. No matter what, she was going to keep calm. She was not going to lose her temper again. Not like the Pump Room.
She stepped into the dimly lit breakfast room. There were two candles in the room, and Matthews was still laying the table.
“You have risen early, my…” Matthews broke off as he lifted his head.
Charlotte flushed. She had glanced quickly at her appearance in the looking glass and seen the red-ringed eyes, the disheveled hair, the hastily tied gown hanging strangely because she had not waited for Danvers to help her. She still clutched a blanket around her shoulders.
Matthews decided not to say anything and returned to his task.
Charlotte did not have the words to thank him. Instead, she sat at the table, sinking into the cushioned seat. The morning had come too quickly, and she still could not believe yesterday had even happened.
“Your Grace, are you in love with this chaperone? Is…is that allowed?”
“I hope you enjoy today’s breakfast,” Matthews said quietly, jolting Charlotte back to the present. “I have been informed that Cook has saved some delicious kippers, especially for today. The evening post was delivered late, and I have placed the letters here.”
He gestured towards the pile of letters before her plate, and Charlotte nodded.
“Tea has been poured, and as usual, ring the bell if you need anything.”
Charlotte found her voice was hoarse when she spoke. “Thank you, Matthews.”
