Page 30 of The Deceptive Earl

Lady Charity might have chosen to continue that act, if she had ends to meet, but her credit she did not. In light of the Miss Danbury rumor, she had chosen to ignore him instead. That meant that she did not view him as worth the effort for her machinations. That knowledge both pleased him, for sake of her character, and wounded him deeply, for sake of his pride.

Lady Charity needed neither his wealth nor his position, for she was in possession of her own on both counts. That must be why she found it so easy to dismiss him. He had nothing with which to tempt her. That begged the question, did he have nothing of himself, only wealth and position. Was he, himself, worth nothing at all? The thought pained him. Certainty his name was worth even less now. Rumor had been rife for weeks and had only grown with the retelling.

He had always thought that his rakish nature was a fun game. He joked with Reg that it kept the rabble at bay. He had never thought that anyone truly believed the dark persona. Sure, mothers cautioned their daughters, and he played the reprobate to weed out the fawning women who meant nothing to him, but he never thought that any lady he truly wanted would be swayed by the rumor, not as Lady Charity had been he thought bitterly.

He had never let rumor get so far out of hand that he could not dispel it, only now it had, and he couldn’t. He found he could not shed the façade and be, in truth, the person he always knew himself to be. Somehow, the lie had become him. What was once a careless flirtation, had become the man, and he did not like what he saw in himself. Nor did he know how to correct the matter. Lady Charity Abernathy had every reason to be cold to him. He knew that now.

She had called him out and castigated him for his treatment of women and for snubbing her friend, if Miss Macrum was even her friend, her or Miss Danbury. He highly doubted that now. Lady Charity was above such petty women. She had no personal involvement with them. She had been affronted on behalf of her sex.

She had taken him to task for his treatment of womankind, and he had retaliated in the worse way possible. He had substantiated her every word by his actions. TheTonhad called him the villain, and he had shrugged off the insult, but he had not expected Lady Charity to believe the worst of him, and when she did, he stupidly proved her word true. He had not expected the pain that her rejection caused him. Hers most of all.

Neville felt the strangest juxtaposition when he thought of Lady Charity. He did not want to feel at all. He had thought himself cool and beyond such flights of emotion, but that was the cruelest lie, because he did feel. He was angry, for she made him furious. Yet he was drawn to her like the face of a flower reached toward the rays of the sun, asking for her beauty. She was either the purest of souls or the darkest of evildoers. There could exist nothing between. The more he thought on it, the more that he began to suspect that she was the former.

She was forthright and although her words were harsh, he now realized she voiced what all the Tonwas already thinking. Only Lady Charity had been bold enough to voice it plainly. Only she had given him honesty and he had called her viper. He deeply regretted those words now. He was so surprised, he was struck dumb and the he had spoken in anger. He had never thought of himself as the reprobate she so colorfully described, but the women of theTonhad. All the while any of them flirted with him or laughed or smiled at him, inwardly, they all thought him capable of ruining a lady and then throwing her over. They truly believed he could be so callous.

If they really thought so little of him, then any hope of finding a lady of character was for naught, for he had so blackened his own that no true lady would have him. He knew full well why Lady Charity was vexed with him but he knew not how to remedy the matter or even if he should try. Perhaps he had played the reprobate so long he had indeed become one. If so, what right did he have pursuing the lady at all?

If the pair remained at a distance, he told himself he might soon come to forget her. His heart cried out at this decision, a sharp pain in his chest. Still, he would not search her out He would not ask after her. No Neville would go about his business as if the thought of Lady Charity as his wife never crossed his mind. He would forget her beauty, no matter what pain it entailed.

Beauty was fleeting. He would focus on other matters, and soon Lady Charity Abernathy would be nothing more than a vague memory. He told himself it was so. Had he not already made this decision? When he was old, he decided, he would take a young and silly bride, and get an heir on her. He would win her with a title, a fine home and jewels. Purchased, his brain supplied. He would then have a wife, paid for, just as one paid for a whore. The thought made him near physically ill.

One more glance at Lady Charity in her white dress, as pure as an angel in heaven sent a shiver down his spine as his mouth ran dry. He released a deep breath as he felt heat take him. He closed his eyes willing his body to nonchalance. Willing himself to forget the way her blue eyes flashed fire when she had chastised him in righteous anger. To forget the feel of her breath against his cheek, the warmth of her hand on his chest where the shattered remains of his heart still beat. The traitorous organ sped up at the very thought of her and he cursed his emotional silliness. Forget her. He would. Though it appeared that forgetting Lady Charity was going to take all of his effort and the Lord only knew how much time.

~.~

Charity should have been looking forward to the Drummond garden party. It was always an enjoyable event. Everyone was invited, and most even brought their children. It was a relaxed affair on a lazy summer day. There was no hurry or tension among the picnic goers, but Charity harbored a feeling of urgency in her soul. Her quarrel with Lord Wentwell still occupied her mind no matter how many times she told herself that he was of no consequence.

Why was it that he kept appearing in her thoughts? The Earl of Wentwell was not for her. She must focus upon finding a truly suitable gentleman for her husband. Yet no man seemed equal to the task. With each passing day she felt her situation grow more urgent. Charity was beginning to feel perhaps her mother was right. She was on her way to being a spinster. Maybe love was an impossible dream. Maybe her mother was right in that as well. She needed to stop being so choosy and just pick someone. Even though she had proven she could match wits with the best of them Charity simply did not want to play these games anymore. Today, Charity thought. Today would be the day, she would choose.

Charity arrived at the picnic with the Poppy family, all four sisters, both Poppy brothers, Lavinia and Flora. Even the eldest Poppy sister, Constance, her husband Mr. Nash, and her two children were there. Charity found herself sitting among friends, sharing a light conversation with Lavinia, and her captain, Flora, James and his brother Michael.

Her own mother and James’ parents were conversing just out of earshot. Several other families were milling about laughing and talking. Some of the younger children, attended by governesses or nannies, were playing, most being careful not to muss their clothing. Others were being held up as tiny trophies, dressed in their summer day attire like miniature ladies and gentlemen. It was a very domestic scene and made Charity ache for children of her own.

Charity looked back at the lively group surrounding her and James smiled at her brightly. She realized with a start that James was a good friend. She saw him almost every day in Bath and yet, she had not seen him. Not truly looked at him. Perhaps he was the solution. James would be an amusing husband. He was lively and full of humor. They had often talked and laughed in easy comradery. There were many couples who made a marriage on little more than that.

The Poppys were not titled or in possession of much wealth, but their estate was adequate and Charity enjoyed the country. Besides, her own father would not leave her destitute no matter how she wed. She would be provided for, as would her mother. The age difference between her mother and father was apparent to her father long before he became ill, and he was nothing if not attentive to his obligations.

Once more Charity’s eyes drifted to the gentleman seated across from her. She searched her past interactions with James for any moment or inclination that there might be a future to be had with him. Nothing stood out as more than familial. Still she might do well to test the waters and see if that opinion could change now that they were older.

James was a gentleman. Charity was surprised that she had not ever really taken note of that fact. And James was handsome. Something inside of her clenched into a hard knot. Not as handsome as The Earl of Wentwell. In fact, who was? She found herself searching the picnic grounds for him, and her eyes lit upon Lord Wentwell and his party some ways away. Lord Wentwell was resplendent in his summer suit, the heat of the day making the garment cling to him. Charity forcefully put a stop to her wandering eye and looked away immediately, her heart aflutter.

She looked back at James from under her lashes and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Her wondering brought no flurry of excitement; no feeling of glee like thinking of the Earl did, but perhaps that was just the remnants of anger were still smoldering after their disagreement at the ball. No. James was the perfect candidate for marriage. Charity wondered how she did not see it before.

James was strong, able, from a good family and a gentleman through and through. Her father would be happy she was settled. She liked James. Her family liked him. Perhaps her mother not so much in status as in person, but Lady Shalace would grow to accept the union. Yes, Charity said, almost to convince herself, she liked James, and marriages were often built on less. Much less, she reminded herself, but as she thought of it, Charity still felt as if she had swallowed a bucket full of ash.

In agitation she rose to her feet. All of the men rose also. “What is it?” James asked at once.

“I—I—I’m sorry,” she said embarrassed at her reaction. “I thought I saw a bee. I was mistaken. Please sit. I think I would like a bit of a walk,” she said wrapping her hands around her fan and twisting it with a nervous gesture.

Michael began to offer his arm, but she turned to James, who after a moment’s hesitation offered his arm instead. “Allow me to escort you,” he said.

She glanced back at Michael to see his face had darkened with a slight frown, but Lavinia seemed intent on bringing him out of his moodiness. Charity and James left the group and wandered down a wide path.

“Do you think the Romans walked on this very path?” she asked.

James lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps,” he said.

They wandered a bit further in silence, until Charity asked. “Do you know if there is a brook beyond those trees?”