Charles Page 13

  “There were two ladies mentioned,” Rachel added.

  “Specific ladies were to be charmed?” Evelyn asked in surprise.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Helen shot Rachel an angry look. “Each gentleman chose one lady of good reputation as the ladies to be charmed.”

  “And these ladies are?”

  “Miss Bellamy was Mr. Easton’s choice.”

  “I hear Mr. Easton has been unsuccessful in wooing her,” Rachel leaned forward and added the information eagerly.

  “Rachel,” Evelyn scolded.

  Rachel shrank back and ducked her head, muttering an apology.

  “The other name? What name did Mr. Edwards select?” Evelyn asked Helen.

  “Yours, ma’am.” The reply was only just above a whisper.

  “Mine?” Evelyn’s hand rested on her racing heart as her head began to spin. He had been pursuing her to win a bet?

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, goodness.” She picked up a paper and waved it in front of her face to get more air. Breathing was becoming excessively difficult as tears constricted her throat.

  “When?” she managed to ask.

  Helen’s brows drew together. “Do you mean when the bet was made or when it was to be completed.”

  There were dates for completion? Evelyn did not know that. “Both,” she replied.

  Rachel, who had risen when Evelyn began fanning herself, handed her a glass of water from the pitcher on the side cabinet, and Evelyn took a swallow.

  “I do not know when the wager was formed, but it is to be completed before the end of the season.” Helen twisted her hands in her lap. “I am sorry, ma’am. I should not have said a thing, but I was hoping Rachel could help me find a way to keep it from you. He’s such a kind gentleman, ma’am. Always smiling. So helpful. And he makes you smile like my mama would smile at my papa.”

  Evelyn nodded and sipped her water. Her lips trembled even as she told herself she would not cry. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Please inform Mr. Gibbs that I will be leaving.”

  “We will not say a word to anyone else,” Rachel assured her.

  “I appreciate that, but you heard it somewhere, which means others have as well.” She closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay contained until she was at home. Home? She shook her head. How was she to explain her tears to her mother?

  She attempted to give the two young maids a smile as they left her office. Then, with a heavy heart, she opened the top drawer on her desk and withdrew the letter and flower that had been delivered to her three days ago. She read once again the sweet words Mr. Edwards had penned. Lies. He was only anxious to return to her so he could win his bet. She tore the paper in half once, twice, three times before tossing it in the grate and crumbling the dried flower petals on top of it. What a fool she had been to think that he had changed.

  “I would never steal a kiss from you, Evelyn. Never from you.” She laughed bitterly. “No, because stealing a kiss would not be the same as charming one, now would it?” She jammed her arms into her coat. Oh, how she wished her father were here. He would know what to do.

  ~*~*~

  “What do you mean you wish to return home?” Mrs. Barrett asked in surprise.

  “I am through with the season.” Evelyn held her chin high and blinked against the tears she had not allowed herself to shed. Her heart ached as it had never ached before — not even when her pony had become ill and had to be… No, she must not think about that. Such thoughts were not going to help her keep those tears in check.

  “What of Mr. Marsh? I know he was nearly to the point,” her mother said as she motioned for her friend, Mrs. Kendrick, to take a seat.

  “I am not accepting him, Mother,” Evelyn said as calmly as she could. She had considered coming straight home and writing the gentleman with her acceptance, so that everything in town could be left behind her, never to be seen again. But she could not. She simply could not leave Helen and Rachel and all the others who counted on her to help them, even if the very thought of Eiddwen House currently only caused her heart to hurt more. Eventually, her memories of him being there would fade.

  Her mother was looking at her in open-mouthed surprise.

  She sighed. “He offered last week.”

  “Last week?” Her mother plopped down on the edge of a chair in a very unladylike fashion.

  “Yes. When I was walking in the park with Constance.”

  “And you refused him?”

  Evelyn shook her head as a wayward tear slid down her cheek. “No, I asked for time to consider because I feared disappointing you.”

  “Me?”

  Evelyn nodded, not willing to trust her voice.

  “Oh, my dear!” Her mother rose from her chair and gathered Evelyn into her arms. “You are not accepting a husband for me. You are doing it for you.” She led Evelyn to the settee near Mrs. Kendrick. “I only wish for your happiness, and you seemed to like Mr. Marsh very much. What made you change your mind?”

  Evelyn shrugged and shook her head. “He does not value my work,” she managed to get out before a sob threatened. There had been one gentleman who appeared to value her work.

  “Oh, Evelyn.”

  There was that disappointment in her mother’s voice she knew she would hear.

  “I do not care how it has always been, Mother. I want a husband who will value my work, for it is a part of me.” Mr. Edwards had said he understood that. She buried her face in her hands.

  “I do not know why you are weeping over a man you wish to refuse.” Her mother rubbed her back.

  “I do not think she is crying over him,” Mrs. Kendrick interrupted.

  “You are not?” Mrs. Barrett lifted Evelyn’s face from her hands.

  Evelyn shook her head.

  “Then who?” her mother asked.

  “Mr.” Evelyn took a shaky breath, “Edwards. Do not be angry, Mother, please.”

  “Mr. Edwards?”

  “Ah, you have heard before I could tell you,” Mrs. Kendrick said.

  “Heard what?” Evelyn’s mother asked.

  “There was a bet placed several weeks ago about his ability to charm a kiss from your daughter.”

  Mrs. Barrett gasped. “The scoundrel!”

  Mrs. Kendrick shook her head. “Do not condemn until you have heard the entire story.”

  “What do you mean?” Evelyn wiped tears from her cheeks with the edge of her shawl.

  “I mean, you must confront him and hear what he has to say.” Mrs. Kendrick held up a hand. “Not you,” she said to Evelyn’s mother. “This is something Evelyn must do.”

  Evelyn shook her head. “I cannot.”

  “You can,” Mrs. Kendrick replied. “You must not run away.”

  “I just want my father,” Evelyn begged.

  Mrs. Barrett wrapped an arm around Evelyn’s shoulders. “Your father would tell you just what Mrs. Kendrick has said.”

  Evelyn sighed. She knew it was true. Her father never allowed her to hide from trouble even when it made her feel like tossing up her accounts to have to face whatever it was that was causing her difficulties.

  “We will stay home tonight, but tomorrow, you will need to make an appearance in society so we can judge the damage this rumor has caused.”

  Evelyn nodded.

  “If it is more than I think we can weather, then we will leave town.”

  “You are not disappointed in me?”

  Mrs. Barrett shook her head. “No. You know your heart and your mind. You always have. I only hope your heart has not led you astray this time.”

  Evelyn could see the tears in her mother’s eyes.

  “I would do anything to see you happy,” Mrs. Barrett whispered. “I love you.”

  Evelyn threw her arms around her mother. “And I love you.”

  “However,” Mrs. Barrett said as she held Evelyn close, “after tomorrow, you will have to give Mr. Marsh your answer. You cannot keep drawing him along.”

  “Yes, Mam
a,” Evelyn replied before giving her mother’s cheek a kiss.

  “Evelyn,” Mrs. Kendrick called to her before she left the sitting room, “have faith in him.”

  Evelyn shrugged and shook her head. “I do not know if I can,” she replied softly before fleeing to the solitude of her room to share her sorrow and tears with her pillow.

  Chapter 17

  “Edwards!”

  Charles lifted startled eyes from the food on his plate to the angry face of his friend, Trefor Linton, who was bearing down on him trailed by an equally displeased but less threatening looking Henry Crawford.

  He pushed up from his chair. There was a door to his right if he needed an escape. He would have to navigate a few tables, but it could be done without too much trouble or delay.

  “How might I be of service?” He waved his hand at the chair across the table from him. He would rather have a full table-length between him and Trefor than have the man at his side.

  Henry grasped Linton’s arm as Linton ignored the chair and advanced on Charles. “Sit,” he ordered.

  Linton’s eyes narrowed, but he did as Henry said and plunked down into the chair next to Charles’s while Henry took the one on Charles’s other side. Apparently, his friends were fully aware of his ability to escape unpleasant situations and were limiting his options.

  “Port,” Henry barked at a footman who stood nearby, looking nervous. The man gave a nod of his head and scooted off.

  “What were you thinking?” Henry demanded in a hushed but angry tone.

  Charles’s gaze wavered from Linton to Henry and back to Linton. It was best to keep one’s eyes on the most fearsome opponent. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding your meaning.”

  “You made a bet with Easton that you would charm a kiss from Miss Barrett.”

  Charles’s head snapped toward Henry. “I did what?” he nearly shouted.

  “You mean to tell me that you have no recollection of signing your name to a bet in the books?” Linton scoffed.

  Charles shook his head. “None this season.”

  Linton rose, tromped out of the room, and reappeared with said book in hand while the man in charge of the book begged him to return it.

  “There.” Linton dropped the book in front of Charles, jabbing Charles’s signature with his finger.

  Charles pulled the book closer. “It is my signature but not a very good one.” He looked above the signature to the bet.

  Mr. Easton proposes the following terms based on the comment of Mr. Edwards that his charm has no bounds and that he is capable of charming a kiss from even the most proper young lady. To prove his abilities, he must charm a minimum of one kiss from two ladies of known high moral standards before the end of the season. One of Mr. Easton’s choosing – Miss Bellamy, and one of Mr. Edward’s choosing – Miss Barrett. If Mr. Edwards succeeds, Mr. Easton will pay him ten pounds. If Mr. Edwards fails, he will pay Mr. Easton fifteen pounds.

  Charles shook his head and read it again. When had he even been here when Easton was? The date meant very little to him.

  “I believe you were well into your cups,” the keeper of the book mumbled.

  “And you let me sign away fifteen pounds?”

  “That is how it is done, sir.”

  Charles scrubbed his face. He knew of plenty of gentlemen who placed bets when too foxed to think straight. Until this moment, he had never been one of those men. His head tipped to the side. He had a faint memory of signing some bet that night when he had begged a dance with Evelyn from her mother and succeeded.

  “Do you remember it now?” Henry asked.

  Charles nodded. “Only just.” He looked from Henry to Linton. “How do you know about it?”

  “A servant shared the tale with my aunt,” Linton replied.

  “Your aunt knows?” How far had the news of this bet travelled to have found Mrs. Kendrick’s ears?

  “Not just his aunt,” Henry said softly.

  “Constance?” His heart was likely to beat its way out of his chest. If Constance knew, then… He shook his head. “Not Evelyn?” he whispered.

  “And her mother,” Linton supplied.

  Charles drained the port from his glass. Not even the letter in his pocket would be enough to persuade Mrs. Barrett to allow him access to her daughter if she knew about this bet.

  “A pen. I need a pen.” He looked at the keeper of the book. “Now!” he shouted.

  He dug in his pocket and slapped twenty pounds on the book’s page.

  “This was before…” he muttered as he drained the port from Henry’s glass and eyed Linton’s.

  The servant who had been sent scurrying by his shout was now hurrying back to their table.

  “Before what?” Linton demanded.

  Charles pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Linton before scrawling something beneath the bet.

  “You were successful?” Henry asked.

  Charles nodded. “Not that it does me much good now.” He signed his name with a flourish and, pushing the book away, rose from his place.

  “You wish to marry her?” Linton said in surprise as he read what was on the paper he had been given.

  “Yes, and I have her father’s permission to present my suit.” He shook his head, which was clasped firmly between his hands. How he was ever going to present his suit now, he was uncertain. If he were her mother, he would not allow him entrance to his house. And if he were Miss Barrett, he’d not want to see him again.

  “When did she hear?” he asked Henry.

  “Yesterday.”

  “I must go.” He did not know where he needed to go or what he needed to do, but he needed to be somewhere that was not here…somewhere where he could feel the anguish in his heart and attempt to formulate a plan.

  He nodded to the book. “See that Easton gets that.”

  “Yes, sir.” The book and money were hastily scooped from the table, and the servant followed Charles from the room.

  ~*~*~

  Charles rode aimlessly up and down streets for an hour before finding himself in front of Eiddwen House. He sat on his horse in front of the house for some minutes before dismounting, approaching the door, and then thinking better of it, turning without knocking.

  “Did you need something, sir?” a young maid, who was approaching the house asked him.

  He shook his head. “Nothing you can help me with, Rachel.”

  “I wish I could be of help,” Rachel replied as if she knew how great a need he had.

  Charles wished the same thing. How lovely it would be to have a servant one could call on to clean up a mess such as this. He gave Rachel a nod and rode away. The only one who was even remotely capable of helping him clean up this mess was himself. And he knew that there was only one thing to do. He must see Mrs. Barrett.

  ~*~*~

  “Mr. Edwards to see Mrs. Barrett,” he said when the door to Evelyn’s home was opened. He had knocked even though the knocker had been removed, so the stern glare he received from the butler was to be expected. “I have something for her,” he added.

  “I will see if she is willing to see you,” the man replied.

  Charles stuck his boot in the doorway. “Wait.” He pulled his one piece of hope from his pocket and handed it to the man. “This is what I have for her. I will wait here in case she has some reply.”

  He turned and looked out at the street as he waited. Thankfully, it was not a wait of too long a duration for the wind was coming up, and it was not a warm breeze. There was a bite in the air.

  “If you will follow me.”

  Charles removed his hat and did as the man instructed.

  “Mr. Edwards,” Mrs. Barrett greeted him with a smile. “My daughter will be down shortly.” She motioned to a chair. “Please have a seat.”

  His brows furrowed. She was not supposed to greet him so cordially. She was supposed to be stern and demanding. The fact that she was not was excessively unsettling.

&nb
sp; “I see that you have been to see my husband.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And he was favourably inclined to grant you permission to pursue my daughter?”

  Charles spun his hat in his hand. “Not at first.”

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Barrett said with some surprise. “Why would that be?”

  Charles drew and released a breath, attempting to calm his nerves. “Because I told him exactly who I was. He and your son know more details about my dissipated life than anyone save, perhaps, Crawford.”

  Mrs. Barrett’s brows flew to hide under the ruffle of her cap. “You must be a charmer, indeed, if you told him such tales and still earned his approval.”

  “I love your daughter, ma’am, with all that is in me. I have no desire to ever be the man I was. I only hope to someday be a gentleman worthy of her, should I ever be so fortunate as to win her, although I suspect that is,” he closed his eyes and flinched as he felt the pain of his words, “an almost impossible task at present.”

  “You know she knows of your wager?”

  Charles nodded and then shot to his feet as Evelyn entered. She looked drawn and tired, and his heart broke with the knowledge that her sorrow was his doing.

  “I was unaware until a couple of hours ago that such a bet existed.” He shook his head. “I was foxed when I signed it. It does not justify the actions, but I do hope it explains them even just a trifling amount. I would never have made such a wager when sober.” He shook his head again. What a sorry excuse that was! “I know you have no reason to believe this, but I do not normally make bets when drunk.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Evelyn’s glare was cold with anger.

  “Because of this, dear,” her mother said, handing Evelyn her father’s message.

  “You have been to see my father?” Evelyn asked in surprise.

  “I have.”

  She tossed the missive on the table next to her chair. “This seems a little excessive just to win ten pounds.”

  “Evelyn,” her mother reprimanded softly.

  “No, she has every right to be angry,” Charles replied. “That bet is reprehensible, but I pray it is not unforgivable. I did not go see your father to win a bet, Miss Barrett. I went to see him, so I could declare my intentions of never wishing to kiss any lady ever again save you. I love you.”