Charlotte's Control, page 15
“I beg your pardon for that small untruth, Sophia. My preferred bookstore is a few blocks away, but Mr. Choplin did not have what I was looking for and referred me here. That old curmudgeon was sure I could not be learning Latin. I debated arguing with him, but I doubt it would help”—the women exchanged resigned grimaces—“so I made that up to expedite the sale.”
“Ah. I hope you will give me your preferred bookseller then. I only came because Edward wanted something very specific and he’s found it at this bookstore in the past. I shall advise him not to use this particular shop again, however.”
Charlotte smiled at her, appreciative that Edward was willing to take advice from his wife. The brothers were very different in many other ways. For instance, she knew that Edward preferred a role more like hers in the bedroom and in fact had at one time belonged to a spanking club. It probably was unfair that she knew more about Sophia’s sex life than Sophia did of hers.
“You’re learning Latin?” Sophia asked, sounding impressed. “What prompted that?”
Without thinking it through, Charlotte asked, “Do you know Lord William Stanton?”
He was, after all, close to Sophia’s age. Charlotte ignored Belle’s voice snickering in her head about that fact.
“Hmm.” Sophia’s brow furrowed. “The name rings a bell. Who are his parents?”
“The Earl and Countess of Harrington. And his cousin is Percy Stanton.”
“Oh! Of course. Lady Harrington. Lovely woman. I’m surprised you don’t know her, actually. She is very well-spoken, and always reading something new. Much like you.”
Charlotte frowned, quickly turning away from Sophia, sorry she’d raised the subject. Now how would she explain her question? Caught between embarrassment and anger at society’s double standard, she flushed.
“Charlotte? Are you quite all right? Why do you ask about Ruth’s—er, Lady Harrington’s—son?”
“Never mind. I met him at a few lectures.” She waved her hand to dismiss her question as a passing interest.
Sophia watched her. “He is close to his mother, for reasons I shan’t gossip about. And to his cousin. They are, all of them, lovely.”
Charlotte noticed she did not say a lovely family. Apparently, William’s father’s drinking was common knowledge.
“Yes. Well. I have only met William.”
“You must come to Roslynn’s salon. Ruth attends when she has time. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Likely because I am horse-obsessed like Edward and don’t attend enough myself.” Sophia rolled her eyes at herself, smiling. “And in London about as often as you are not. How fortuitous that we met like this. Why, then, did you ask about Lord Stanton? And how does your learning Latin relate to him?”
“’Tis not important.” Charlotte’s hand was beginning to flap wildly in a poor semblance of not caring. She turned from Sophia to continue walking, hoping her blush was not noticeable.
Sophia was quiet for a moment, as they turned to stroll back along the other side of the street, staying in sight of their coachmen. She stopped before the entrance to the bookstore.
Charlotte reluctantly halted and turned to face her.
“We are here for a sennight. I should like to have you ’round for dinner and see how you have been these past few months. Seeing you now and hearing about lectures gives me hope that you are starting to get past the worst of your grief. I think, from what Edward tells me of him, Charles would have wanted that for you.” Sophia hesitated. Then, cocking her head, she said slowly, “You know, just as you mentioned that William is my age, I believe Edward is your age…”
Charlotte bit her lip, stunned at how perceptive this young person was, like William.
Sophia continued after a beat, “If you and he are…friends…perhaps we can meet him sometime. I’d like to think that we would all have much to talk about. Edward and I are very happy, and we’d like to share that with family.”
As Sophia kissed her farewell and departed, Charlotte pictured Belle and Sophia meeting. Belle might be less subtle, but they were both strong-willed women who spoke their minds. Such an encounter wasn’t likely, but she smiled at the thought of how well they’d get along.
Dratted women friends, all shoving me toward William. One thinks I am sex-starved, the other seems to worry about me being lonely.
They had a point. She missed far more than sex with William. The lack of someone to share the little day-to-day things created a loneliness that was crippling some days. Sophia had noted her recovery from losing Charles, but she was still mired in misery from losing William.
Sophia had easily accepted the idea of a relationship between Charlotte and William. However, as the current Countess of Peterborough, Sophia should be well-versed in the expectations of her role. Charlotte was surprised at her unquestioning support.
Belle’s voice rang in her ears. “…open to being tied, willing to call you Mistress, bold enough to pursue to a point, and has an innate understanding that you need to take it from there. How is that not everything you want? You were a mere year older than him when you married Charles…you should stop fighting this and enjoy...”
Based on the prior year, William would be home in two months. She had time to consider taking her friends’ pep talks to heart, and to identify the poems with her new Latin dictionaries.
Chapter Nineteen
William gripped his desk when his housemate delivered the note, afraid of embarrassing himself by either falling in a faint or launching himself at the missive. Wanting to relish the moment, he pulled the ribbon from his pocket and gripped it in his left hand as he clumsily broke the seal on the letter one-handed.
His eyes skipped to the signature, and he bit back a shout. ’Twas from her!
Scanning it, he began to grin.
Dear William,
Carmen 56, I believe. I do not yet have enough words in my vocabulary to be sure of the first, but with your tip, my guess is 51.
Best of luck in your final term at Oxford.
Sincerely,
Mistress Charlotte
He read it a second time. Then he did launch himself, grabbing his thick cloak and flying down the stairs to stalk up and down the High Street, sucking in deep breaths of the frigid air to calm himself.
As brief as it was, her underlying message was clear. She was keeping the door open to their relationship, despite how the previous summer had ended. He’d never expected her to write to him, he’d written simply to have a fighting chance of rekindling their romance when he returned. Unable to take it in, he kept staring at the letter, almost turning his ankle on the cobblestones.
He wanted to leap for joy, skip along the road, he wanted to grab a horse and ride through the night to her, studies be damned. He wanted to use reams of paper to scribble all of his thoughts and feelings to her.
However, he needed to be strategic. To do so, he’d have to find his composure and contemplate his approach with care. His fingers were still shaking when he composed his reply, but his mind was serene. Their correspondence was like a cricket match, it would not be won in a day. This was an inning; the rest of the match would be played—and won—when he returned to London.
Dear Mistress,
Why is it that the pleasure you bestow is most sweet after a punishment? Never mind, I do not need the reason. I shall bask in your attention either way.
The brevity of your reply tells me you have not fully forgiven me. I shan’t push (see, I can be trained), but here is another passage for your Latin lessons—an excerpt. Can you fill in the next line or two before I arrive?
Dear one, a kiss I stole, while you did wanton a-playing,
Sweet ambrosia, love, never as honily sweet.
Dearly the deed I paid for; an hour’s long misery waning
Your obedient servant,
William
Blazes, he wished he could see her expression as she read this apology. By the time it got to her, she would not have time to write back, as he’d be on his way back to London.
In the meantime, he needed to find patience and focus on graduating. He had done everything he could think of for now. Once he was home, he would have easier ways to regain his spot in her affections. He refused to entertain the possibility of failure. His heart might shrivel in his chest if he had to live without her much longer, to say nothing of other parts shriveling, as no other women interested him.
* * * *
William had been home a mere day, most of which he slept after a week of writing his final exams, packing his room at Oxford, and traveling to London.
Exhausted, he still hoped to sneak over to Charlotte’s house to start the process of regaining her good graces.
Instead, he was summoned to the parlor by Emily, where Folly waited.
Confused as to the reason for his summoning and Folly’s presence, he asked, “What is this?”
Folly responded, “A graduation celebration. ’Tis not every day nor every working class lobcock who has two friends complete their university studies.”
“Ah, when was the last time you spoke to South?”
Folly thought for a minute. “My birthday last summer.”
“What?” William paced. “He left Oxford in October.”
Folly’s eyes widened.
“He said he felt…lost. I told him to come by and let you know he was back so he’d have a voice of reason.” William’s vision of having one night free of responsibilities in Charlotte’s arms went up in smoke. As did any likelihood of celebrating his own matriculation. They needed to find South.
“Let’s go.”
Emily stepped forward.
William frowned. “Where do you think you’re going, squirt?”
“With you. I’m already in my first Season, and I’m eight-and-ten now. There is no reason I cannot join you.”
“There is if I do not agree.”
Folly cleared his throat.
William glanced at him, still frowning.
“I sort of promised her she could come, at least for part of the evening.”
William’s brows shot toward his hairline.
“What? Why? How?”
“’Tis something of a long story. I’m happy to discuss it some other time than lingering in your front hall,” his friend said sheepishly. “Obviously, ’tis a moot point now, as we need to find South.”
“What? No. I can help,” Emily pleaded, her focus on Folly.
“No.” Both men spoke at the same time.
Folly added, “If we find him quickly, we’ll come back here. But if we’re not back in an hour, we aren’t coming.” He turned to William. “Does that sound fair?”
“Depends on what state we find South in,” he muttered.
They left Emily pouting. South was not at his family’s London residence, nor was he at the first four gaming hells they tried. After trying his haunts in St. James and Soho, they edged their way into the seedier parts of London. They now tread closer and closer to the Limehouse canal, its odor intensifying as they neared.
Folly asked, “Could South return to Oxford to finish his studies?”
“I don’t know for sure. I suspect within a reasonable amount of time, as an earl’s son he could manage it. But he always needed my help with classwork. I know he didn’t enjoy his time there, but he was almost finished. I just don’t understand.”
“What do you think put him over the top?”
“I don’t know. I’d been frustrated with his drinking, and his behavior was similar enough to my father’s, that I did what I do with my father—I distanced myself. As his friend, I should have at least stepped in and offered to listen, to support him.” William was chastising himself with every minute they couldn’t find South.
At the last venue, they’d discovered South’s London friends called him by a different moniker. Spinning off his last name of Lynwood, they’d dubbed him “Lyon.” Thus, William and Folly would need to double back and ask for Lyon at a few places. William suspected his friend was at a less clean, less honest joint, though. He’d hoped South would take some time at home to regroup and find his path, but the unkempt, thinly-staffed townhouse had appeared as though he’d continued on with self-destruction.
Finally, at two o-clock in the morning, they found him sagging in the corner of a gaming hell, propped there by a member of the staff until he slept it off. Piling him into a hack cab, they took him home, dropping Folly at his forge on the way, as his workday started earlier than William’s.
* * * *
The morning after his friends surprised him, his mother informed him they were attending a ball that evening.
Already impatient to see his Mistress, he ground his teeth. He scribbled a note to Charlotte asking if she planned to attend and requesting permission to call on her after. Then he went to change, starting with a frayed ribbon, faded from being washed this past year.
He stood with Percy as usual, as his cousin and cronies exchanged stories. Percy was a listener much more than a contributor these days, and their plan was for him to attend a few balls to smooth the transition to William as the family representative to their allies in Parliament. William was glad that he had spent the time learning how to navigate balls last summer, no matter how boring he found them. At least now he knew how long he needed to stay, and for the most part, who he needed to visit with. Besides, he could not hate them entirely.
If not for these blasted balls, I might not have met my Mistress.
The mere thought tightened the ribbon he wore under his trousers. He’d tried wearing it at university, but the friction was too distracting. Washing also dulled the sheen which he wanted to preserve. Instead, he kept the folded length of ivory in his pocket and took it out to run through his fingers as he studied. Holding the satin, he could still remember the hot silken glide of her grip around him before she tied it. Tonight, hoping to see her at the ball, he had chosen to wear it with a plan to tell her or even show her.
He glanced around, hoping to spot her. He had not received a reply to his note, but hadn’t expected to, so had no way of knowing if she had a prior engagement or, worse, a new suitor. Pain stabbed him in the chest as he considered the idea of her being wooed by someone else.
No. She had written to him less than two months prior. He was relatively sure that she would not have sent him any response if she had moved on. Of course, he still needed to convince her of that fact.
There was no forced end date for a dalliance now, and no reason they had to hide, at least to his thinking. His father was fifty, he had plenty of time to woo Charlotte, wed her, and finish mastering the nuances of the earldom. For the most part, he was ready to don the mantle of the earl’s responsibilities aside from the title and give Percy and his mother a bit more sleep once he’d caught up on this year’s Parliamentary issues, negotiations, and alliances. His mother might balk at his choice of Charlotte, but they had time to overcome that, too. For the first time since putting the pencil down after his last exam, he was excited. He had his whole life ahead of him, and a plan for it.
Convincing Charlotte would be tricky. Despite the fact that he’d reached his majority, he had no doubt she was still preoccupied with the age difference. He hadn’t figured out a plan to change her mind yet, but he would persist, as Ars amatoria recommended. He smiled to himself. It had worked thus far, in multiple ways—letter writing, sex games. It would work for this. It had to.
He did not see her. Turning back, his mother caught his eye as she conversed with a younger matron.
Wait.
His head snapped back. Honey and gold hair coiled on her head, ramrod spine, a deep teal dress, with teal organza cap sleeves that played peek-a-boo with her upper arms and the edge of her shoulders.
My Mistress—with my mother.
Unsure what to make of that, he cocked his head watching them.
They spoke animatedly, their hands making small but forceful gestures.
How did they meet? What are they discussing?
Watching them, the similarities leaped out at him again. Both women could speak on a myriad of topics, and often had a strong opinion about them. Both managed their own money, and both knew how to navigate the Ton and their relationships with a private strength and public unity that he respected and admired.
He thought of his friends at university warning him, “Always look at her mother. That is what you’ll be tied to in twenty years.” Not him. In his case, he needed to look at his own mother. He had modeled what he valued in a wife on his mother’s strengths, based on his high regard for her.
The certainty of his future settled into his heart and mind. He had wanted to marry Charlotte eventually, in the abstract. Watching his two favorite women together, his heart beat with love for each. For his mother, it had the confused edge of wondering why a strong woman dealt with a weak man, something he’d never quite dared ask her. For Charlotte, while he hated that she’d been hurt by a stranger’s judgment, there were no questions. He was completely, irrevocably in love with her. If he thought she’d allow it, he’d whisk her out to the garden and go to a knee that very moment. But with his Mistress, he had to handle things differently. And he found he loved that too.
I must find a way to gain permission to propose.
He strode over to the women with new determination.
Chapter Twenty
Sophia had invited Charlotte to the ladies’ salon she’d mentioned, and introduced her to Ruth Stanton, Countess of Harrington and William’s mother. Charlotte was nervous to the point of wringing her hands before she caught herself, but thankfully no one seemed to notice. And since Ruth was unaware of Charlotte’s liaison with her son, the awkwardness was one-sided and dissipated as they became better acquainted at the salon’s meetings.
As Ruth’s warmth and intelligence were unveiled through her comments on the topics raised by the group, the similarities between them became clear to Charlotte. William’s dismissal of their ages and his ready acceptance of her as a decision-maker made sense. Charlotte had planned to attend this ball anyway, but when William’s note arrived, she found herself questioning her choice of gown, hairstyle, and even gloves.
