Noble Destiny (8 page)

“Unhappy opportun…Lady Charlotte, I assure you that David—”

Charlotte turned on Dare, feeling confident that she had squashed the sweet, but sadly rather bossy, plan to cheat her of the momentous event she had envisioned ever since she put up her hair. She had been done out of a glorious wedding once, and she had no intentions of allowing that to happen again. “You really should apologize to your sister for trying to ruin her most important day, Alasdair.”

The frown gracing Dare's manly brow deepened to something bearing an uncanny resemblance to a scowl. “I have nothing to apologize for, and stop calling me Alasdair. I've told you to use Dare instead.”

Charlotte brushed a miniscule bit of thread from her lemon-colored gown. “I'd prefer not to. It sounds silly.”

“I'd prefer you would, and it does not sound silly.” Dare rose from the chair next to his sister and went to stare moodily out the window.

“It does. You have a perfectly good name. There's no reason why you shouldn't use it.”

He turned around to glare at Charlotte. “It's my name and I'll use it any way I want.”

“You're acting childish!”

“And you're unreasonably obstinate!”

“Oh!” Charlotte matched his glare and raised it a notch. “I am not unreasonable or obstinate, you take that back! I'm simply pointing out how ridiculous you sound nattering on about a childhood nickname when you're an earl and an important person and about to become a married man!”

“As the name in question is mine, I'll be called whatever I bloody well want!”

“You're shouting at me. I don't think that's called for in the least!” Charlotte marched over to the window until she was toe to toe with him. She poked him in the chest. “First you try to destroy your sister's sole chance at happiness, no matter how slight that might be when you consider that she's planning on tying herself to a man who is ready to spurn her at her own wedding for a lovelier woman, and then you're trying to make me cry by being beastly and cruel. Well, I won't do it!”

Dare grabbed her hand to keep her from poking at him again. She used her other hand. He grabbed that as well. Reading in his eyes no uncertain repercussion if she were to continue with the chest poking, she decided on a tactical retreat, withdrawing her hands from his and returning to the lumpy settee. “Really, my lord, you are the most argumentative person I've ever met!”

He ground his teeth and clutched with clearly visible white knuckles at the back of a nearby chair. Charlotte watched warily as he struggled for control, relaxing when he regained it and finally unclenched his jaw long enough to say, “I don't know why our conversations always end up in arguments.”

“Neither do I, Alasdair,” she said after a moment's thought. “I do try to get along with you, but you will insist on arguing.”

Charlotte's eyes widened as he stared at her with a wild look for a long moment. Then he turned on his heel and without another word left the small sitting room. “Well, really! How are we to discuss our wedding if he can't even remain in control of his emotions for a few seconds at a time?” she asked slowly, her ears still reverberating with the slamming of the door. “Has he always been so?”

Patricia seemed to have swallowed her tea wrong, for she was making odd little choking noises, and finally had to resort to a handkerchief to dab at the resulting tears. “No. He's not normally emotional, Lady Charlotte. He's usually quite the opposite. It seems that only when he's in your presence…” The words trailed off as Patricia choked again. Charlotte leaned sideways and thumped her back.

“You should be careful how you drink tea,” she warned as she took up the paper and quill lying on the table before her. “There was a girl at Miss Bengyman's School who drank her tea wrong while the vicar was calling and it spewed out her nose and all over the vicar, his wife, two of their children, and a large gray Persian cat that happened to be passing. A most unfortunate circumstance for everyone involved. I believe the cat died. Now, let me see, you are being married on Sunday next, which means my wedding must be no later than Wednesday. Yes? What is it…Pigeonfroth, isn't it?”

“Batsfoam, my lady.” The butler made an obsequious bow to the accompaniment of many cracking and popping noises that Charlotte felt were best ignored.

“Batsfoam, of course. How silly of me. That's nothing at all like Pigeonfroth, is it? Did you wish to speak to me?”

“Indeed, my lady. My lord, your soon-to-be husband and protector, instructed me to make myself of service to your august ladyship, and thus it is that I abase myself before you, offering my services, humble and no doubt unwelcome though they are.” The man bowed again, this time so low his nose bumped into Charlotte's ankle. He apologized and straightened up with audible relief, pulling from an inner pocket a folded sheet of paper, which he presented to her with great flourish.

“Oh,” Charlotte said, frowning at paper. “No, certainly your help is not unwelcome, although I am unsure of just what, exactly, his lordship expects you to do for me. What is this?”

“I believe, my lady, it is a list of dates and locations suitable to a person contemplating the act of marriage. His lordship had recently researched the very same for Miss McGregor's upcoming nuptials, and thought you would like to have the benefit of his labor.”

“Excellent. Let me see…oh, no, no, Batsfoam, this will not do, not in the least. You see here that Lord Carlisle has not listed any church of consequence. I couldn't possibly be wed in anything but a church of the utmost consequence, for if it is held elsewhere, no one in the
ton
will wish to attend. No, this list will have to be revised dramatically. I shall be pleased to do so now.” She turned to Patricia. “How do you suppose you spell Westminster Abbey?”

“My lady, if I might humbly beg a fraction of your attention for a moment that I shall endeavor to make as brief as possible, there is more.”

Charlotte looked up from where she was adding St. Paul's Cathedral to her list. “More churches?”

Batsfoam moved his features into one expressing regret. “Alas, my lady, no, not more churches. His lordship has asked me, in the guise of his man of affairs, a role I have the honor of bearing, in addition to that of butler, valet, draftsman, knife-boy, and now, lady's maid to your gracious ladyship, to ascertain the direction of your ladyship's most honored brother, Lord Collins, so that his lordship might ascertain the exact amount of your ladyship's dowry.” He bowed and spoke the last word in such a reverent and hushed tone, Charlotte had difficulty hearing him.

“Alasdair wishes to ask Matthew about my what?”

“Dowry, my lady.” He bowed again.

She blinked in surprise at him. “What dowry?”

He blinked back at her. “I am quite certain that ladies of your station and gentility often have bestowed upon them by some member of their family a sum of money or property that is customarily referred to as a bridal dowry.”

“That may be so, but I don't have one.”

“I do,” Patricia piped up. “Dare sold out the last of some bonds or something to give it to me, although David didn't want to accept it at first, but Dare told him he had to take it, or he wouldn't agree to the marriage.”

Both Batsfoam and Charlotte ignored the interruption.

“You don't have a dowry, my lady? Not even a small house tucked away in the country?”

“Nothing.” Charlotte shook her golden head.

“Perhaps there are some government bonds you might have forgotten?”

“There is nothing, Batsfoam.”

“Not even a groat or two invested in canals?”

“No groats, invested or otherwise.”

“Your late husband…?”

“Was kept on a very small allowance by the conte. It was just enough for a few sheep and the occasional purchases of brocade.”

“No widow's stipend?”

“None. I had to sell the sheep to have the brocade cleaned so it could be made into a traveling cloak.”

Batsfoam stared at the memorandum paper upon which he was prepared to write the earl's direction. A sweat broke out on his forehead. “A most calamitous event, my lady.”

“Oh, not terribly so. The sheep smelled and the brocade was quite warm when I was at sea.”

“I do not refer to the sheep, but to your lack of dowry.”

“Oh, that. It's of no consequence.” Charlotte waved away the servant's concern. “Alasdair might be upset because he can't add to his fortune, but I'm sure he is more than happy to take me as I am. I will be an excellent wife to him and no doubt save him vast quantities of money with my equally excellent budgeting skills. While we are on that subject, please inform him that although I know it's customary for the bride's family to pay for the wedding, I haven't any money, so he'll have to pay for that.”

Batsfoam's mouth worked silently a few times before he staggered over to a chair and collapsed into it.

“Now, looking back at his list, I must say that his dates are quite, quite unacceptable. Why, the earliest one is three months hence! No.” Charlotte scratched out a list of five dates and made an addition with a bold hand. “Next Wednesday, I believe, will suit me admirably.”

“But, Lady Charlotte,” Patricia protested, “Wednesday is less than a week away!”

“Ample time for your brother to make the arrangements,” Charlotte pointed out.

“But…but…such a hurried wedding…”

Charlotte looked up from creating a list of suitable wedding guests. “Only the really important people, I believe. I wonder what the Prince Regent is doing on Wednesday?”

Patricia blushed a delicate blush and shooed a still stunned, and noticeably reluctant to leave, Batsfoam from the room. She waited until he was gone to speak. “Lady Charlotte, you're not giving due thought to the date. A wedding in such a hurry…well, it can only cause talk! People will be speculating as to the necessity of such a thing!”

“Necessity?” Charlotte looked up from her list. “What do you mean,
necessity
?”

Patricia's blush deepened. “You are a widow, surely you must know.”

Charlotte allowed her forehead to wrinkle briefly in thought. “I believe we must be speaking at cross purposes. What has my late husband to do with my marriage to your brother?”

Patricia wrung her hands, her face flaming with embarrassment. “Nothing, other than…well, if you insist that I speak frankly…intimate relations.”

“What about them?” Charlotte eyed her soon-to-be sister with a small amount of concern. Patricia seemed to be upset about Charlotte's relatives, and although heaven knew Charlotte herself wasn't any too fond of her brother and her distant cousins, it seemed rather an odd thing to bring up objections to them now.

“People will think you had them. With Dare.”

“That's ridiculous.” Charlotte snorted, returning her attention to her list. “I am not even remotely related to you and Alasdair. Do you think the king would be offended if I were to not invite him?”

“No,” Patricia said, pacing the floor before Charlotte. “You don't understand. If you and Dare marry so very quickly, people would be bound to talk about you.”

“Well of course they'll talk about us,” Charlotte reassured her in a soothing voice. “People always talk about me! Alasdair and I shall be the toast of the
ton
. How could we be anything else? A dashing, handsome earl and a lovely almost-contessa marrying in such a romantic manner is bound to cause envy in the hearts of everyone worth any consideration. I assure you I am quite used to being the darling of Society. I shan't shame your brother, if that is your concern.”

“Oh…I give up,” Patricia said, gesturing defeat with her hands. Charlotte raised an eyebrow for a moment, then decided not to point out that worrying just caused spots, and she returned to her list. For half an hour the only sound in the cozy sitting room was that of the quill on paper.

“Lady Charlotte?”

“Mmm?” Charlotte crossed Lady Jersey's name off her list. The rude comments she had delivered after she discovered Charlotte had attended her party in disguise were utterly and completely uncalled for. Charlotte relished the opportunity to give Lady Jersey a taste of crow.

“What…what is it like?”

Charlotte looked up. “Revenge? It's quite satisfying.”

A startled expression flickered across Patricia's face before a dusky rose color swept up from her neck. “No, not revenge. Relations.
Marital
relations,” she added for good measure.

“Marital relations? You mean your husband's relatives? I have no idea—”

“No, not that sort of relations, I mean…
relations
.”

Patricia's deep blush and her downcast eyes made a connection in Charlotte's mind. “Oh, you mean the joining between your womanly parts and his manly instrument? I'm sure I shouldn't tell you, but as my dearest cousin Gillian told me about it before I was wed, and as you are to be a bride next week, I shall just this once break the rule and tell you.” She set down the quill and arranged her hands on her lap, then looked her sister-to-be in the eye.

Patricia leaned forward, her attention completely on Charlotte. “Yes?”

“It's messy.” Charlotte nodded twice, then picked up her quill and started double-checking the list.

“Messy? That's all? It's…messy?”

“Yes, that's all.” Charlotte looked up for a moment, tapping the quill on her chin. “My cousin did have a good deal more to say about it, something about transporting her to heaven, but to be truthful, I thought it was just a messy business. Necessary, if one wishes to have children, and I wish to, but nonetheless, it's messy.”

“Messy how?”

It was Charlotte's turn to affect a faint blush. She waved her hand dismissively. “There are bodily humors and such to be contended with. Not to mention certain…scents. My advice to you is to have a linen cloth handy. Two if your husband is particularly vigorous.”