The Baron Next Door (Prelude to a Kiss) (25 page)

“Stop trying to analyze me with your faulty logic. It’s not the same. I’m a man. I’m supposed to be the strong one.” Why was he even having this conversation? His decision was made, Charity was gone, and life would go on.

“You know,” Thomas said, relaxing back against the chair as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Which he didn’t, as far as Hugh could see. “I may not be the best vicar in the world, and I may not know all the muddled parts squished into the middle of the Bible. But I certainly remember the beginning.
Then the Lord God said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.’
Genesis, two eighteen.”

Hugh blinked, astonished at the authoritative way with which the man spoke. His heart pattered unexpectedly as the vicar’s point seemed to hit home in a way that nothing else before ever had. She
had
helped him. She had sat by him in his worst hour, even when he didn’t want her to, and made things better. She had insisted again and again that she wanted to be with him.

Thomas went on, his voice quiet but firm. “You didn’t die on that battlefield for a reason, Hugh. Don’t live your life as though you should have. It sounds to me like God had a helper in mind just for you. Don’t be an arse and turn your back on the both of them.”

Thomas’s words had an uncomfortable ring of truth. Over the years, Hugh had wished more than once that he had died a proper death on the battlefield instead of lingering in this state. But since coming here, since meeting Charity, he had lived more in the past four weeks than he had in the previous four years. She had brought him life again.

He swallowed against the emotion that clogged his throat, attempting to get ahold of himself. “That is by far the most sermony thing I have ever heard you say.”

“I have my moments. Always better to be underestimated and pleasantly surprise people than to get their hopes up and disappoint,” he said with a wink. “Now, am I to assume I have gotten through that thick skull of yours?”

“Amazingly, I think you might have.” His mind whirled. What should his next move be? All he knew was that she had gone to Bromsgrove to Mr. Burton’s home. Should he write a letter? Wait for her return, if indeed she was even coming back? No, neither of those was good enough.

He had to go to her.

Whatever it took, he would find her. He knew now that he couldn’t bear the thought of her going even a minute longer than she had to thinking she wasn’t loved. He hoped only that he hadn’t ruined things so thoroughly that she’d refuse to see him. And that didn’t even touch on the problem of timing. With the recent death, he couldn’t very well barge into a grieving stranger’s home and demand to see her.

Pushing to his feet, Thomas offered a brief nod. “Well, then, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go find a decent whiskey at the club to wash out the taste of that swill you stock.”

Hugh stood, momentarily setting aside the dozens of questions yet to be answered. “Sure, sure. And, Thomas?”

The vicar paused, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“Thanks.” Hugh’s throat was oddly tight as he spoke the single word.

Thomas nodded, smiling easily. “Just be sure to invite me to the wedding. I want a good look at the woman who nearly earned me a broken nose. If,” he added, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “you can get her to forgive whatever asinine thing you did to push her away in the first place.”

Yes, there was definitely that. As Hugh offered a salute to his friend, his mind turned back to all the things he had to consider. First, he needed to cool his heels for a few days to allow a little time for the family’s grieving. In the meantime, he needed to figure out a way to prove to Charity that he was making a good-faith effort to look to her as a helpmate. After the way he had spoken to her, he would need more than words and a small trip up north to convince her of his earnestness. And even if it she didn’t require it of him, he required it of himself. Of all the things he thought she deserved in a man, respect should have always been one of them.

He wanted her to know without a shadow of a doubt that not only did he love her, but he respected her, her ideas, and her interests. And that he wasn’t always going to be an overbearing arse. Striding for the door, he made his way downstairs to the study, not caring a whit that he wasn’t fit to leave his bedchamber in his rumpled state of dress.

If he was going to do this right, he had a few letters he needed to write and not a moment to waste.

“M
ay I join you?”

Charity looked up at her grandmother’s overloud query. She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t even heard the woman’s approach. Nodding, she patted the empty space on the bench beside where she sat. “Of course.”

Laying her shawl down first, Grandmama settled onto the stone and sighed. “My, isn’t this quite the view? You can see the entire valley from here.”

“Indeed,” Charity said, offering a small smile. From their vantage point at the edge of the dowager house–turned–guest cottage’s small gardens, they could see the whole of Mr. Burton’s sprawling estate. The grounds truly were beautiful, especially today, when the sun had found its way out from under the clouds more often than not. Situated in a verdant valley and surrounded by rolling, forested hills, the land looked as pretty as a painting.

The main house, Bromsgrove Manor, stood proud and tall in the middle of it all. It wasn’t overly large, but with its classic styling and elegant stone facade, it was exceedingly pleasing to the eye.

Settling her hands primly in her lap, Grandmama said, “It is a home that any woman would be pleased to be the mistress of, I should think. For the meantime, at least. At some point, Mr. Burton will have to move to Durham, of course.”

Charity nodded but held her tongue. Her grandmother was right, of course. It was hard to imagine any woman not being delighted to call the home her own. And yet Charity herself could muster no enthusiasm. She was doing exactly what came naturally, offering kindness and whatever assistance she could to the grieving Mr. Burton, but thanks to her father’s intentions and her agreement to abide by them, she felt terribly ghoulish. What kind of woman preyed on a man in mourning?

Thank goodness Mama had insisted that they stay in the lovely, generous-sized cottage that had once served as a dowager house. She had been firm that Mr. Burton should be allowed at least some space during this difficult time. Despite his status as her father’s heir, the truth was they hardly knew him, and it was disconcerting to try to comfort a near stranger in his time of need.

“It’s so nice that you are able to play such peaceful music for Mr. Burton. Quite a change from your normal repertoire,” Grandmama observed, turning her gaze from the view in order to look at Charity. “The song you played yesterday, was that new?”

Something between embarrassment and defensiveness rose in Charity, not toward Grandmama, but toward herself. She should have been able to forget the man who had broken her heart by now. A full week had passed, and she worked hard to put him from her mind.

Or so she had thought.

But when she sat down at Mr. Burton’s incredibly gorgeous pianoforte yesterday, of its own volition Hugh’s song had flowed from her fingertips like honey, sweet and dark and full of such emotion that tears had pricked the back of her eyes as she played.

Her cousin had praised her warmly, admiring her skills and asking about her favorite composers. But as they had spoken, all Charity could think of was the night in her music room when she’d poured her heart into the composition meant for the man she loved.

And how the very next day, he had tossed her aside.

Swallowing, she forced a smile for her grandmother. “Just something I had been mulling over the past two weeks or so. I wanted something . . . different.” The piece had been meant to soothe the baron, not that it mattered in the end. Still, the melody played again and again in her mind over the last week, and it was cathartic to play it out loud.

“You certainly succeeded.” Sighing, Grandmama let her gaze return to the valley. “Oddly enough, it reminded me of my Raymond.”

Charity drew in a surprised breath. “It did?”

“Quite.” She was quiet then, appearing for all the world to be enjoying the scenic grounds, but her eyes were unfocused, and Charity knew her mind was somewhere else entirely. After a few moments, she continued. “I told you before how when we met, he carried so much sadness deep inside. What I didn’t say is that it took months for me to break down the walls he had built around his heart.” She shook her head, clearly lost in the memory of her long-ago, newly wedded self. “There were times when I didn’t think it was worth it. When I wished I could accept that he simply wasn’t interested in anything but a respectful, distant marriage. But then I would catch a glimpse of that hurting heart of his and knew I couldn’t give up.”

She smiled at Charity, sadness and fond memory softening her eyes. “I’m so glad I didn’t.”

Unexpected tears welled up behind Charity’s eyes and she glanced to her lap to hide them, blinking rapidly in an effort to make them go away. She had tried with Hugh. Their situation was wholly different from her grandparents’. She and Hugh were not only not married, but Hugh had also quite plainly told her they had no hope of ever being so. And, really, after learning that he’d only just been toying with her from the start, she wouldn’t want to marry the man.

Still, the music played deep within her, calling him forth in her mind stronger than ever.

“I’ve learned a lot in my lifetime,” Grandmama continued, her voice surprisingly quiet. “The best things in life are worth fighting for. And for more reasons than one. Living with regrets is no way to live—even if that means disappointing those we love in the short-term. Some decisions are simply too important to leave to others.”

Charity could scarcely believe her grandmother’s words. What was she saying? Was she encouraging her to ignore her parents’ wishes for a match with Mr. Burton? Even as her heart grasped onto the idea, her mind rejected it. She had thought she had loved someone, but look how well that had turned out. Her heart still ached from the disappointment and sorrow of that night. It was safer to simply follow the path laid out for her.

As for regrets, her only one was not recognizing the baron’s true feelings—or lack thereof—until it was too late.

“Oh, my,” her grandmother said, pulling Charity from her thoughts. “I would so love to see the view more clearly. Could you be a dear, please, and fetch my lorgnette from my bedchambers? My maid will know where it is.”

“Of course,” Charity said, coming to her feet. She could use a little time to gather herself after the unexpected conversation.

She followed the winding gravel path back toward the house, paying little mind to the roses and shrubbery filling the garden to capacity. Ducking beneath the proliferation of white-bloomed climbing roses draping the arbor, she followed the bend around to the side of the house and came to an abrupt halt.

Dear heavens!

Her breath caught in her throat as her hand flew to her mouth.
Hugh!
He stood directly on the path in front of her, his shoulders smartly squared and his head held high. He didn’t say anything at all; he just stood there, waiting for her. Letting her decide what to do next.

Her heart felt as though it had sprouted wings and was attempting to take flight. The sight of him was a double-edged sword—exquisitely sweet and unbearably painful. His last words to her reverberated in her brain, stealing the joy that had sprung to life at the sight of him. Why would he be here? What more pain could he possibly cause her?

It occurred to her then that her grandmother had been a part of this.

Cautiously, she stepped forward, unable to look away from the sight of him. He had never looked so strong and tall, so thoroughly self-assured. When she was half a dozen feet away, she stopped. “What are you doing here?”

His cravat was impeccably tied, his jacket finely brushed. She fleetingly wondered how he’d managed to make it there without having ruffled a single hair. He offered a crisp, perfectly executed bow. “I came here with the hope of further investigating your character, Miss Effington.”

Indignation wrinkled her brow as she gaped at him. What in the world? “My character,” she repeated, certain she had heard him wrong.

He gave a single nod. “Indeed. I’ve recently come to know mine quite a bit better, you see. According to a sage old vicar, I am a presumptuous fool with enough self-pity to fill a boat and enough shortsightedness to run it aground. After much consideration, I have come to the conclusion that I agree.

“Therefore,” he said, taking a casual step forward, “I thought I could benefit from discovering a bit of your character. Specifically, how are you at forgiveness?”

Despite her effort to keep her head about her, a spark of hope cruelly flared to life, deep in the darkest part of her heart. Shoring up her defenses against the man who had broken her heart barely a week ago, she crossed her arms over her chest and said, “That depends.”

“On?”

“Whether or not it has been earned.”

A slight breeze rattled the leaves around them, making the light dance across his handsome face, illuminating in turn his nose, cheeks, and every jagged rise and dip of the scars. His green eyes never wavered from hers, nor did his soft, sweet smile. “Allow me to throw myself upon your mercy first; then we shall see about the rest.”

He took another step toward her. “First and foremost, please let me express how fervently sorry I am to have hurt you. Especially since, I am ashamed to say, it was quite purposeful.”

Her brows came together at his words.
This
was an apology? Had he come here to make things worse?

His next step brought them close enough that if she extended her hand, she would touch his chest. She curled her fingers into her skirts to keep herself from doing just that, though she didn’t know whether she would push him away or pull him closer, given the chance.

“The truth is, sweet Charity, I lied. When you asked me to tell you that I didn’t love you, every fiber of my being was crying out for the chance to tell you I did, but my stubbornness couldn’t allow me to tell you the truth. And the truth is,” he said his voice low and earnest, “that I
do
love you. More than I thought possible, more than I imagined I ever could. It’s because of you that I even know how deep love can be.”

Charity’s heart nearly leaped from her chest. She pressed her eyes closed, savoring the words on his tongue, turning them over again and again in her mind. Could it really be true? Why would he have come all this way if it wasn’t? Still . . . She opened her eyes and met his gaze fully. “Then why lie? Why hurt me like that? Why abandon me in my most needful time?”

Watching him as closely as she was, she recognized the regret in his eyes when it came. He shook his head and blew out a long breath. “Because I believed, truly and honestly believed, that you deserved better.”

“Better?” she whispered, her heart aching for the pain she heard in his voice. “What could possibly have been better than marrying the man I loved?”

He smiled then, sadness still weighing his tone. “Marrying anyone else. Or so I thought. All I knew was that I wanted you to have a husband who was whole and hearty and able to love and care for you in the manner that you deserve. With my attacks, I was convinced I could never be that man.” He gave a shrug. “So I did what I thought was best for you.”

Her hands went to her waist then as she glared up at him with indignation. “That is the most ridiculous, selfish, stupid thing I have ever heard, Hugh Danby.” Breaking her heart because he somehow thought he was unworthy? As though she were some great paragon, and he a lowly pauper.

He grimaced. “So I’ve been told. Which is why I have come to beg for your forgiveness. But first,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handful of coins, “I come bearing bribes.”

A smile lifted her lips as she looked down at the coins in his hand. She had no doubt they were the ones he had thrown at her window, and she at his. With delight wending its way through her veins, she held out her palm and accepted the money.

“That, Miss Effington, was bribe number one. And here is bribe number two: Shortly after you left, I went to your friend Miss Bradford. After her initial surprise, she has agreed to indulge my somewhat unorthodox request.”

“Which is?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. She couldn’t
wait
to hear the story from May’s point of view.

“Assisting me in hiring a
tui na
practitioner. If you think it will help, than I am willing to try it. I trust your judgment, Charity, and will strive to never again discount your opinion out of hand.”

She was more than impressed—she knew very few men who would ever do such a thing. “Thank you. It means a lot that you would listen to me.”

“Interesting that you should mention me listening to you,” he said, his bisected brow lifting mischievously. “My last bribe is this: I have written my sister-in-law in Cadgwith. At this very moment, she is likely happily in her element, employing a designer to refurbish the dowager house into a proper music space. She’s also preparing the guest rooms, as it is my hope that you—and your family, of course—will come to Cadgwith. I’ll need your expertise to test the new pianoforte, after all.”

He took one more careful step and looked down at her candidly. “I know my limitations, but I never wish for them to limit you as well. In fact, I believe that with you by my side, I can strive to be the kind of baron I wish to be. I already know that you have made me a better man. We may have to make adjustments and allowances, but it is my intention that we shall never be limited in the things that matter.

“If you should decide to overlook my stupidity of the last time we spoke, and bow to the
considerable
bribes I now come bearing in both penance and good faith, it is my greatest wish, Charity Effington,” he paused, taking her hand in his, “that you would consent to be my wife.”

Charity’s mouth fell right open. Could this truly be happening? She looked up into his beautiful, completely earnest green eyes, happiness whooshing through her like a strong wind rushing through fallen leaves. “Where was this person a week ago?” she asked, shaking her head in wonder.

“Busy learning a few hard lessons, I’m afraid.”

A thought occurred to her then, pouring cold water over her warm delight. “But my father! I’ve already committed to his wishes.”