Page 76 of Pride & Petticoats

Freddie raised an eyebrow—or at least made a valiant effort to make any expression other than a grimace. “Will you be in Charleston?” He took a step forward—close enough to smell the scent of honeysuckle that always seemed to cling to her—and just for a moment, the dizziness and nausea subsided.

“Yes, I’ll be there, but what has that to do with it?”

“I am willing to brave even the wilds of the colonies to be with you, Charlotte. If you’re there, I’ll love it.”

Charlotte blinked, stared at him, and for the first—and he suspected only—time, he had a moment’s enjoyment on the seas.

She swallowed. “But you don’t love me.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about my feelings,” he said, taking another step toward her, and catching her arm when she tried to scoot away. He drew her closer and spoke quietly. “But you don’t know everything. Marry me, Charlotte. I want you to be my wife.”

“But—but you don’t mean it,” she whispered. “You’re only saying this because you feel obligated.”

“Obligated?”

“Yes, because we—” She gestured feebly. Freddie shook his head. “I shall have to get used to the strange way you colonists think. Do you really think me such a fool as to marry a woman I didn’t love? I’m a gentleman, Charlotte, but even chivalry has its limits.”

“Then you do love me?”

Freddie sighed, leaned down, and kissed her unfashionably freckled nose. “Of course I love you, you frustrating American. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. I loved you in that horrid black dress, and I loved you when you spit cabbage soup on my table, and I especially love when you take me inside you, arching your back so that I fill you to the hilt.”

Charlotte stared at him, sherry eyes wide. Taking advantage of her speechlessness, he bent and kissed her lips. “Tell me you love me, Charlotte.”

He looked into her face. For a long moment she said nothing, and his chest hurt so bad with the pent-up breath he was holding that he thought he might explode.

“I love you,” she said finally, and the passengers surrounding them erupted into applause. “You know I do.”

Freddie pulled her hard against him and caught her mouth again in a long kiss. “There is just one small matter, madam,” he murmured when they parted. He kissed her neck and ran his hand through her wavy hair, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “I do hope you are more discreet than I.”

“Discreet?” Charlotte frowned. “About what?”

“My feelings for you. You know that it’s dreadfully unfashionable to be in love with one’s wife.”

Charlotte’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. And?”

“I intend to be the most unfashionable man either of our countries has ever seen.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow and curled her arms about his neck. “Oh, but I’m not going with you to Charleston.”

Freddie stared at her. Her eyes met his with no hint of mischief, and he had to grip a nearby rail to steady himself.

“You see, sir,” Charlotte continued, “Your life is in England. Your family. Your friends. I could never ask you to give all that up because I know what it is to lose it.”

Freddie swallowed. “What are you saying, Charlotte?”

“I’m saying that I want to be where you are. I want to stay in London with you.” She smiled. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

Freddie pulled her against him. “I’ll have you. I’ll love you in any country you choose. America. England. I’ll love you in any place and any language, more than words can say.” He kissed her gently, speaking his love for her without saying a word.

Epilogue

Hampshire, 1814

“Lucia, you do not know how close I came to killing him. I still cannot believe he did it!”

Lucia had to lean on Charlotte for support as the laughter poured out of her. Charlotte sighed, then couldn’t help but smile herself.

It was a beautiful day. The sun peeked out from behind wisps of clouds and a cool breeze swatted at the ribbons of Charlotte’s bonnet. Lucia and she walked arm and arm through the manicured gardens of Grayson Park, Alex’s country estate.

---