Page 53 of Every Rake Has A Silver Lining

Upon arriving home,Simon had the carriage driver let him off several homes away. Not up for any lectures, he walked around and through the mews, sneaking into the house through the kitchen in the back. The room was empty, clean of all evidence of the evening’s supper, and his stomach growled in protest. As quietly as he could, he crept up the hallway and spied around the corner.

When the footman stationed at the front door caught sight of him, Simon put his finger to his lips, and the man nodded. If he could make it to the study undiscovered, he kept some whisky in a drawer there. It wasn’t solid, but it might take off the edge gnawing at him.

He discovered Drake, his head back, cravat untied, staring at the ceiling. Simon turned to leave but the creaking floorboard in front of the room betrayed him.

“You’re back,” Drake called from behind.

“Ah, yes. I didn’t want to disturb you.” Simon stepped into the room, praying Drake’s demeanor was simple exhaustion and not one of sorrow. “Um, how is Honoria?”

The tension in Simon’s chest eased at the grin breaking across Drake’s face. “She’s sleeping. At least for a while. She was magnificent, Simon. How do women do it?”

“So you stayed for the whole—” Simon waved a hand, not willing to utter the word.

“Birth,” Drake said for him. “Yes. She’s so tiny. Fragile.”

“You have a daughter?”

Drake nodded. “I’ve been sitting here worrying about all the ways I need to protect her.” His expression grew solemn, knifing Simon in the heart for having deserted his friend.

Simon retrieved the whisky and poured them both a glass. “You’re not in this alone. You have Honoria. And me.”

Drake’s eyebrow rose as he studied Simon over the rim of his crystal glass. He sipped. “Do I?”

“You told me to go.” The metaphorical knife twisted by Simon’s own hand as he redirected the accusation.

“True.” Drake took another sip, then laid the glass down. “However, I didn’t expect you to be gone so long. After all, it is your wedding day, and you have a bride waiting for you.”

The knife plunged deep. Simon winced from the pain. “Ah. Have you spoken to Charlotte?”

Drake toyed with the glass of amber liquid. “Not about that. I took supper with Honoria in her room. But Charlotte, bless her, took charge with your family. When I came down a short while ago, your mother said Charlotte had retired for the evening. She had some rather harsh words about you.”

Simon snorted a laugh. “Charlotte?” That would be no surprise.

Drake shook his head. “Your mother. In fact, she said Charlotte was most gracious at supper. Are you really going to take her to your family’s estate for a wedding trip?”

“If you don’t need me here.”

“I think I can manage for a while without you. One of the advantages of being a duke is having servants at your bidding. And I know how to review my own books should the need arise.” Lifting the whisky, he took a longer sip, closing his eyes. When he opened them, he met Simon’s gaze directly. “And I think you have more important business to attend to.”

“Such as?”

“Making good on your boast.”

Lord, there had been so many boasts. “Which in particular?”

“The one where you claimed you could woo any woman into your bed.”

Oh,thatone. Simon’s eyes inadvertently gazed toward the ceiling, much in the same manner he’d found Drake. He tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves. “Well, never let it be said that Simon Beckham backed down from a challenge.”

As he headed upstairs to face his dragon—err, his bride—Drake’s laugh echoed behind him.

Rose had fixedCharlotte’s disheveled hair before supper, and Charlotte was glad to have regained that much control over her situation. Seriously, the idea of going around with her hair down for so long in the day made her stomach cramp. But as Rose readied her for bed, removing the pins and brushing the thick dark locks, Charlotte studied herself in the mirror.

With her hair flowing around her shoulders, it softened her face and reminded her of a girl of ten-and-four who couldn’t wait to pin her hair up like an adult. She’d been so naïve, eager to be grown up without truly understanding the heavy burden being a woman brought. She instructed Rose to leave her hair loose and unplaited.

After she dismissed Rose, Charlotte tightened the silk dressing gown around her and sat at the small escritoire. The last time she’d written to Nash had been after Honoria’s wedding. He’d been delighted, as had his wife Adalyn, to learn of Honoria’s love match. Charlotte had grown to admire her brother’s wife, who transcribed his personal correspondence for him. Adalyn had a way of sneaking in little tidbits about Nash that made Charlotte smile—especially how he doted on their son, Benjamin. Charlotte suspected Adalyn kept those additions secret from her husband, who never wanted anyone to know he had a soft side.

Charlotte pulled out foolscap, ink, and pen. She’d refrained from writing with her news sooner in the unlikely—but hopeful—event some miracle would intervene and circumvent her marriage.

---