Page 39 of Scottish Seducer
Amelia made noises in the next room like she was scrounging around, then appeared in the doorway holding up a bottle for our approval.
Sophia slumped on the sofa like this was her place and said, “You finally agree with us on that one.”
I finished my glass and said, “Fair enough. Richard is a Mr. Collins type, but if you’re asking me about Charlie…I guess he’s more like Frank Churchill. When confronted, he didn’t lie, and there’s no scandal, though I really hoped he was maybe a sexier version of Colonel Brandon.”
Frank Churchill had never given Emma any real promises, and his scandal was that he loved another and just flirted with Emma a little. In the end she had to forgive that. On the other hand, Willoughby flirted but ultimately chose to marry another for money, which seemed to me more of a lie, because he did more than a little flirting.
None of this mattered. I took a deep breath. I wanted stability. I didn’t care if he was slightly older like Colonel Brandon, but right now the Colonel was the hero of my dreams. Someone who loved me unconditionally and cared deeply about my well-being and happiness.
Amelia returned and poured the second round as she said, “With Darcy’s wealth, clearly.”
Fuck.Charlie had more money than even Darcy, but Darcy was all proud and arrogant. No. I didn’t want to change my answer about what I needed, so instead I held my glass up for a refill and said, “People would think we’re all nuts the way we always go right back to Jane Austen, like her books actually solve everything. Not all men fit in these boxes.”
“I suppose not.” Amelia said.
Sophia asked, “Are you still going to build that app? Because honestly, I’d like nothing better than to live in that simpler world instead of this one.”
Right. In the morning, I’d have to figure out my next move. I touched my mother’s pendant and wished I had some idea of what she’d tell me to do. “I don’t know. I probably need to find a new job and quit.”
Charlotte asked, “So you can’t forgive him for this?”
Sweet Charlotte would forgive him. I know her, but I stood up like I’d give my friends a pledge and even pointed to the ceiling. “No. If Charlie showed up right now, I’d tell him…I hate him.”
“I understand.” Charlie’s voice carried in the house. “I don’t blame you.”
I almost spilled my drink as I plopped it down and said, “Fuck me. I didn’t know you were here.”
Charlie nodded. “That was clear.”
I waved at my friends and said, “Everyone, give us a minute, okay? Charlie, please come out on the balcony.”
He waved at my friends and said, “Good evening, everyone.”
He had no right to come here. I told him I needed time. I really should have slept on my friend’s couch, but all my stuff had already been delivered here, so I followed my boxes and settled in. I figured I’d get one night, but as I closed the door behind us and the night air of London chilled my skin, I asked, “What are you doing here?”
He handed me the black bag from the jewelry store and said, “I meant what I said about dating.”
I just stared at him and the bag in my hand. Then I offered it back. “I don’t know yet.”
He shook his head and moved closer, and the air around me now tingled as he said, “Okay, I can see you’re busy tonight. I mostly stopped by to give you a present and ask if you’ll meet me for lunch tomorrow.”
Tomorrow was the Jane Austen museum night where we had planned to attend in costume. And probably the last event in my life as I know it. He probably didn’t remember, but I shook my head, even though he said lunch.
I wasn’t ready to sit with him at all, so I said, “I can’t.”
My heart whispered that Charlotte might be right about forgiveness. I stilled as he asked, “Dinner, then?”
I’d never see him again if I followed through on what I said. He seemed uncomfortable, and part of me hoped we’d somehow work through this.
Yeah, I had “sucker” written across my forehead in big, bright letters, but I said, “Fine, but take this back.”
He put his hands in the air like we were playing hot potato and he didn’t want to get scalded. “It’s for you.”
He’d said he needed to know the truth about me. I took a deep breath and said, slowly and carefully, “I. Do. Not. Want. Your. Money.”
He kissed my cheek and my skin bloomed as he said, “Jewelry is a way for a man to show his interest. It’s been that way for ages, even in Jane Austen’s world.”
Damn.This was bad. I ached to throw myself in his arms, but I hugged myself instead and said, “Okay, we can have an early dinner, but I’ll need to leave at eight.”
