Page 55 of Touched By a Traitor
“Indeed, shall we discuss your plans to thaw her ladyship’s icy demeanor?” Lancaster inquired languidly, his gaze flickering between the newlyweds.
Despite her hands fidgeting nervously, Charlotte favored the group with a faint smile.
“If I may be so bold,” Lancaster continued, clearly enjoying Andrew’s discomfort, “you would do well to shower your bride with expensive gifts and make grand gestures of apology. Though I suspect a woman of Lady Carlisle’s evident intelligence requires more than mere baubles.”
“Indeed,” Hereford added with theatrical solemnity. “Perhaps you ought not to stifle her considerable talents. After all, you fell in love with a woman of ambition and courage. ’Twould be folly to try changing her now.”
Charlotte positively glowed at their words, her eyes shining with appreciation as she regarded Andrew intently. The gentlemen, too, fixed their gazes upon him, their smirks makingit clear that they were deriving great amusement from his discomfort.
“Say, I wonder if breakfast is ready,” Andrew said, ringing the bell and clearing his throat. He silently prayed that one of his friends would take pity on him and come to his aid, but alas, they seemed content to let him squirm.
Salvation came from an unexpected quarter, however, as Charlotte spoke up, her voice soft but clear. “Lord Carlisle has been instrumental in helping me achieve my goals. Without his support, I fear I would still be toiling away in the brothels, cleaning and scrubbing.”
Andrew’s heart swelled with gratitude at her words, and he met her gaze to convey his appreciation. Charlotte, however, quickly lowered her lashes, suddenly finding great interest in the intricate pattern of the rug beneath her feet.
At that moment, a servant appeared, announcing that breakfast was served. The group rose, eager for the promise of a hearty meal and further testing their friendship.
The Nest
Shortly after breakfast,the guests embarked on their journey home, and the newlyweds headed to a small cabin Andrew had built a few years prior. The ride was less than an hour, during which time Charlotte dozed, her head eventually resting on his shoulder. Andrew savored the contact, as he had been uncertain if his wife would ever let him touch her.
As the carriage slowed to a stop, Charlotte suddenly sat up, looking around as if lost. Realizing where she was, she touched her hair to assess if anything was amiss. Then an old kerchief came out of her threadbare reticule, and she dabbed her eyes with it. Andrew gently took the kerchief from her and spread it out to examine the Duke of Chatham’s coat of arms. Wordlessly, he shoved the kerchief in his pocket, then handed her one of his own. She took his reluctantly and put it in her reticule.
Andrew alighted first, then held out his hand to help her disembark. When she gripped his hand, however, he draped her over his shoulder, against her screaming protest. “Put me down, you brute!”
Andrew laughed jovially, gripping her thigh and bottom firmly, the taut flesh igniting a smoldering fire within him. As the footman unlocked the wooden door to the small cabin, he stepped over the threshold and gently set her down.
“Is this how you intend to treat me? Like a mere sack of potatoes?” Charlotte’s eyes flashed with indignation.
The corners of Andrew’s lips twitched with a hint of a smile. “I assure you, I’m usually far gentler with a sack of potatoes. They may be hardy, but even they can sustain scrapes. And that would be quite detrimental to business.”
Charlotte fixed him with a piercing glare, her eyes sharp as daggers, but as she took in the surroundings of the cabin, her expression softened. Her eyes grew round, sparkling with delight, with a touch of a smile on her lips.
“This place is wonderful. It’s perfect.”
Andrew exhaled, running his fingers through his hair, a sense of relief and joy washing over him at the sight of his bride’s pleasure, a rare occurrence in recent times. “I had it built a few years ago. It’s small, as you can see. One bedroom, a kitchen, and a parlor.”
Charlotte met his gaze with a smile, a sight he had sorely missed. “And what did you build it for? Hunting, perhaps?”
“No, not at all. I have no fondness for hunting or shooting. I built this cabin as a retreat, a place to be alone and to feel at home.”
Charlotte’s brows furrowed at his words, a puzzled expression settling on her features. “Home? Does this cabin remind you of your childhood home?”
“Not exactly.” Andrew’s gaze grew distant as memories flooded his mind. “My parents’ home was even smaller than this, more basic in its furnishings. While living in a mansion filled with servants serves its purpose, it often feels like a display, a theatre of sorts, to me. In my eyes, a true home is quaint, a sanctuary where only my family resides. It’s a place where I attend to every need, from cooking and cleaning to starting a fire. I suppose I shall never truly be a gentleman, as these roots run deep within me. It’s why I find solace in working at the dock. The physical labor and returning to my roots bring me satisfaction.”
Andrew abruptly left her standing in the parlor, unable to meet Charlotte’s eyes after revealing something of himself. He entered the bedroom, leaving the door open. He unbuttoned his coat and peeled it off, preparing to change before venturing out to chop wood for the fire. The impending darkness and the capricious nature of the weather at this time of year demanded his attention. Charlotte’s eyes followed him, he knew, but she quickly diverted her gaze when he glanced in her direction, a flicker of unspoken emotion passing between them.
“One room?” Charlotte asked from the parlor.
“Aye. The pantry should be stocked if you need sustenance or beverage.” With those words, he closed the door to their bedchamber, leaving Charlotte alone with her thoughts.
In the solitude of the room, Andrew exhaled deeply, as if the weight of his decision was just settling on his shoulders. He questioned whether he had erred in bringing her to this intimate sanctuary instead of returning to the cottage, where distractions abounded. Here, in the confines of this small cabin, they would be compelled to confront each other and the truth of their emotions, laid bare without the trappings of society to shield them.
Donning an old laborer’s shirt, worn and familiar against his skin since the tender age of twenty, Andrew emerged from the bedroom, rolling up his sleeves as he walked. In the kitchen, Charlotte was diligently making a list of the items in the pantry. A surge of warmth blossomed in his stomach as he pondered the happiness that could be theirs if this simple life were all they had. He allowed himself to indulge in a fantasy, imagining Charlotte loved him and a little one was on the way. In this reverie, he was a humble dockworker with a steady income, content with the life they had built together.
Despite the allure of this imagined simplicity, Andrew knew his ambitions could not be so easily quelled. It wasn’t thepursuit of wealth that drove him but rather an innate need to conquer, to build and shape the world around him. Madam’s words echoed in his mind, reminding him he could start anew, sell his business, and watch it from afar. The mere thought of it, however, caused a wave of unease to wash over him as he envisioned his blood and sweat sinking under the guidance of those who would take the helm in his absence.
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