Page 10 of Pining for Lord Lockhart
When the set ended, he walked toward the duchess with a somber expression and when they were almost here, he said, “In answer to your question, no.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t think there will ever be a better match.” He turned to leave but the duchess came forward and put both hands on his arm. “Oh, Lord Lockhart. Thank heavens you are here.”
“What is it? How might I be of assistance?”
“It’s the duke. He’s lost terribly and is considering his cups. We can’t have that, so I’m scurrying him home as though I’m about to faint from spells. But you, you need to see that Miss Charity gets home safely. Your aunt is here, is she not?”
“Yes, she is, and certainly. I will make sure she arrives home safely.”
“Oh, you are a godsend.” She looked over her shoulder and as soon as the duke came into view, she swooned with a hand over her head. “Oh goodness me.”
Lord Lockhart leapt for her, holding her not-too-small frame in his arms and setting her upright.
“Good catch.” She winked. “Oh, thank you. Thank you.” She reached a hand to her head.
“What has happened? They summoned me.” The duke frowned. “Are you well?”
“No. We must depart. Lord Lockhart is seeing to everything. Please, take me home.”
His eyes grew tender, and he transferred her weight to his strong arms. “Certainly. Let us be off.” He nodded to Lord Lockhart, took a long look at Charity, seemed satisfied with something and then the two left the room.
“Well, that was interesting.” Lord Lockhart watched them go. Then he turned to her. “And awkward. When a man says something like I did, the hope would be to walk off immediately after, not have to face the subsequent conversation.” His grin turned sheepish.
“Well, if you like, we can skip over the subsequent conversation.”
His relief was tinged with disappointment, so she added, “But I was not asking merely in jest. I do think we are a remarkable team.” She left it at that. Although appearing dissatisfied, he said no more.
Chapter 3
Lord Andrew Lockhart spent the rest of the ball in the company he most enjoyed. He and Charity likely disappointed the entire room full of eligible lords by not being available to dance, by walking the room, walking the verandah, walking the gardens, and sitting in the corner to enjoy another lemonade. He had no desire to do anything else or talk to anyone else. Now that he’d shared his dilemma from home, he felt free to be with her. He’d been given the express responsibility to see to Charity, and he would prefer that to all else anyway.
Would people talk? They might. But Charity had worked up such an odd reputation about herself they were likely to think he had intrigued her on some political subject. Which, he was proud to say, he had.
They were deep in a debate over whether the poor needed food or work when the final notes from the orchestra sounded, and Lord Lockhart realized that most people were leaving or had left.
His aunt approached, her sweet, tired face reminding him of his duty there, and he immediately sprung to his feet. “Aunt Victoria. I am sorry. We lost track of time.”
But she smiled and reached for him, her soft hand resting on his arm. “Don’t think a thing about it. I was having an equally agreeable time of things and only just now noticed the hour.” She smiled up into Charity’s face. “And how are you, my dear?”
“I’m doing well, Lady Hackney.”
The three made their way as slowly as Aunt Victoria’s feet wished to lead them until they were at last standing on the front stoop, waiting for the Lockhart carriage.
As his aunt and her maid immediately fell asleep, and Charity sat as close as possible to him, her head on his shoulder, Andrew decided to do the least logical thing in the world and take the long way home.
Charity must have heard his instructions to the coachman and by her smile, he took that to mean she approved, or at least she didn’t disapprove, for he’d surely hear her complaints if she did.
They drove around town, the dark of the early morning hours after a ball lending them silent streets and a full moon. He opened the window and looked out over her head.
“Lovely night,” she murmured against his shoulder.
“It is indeed.” He didn’t dare take her hand. That felt more intimate than they should be. Her head on his shoulder could be a gentlemanly service as well as a friendly one. But hand holding, as much as he wanted those little fingers in his, was beyond what they were allowed.
For all these months, he’d kept himself in check, waiting for her to be ready, for her to realize just how suited they were, to see hints of her softening towards him…and then to receive such a letter from home. The timing could not be more terrible if he imagined up the worst possible scenario.
And so they drove. And he could tell by her shifting now and then that she was awake, but neither spoke. And something about the night felt magical as well as final. Was he saying goodbye to the potential between them? Was he holding out hope something could still work? He didn’t know. So much had to be thought through. But regardless, he felt a poignant enjoyment in their experience.
