Page 57 of Pining for Lord Lockhart
“She did. That woman surprises me more and more the longer I know her.”
“I’m pleased to have her acquaintance. She’s almost as impressive as the woman she’s sponsoring.”
Charity smiled. “I wish I could take hope in your complimentary words. And I don’t know why I even want to.”
“Ouch.”
“What would you have me do? Support behavior such as yours, even when I can hardly believe it myself?”
“Behavior…just what do you think I’ve done?”
“I hardly dare speak the words, they are so scandalous.”
He thought over his actions and what Charity might know. And he began to suspect her knowledge to be misinformed indeed. “Do you by chance think my attachment to Miss Penny to be of a stronger nature than I have expressed?”
“I know it to be so. She is with child. And I’m torn all the time between being ill that you have done that to a woman, proud that you were doing your duty by her, and sick inside that we cannot be together.” Her face crumpled, and she looked away, but her eyes were dry, as though she’d resigned herself to this awful fate, had already given up on him. And why wouldn’t she? He’d treated her abominably. But in some ways, he could clear up her understanding.
“Yes, she is with child. And yes, I have felt as though I’m the only person who can aid her in the way she most desires.”
“I would think so.” Charity almost huffed. Her disdain for him was strong indeed. And yet, so was her feeling. He had hope. Did he want hope? He studied her face. He wanted Charity. And Miss Penny certainly did not want him except for the respectability he provided. But, as he considered her actions toward him, toward Lord Wessex, toward those around them, he had begun to question whether or not she deserved the respectability his name and title provided. And would he make her child the heir? Would she then in turn raise their children? That woman? Raise his future children? He had serious doubts.
“In one thing most particularly, I would like to win back your good opinion.”
She waited, her face blank, her eyes studying him.
“The child is not mine.”
She gasped. And then her eyes filled with tears. She turned from him, a hand clutching her mouth, her other arm wrapped around her middle.
And he could not witness such emotion without pulling her into his arms. He turned her about to him, cradling her, holding her until she softened and received his embrace. “Not your child.” Her voice murmured against his chest. Then she looked up, new tears wetting her cheeks. “Then why?”
“Do you remember the letter I showed you at the ball? The Westchesters came to me, begging for assistance, laying claim to old promises I’d made when we were children, hoping that I would rescue them.” He shrugged. “And I felt I had no other choice.”
She nodded. “I can see that. What choice do you have with a woman so desperate and you being in such a unique place to help her?”
“Well, I thought those same thoughts when I assumed she and I would get on together as we had, when I assumed we were still friends and that we could create a respectable life.” He shook his head. “But I have grave concerns now. And while I have lost the respect of the woman I love, I still do not wish to marry a woman who I cannot respect. Nor do I think she would be happy married to me. I have about decided to let them know as much this evening.”
Charity sucked in her breath. “This is news indeed. So you are not engaged, nor are you planning to be?”
He shook his head.
Her chin lifted as she searched his face. “And you are not the father of any child?”
He almost laughed but then, realizing the seriousness of the thoughts she’d had of him, of the condemnation toward him she must have felt, he frowned. “I would never, ever, do such a thing. I know you have no way of knowing the other more personal parts of my life. But I am not a man to do those things. I will spare you knowledge of the baseness of the actions of some in my sex. But I do not lie with women. I have never been with any, and plan to only do such with my wife.”
Her eyes then filled with admiration, the feeling he hoped to inspire in her forever. “And now my faith in all men has been restored.”
“All men?” He wasn’t certain how pleased he wanted her to be feeling toward any other man.
“Truly, when I thought I’d learned of the baseness of your behavior, I then decided that all men must behave the same, that I was naïve and idealistic to expect otherwise if you, who I thought to be the most honorable man of my acquaintance, had behaved so. And now that I have learned you are as good as I suspected, my hope has been restored. To know that a man would not only behave honorably around women but would come to their rescue when one is in the gravest need, even despite his own desires to the contrary, I am pleased, honored even, to know you. And to think you had just given your heart to me, were about to speak to the duke, in the very throes of our love, you denied yourself to help another.” Her eyes shone with such a respect, he could only drink in her admiration but at the same time, it tugged at a new guilt. For he had been about to deny Miss Penny her need, tell her mother he would no longer be moving forward with plans to marry, would be essentially sending them to a life of greater shame or significant lowering in station. And here she was, still thinking he should proceed in their rescue.
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I can continue in those noble pursuits you so ardently praise.” He pulled her closer. “Not when there is such a one as you.” Her eyes were full, her lips soft. He remembered so clearly the feeling of them against his own.
She moved closer. Was she open to a kiss? Could he renew their relations? Could he deny Miss Penny and at last court the woman he loved?
Her chin lifted, their lips closer, her breath but a soft puff against his mouth. She lifted her lashes, her eyes full of admiration, desire, hope. And he wanted only to answer her wishes, to fulfill her desire, to be hers forever, but in the moment he would have consumed her mouth, taken her breath in his own, her expression crumpled and she stepped away; his weight followed in a stumbled step forward.
“We cannot.”
