Page 8 of An Unwilling Earl
Chapter Four
Two days after her discussion with Suzette, Charlotte lounged inside the doorway of the apothecary, shoulders slouched, hands in her empty pockets. She was across from the spot where she had almost been trampled by the horse, trying to pretend that she wasn’t looking forhim. Damn Suzette for putting the idea into her head and damn herself for wanting to see him one more time.
Why?
Why are you torturing yourself, you foolish girl?You’re in hiding, dressed like a vagrant lad. He’ll never give you a second look.
But he’d been so nice. He’d been a stranger who hadn’t overlooked her or walked a wide circle around her. He’d seen her as a person. And he’d been concerned for her as a fellow human being.
She had far more important things to do than moon over a man—like make a decision once and for all on what she was going to do with the rest of her life. She’d been putting it off, telling herself she was far too busy simply trying to survive, but really that was all a lie. She didn’t want to think about her future because it frightened her.
“Move on. Come on now. Get going.” A constable in his tall blue hat pointed his truncheon at her, coming short of poking her with it.
Charlotte scurried just far enough away to placate the constable but close enough that she wouldn’t misshim.
If he walked this way again. She was sofoolishfor wanting to see him.
She leaned a shoulder against the rough wall of the entrance to an alley, shooting a look behind her to make sure danger wasn’t lurking in the shadows. The only thing back there was a lone tomcat that reminded her of her cousin Edmund. She shuddered and forced that thought from her mind.
Another thing she didn’t want to think about.
There had been a few times, while living in the rookery, that Charlotte had wondered if it had been worth it—running away, hiding. But then she thought of her cousin and her aunt, and she knew she couldn’t go back. She’d take the dangers of the rookery over her own family any day.
A top hat bobbed through the crowd, catching her attention. She slipped from the alley and this time looked both ways before crossing the street. There was no horse to fall under, so she hurried across, stepping up behind the man who had rescued her.
He walked with casual elegance, in a way that indicated he had a destination in mind.Where are you going? Home? To a family? A wife and children?
She imagined a little girl with bouncing, shiny chestnut hair and a boy with the same shaped face, brown eyes, and thin nose. The picture made her heart hurt a little. She was jealous of his wife, for having a husband who came home to her every day, who loved her and their children and the life they’d built together.
Charlotte despaired of ever having that sort of life. If she were still living with her aunt, the old woman would run off any man who turned an eye toward Charlotte. Aunt Martha hated all men, even her own son.
But Charlotte yearned for what her parents had had. A true love. A love that defied everything—societal restrictions, family loyalty, and parental pressure. Sometimes the thought that there might be a man out there who could give her the love she desired had been the only thing that had kept her going during the dark days after her father’s death when she’d been forced to live with her aunt.
Her rescuer was whistling a jaunty tune that tickled her memory, but she’d had very little music in her life since Papa had died. Music had not been allowed in her aunt’s home. It called to a man’s baser instincts.
He tipped his hat to a woman dressed in a beautiful gown that reminded Charlotte of spring grass. The woman smiled and tittered at him. Charlotte glowered at her, but the woman didn’t see Charlotte as she brushed by her.
The man jogged up the steps of Brooks Gentleman’s Club, leaving Charlotte behind to dawdle along the street, looking longingly up at the elegant building.
As she stood there, two more gentlemen climbed the steps, talking quietly, dressed more elegantly than her man.
Her man.
Ha!
Aunt Martha had been right. Charlotte was a foolish girl.
…
Oliver was already waiting for Jacob when he entered the club for their next Mayhem Meeting. Except for the murdered girls—a tragedy to be sure—there had not been many mysteries for them to solve. He was hoping that the latest batch of newspapers would provide more opportunities to take his mind off his life.
“Before we go on,” Armbruster said, in lieu of a welcome, “Mother sends her greetings and wanted me to tell you that you haven’t called upon her recently and she’s quite miffed with you.”
Jacob grinned. Armbruster’s mother was a formidable woman, but she’d always had a soft spot for Jacob. Maybe because he was the only stabilizing influence in her son’s life.
“I will amend that right away,” he said as he took his seat.
“Please do,” Oliver said drily. “I’m weary of hearing about it.” He paused. His gaze flickered away. “She wants to have a thing,” he said, low enough that Jacob strained to hear. “In your honor.”
