Page 86 of An Unwilling Earl
“I can’t believe we were almost caught,” she said.
“We weren’t almost caught at anything. This is our house.”
She swatted at his arm. “Jacob. You’re naughty. That was far too close for my liking.”
“Mr. Cohen would have been scandalized.”
They both dissolved into laughter, and he found Charlotte in his arms again and he kissed her. But she pulled away.
“No more of that.”
He sighed in mock exasperation. “Well then, let’s finish our tour.”
…
Charlotte exited the hansom with a weary sigh. Earlier that morning she and Jacob had visited their new home, where they’d made love in what was to be her new bedchamber and had almost gotten caught. Her cheeks heated at the thought, but the memory still made her want to dissolve into giggles.
They’d had to hurry back to the townhouse for her to meet with the modiste in time. To her surprise Sarah and her mother were there as well. Apparently, Jacob had asked them to help her, knowing that she would need reinforcements and someone to tell her what looked good and what didn’t.
It was a very strange experience. When the modiste realized that she was the new Countess of Ashland, Charlotte was treated with much respect and deference, and it made her feel awkward. She wasn’t accustomed to such treatment and didn’t particularly care for the fawning.
Sarah’s mother found it all highly amusing.
“You remind me so much of your mother,” she’d said. “The daughter of a marquess, destined for great things, and she hated all of the restrictions and rules of Society. She always told me she was nothing special and people shouldn’t think otherwise.”
Charlotte liked these stories of her mother. They were like little gifts bestowed upon her.
The whole fitting had taken far longer than Charlotte had imagined and much longer than the patience she had for it. She’d finally left the decisions up to the Crawford women, trusting their instincts far more than she trusted her own.
She had been more than relieved when they’d finished and she could hail a hansom to go home.
Home.
She was beginning to think of Jacob’s small townhouse as a home. She would be sad to leave it when they moved to the much larger house. Even though she had griped that there was nowhere to put callers, she liked the small place.
Charlotte trudged wearily up the steps, thinking maybe she might be able to take a rest before Jacob returned home. They were supposed to have dinner with Lord Armbruster, and the thought exhausted Charlotte. She liked the man, but she was exhausted from her exciting day and the fact that she and Jacob had spent much of the night awake, learning each other’s bodies. That thought made her blush, and as she entered the cool darkness of the townhouse she was smiling to herself at the memories. Mrs. Smith greeted her at the door, wringing her dust cloth.
“I’m so tired, Mrs. Smith. I think I’ll go upstairs and have a quick lie down.”
“There are visitors,” Mrs. Smith said in a hushed voice. “Well, one visitor.”
Charlotte’s shoulders drooped. She did not have the mental fortitude to entertain right now. “Didn’t you tell them I was out?”
“I did. She said she would wait, and she marched right on in there and sat down.”
Charlotte stilled. “She?”
Mrs. Smith nodded, and Charlotte recognized the fear in her eyes. “Who is it?” she whispered.
“Lady Morris.”
Charlotte stepped back as if she would turn around and run out of the house. Escape was her only thought, but then common sense took over. She couldn’t leave Mrs. Smith alone with her aunt, and there was nothing her aunt could do to her now. She was married. She was a countess. She far outranked a baroness, and while that did not impress Charlotte in most circumstances, she was glad of it now.
“Well, then,” she said, her gaze darting to the closed door. “Did you offer her tea?”
“No, my lady. I am a bit frightened of her.”
“Good. She doesn’t deserve tea.” And Mrs. Smith had every reason to be frightened.
