Page 89 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
“You’re not alone, Charlotte. You will never be alone again.”
She believed him. After everything he’d done for her, the multitude of ways he’d made her feel treasured and valued, despite her lowly beginnings and humble circumstances. She now knew, without a shred of doubt, he truly cared for her.
“So you bought my vowels.” Townsend squared his shoulders. “What are your terms?”
Finlay tilted his head to the side as he considered the man. “I am content to leave the terms you’re used to unchanged, except”—he slid his gaze to hers—“for a few conditions.”
“Such as?”
“You’ll resign your position. Immediately.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll retire to your country seat, but not before you publicly claim Mrs. Taylor as your son’s widow.”
As Inverray chuckled in the background, Townsend scowled. “Even if we do recognize her as Roderick’s widow, she still won’t win you Weobley. There are too many voters who will question your judgment. They’ll be suspicious of her, like we are.”
“Let them. I’ll delight in watching her prove them wrong.” Finlay advanced on the man. “If I learn any negative word concerning Mrs. Taylor has fallen from your lips, I’ll call your vowels due immediately. If I hear you’ve returned to London, for any reason, I’ll double your loan payments. And no sudden trip to India would be able to save you. Do I make myself clear?”
Townsend swallowed, his eyes darting to his wife before he nodded. “Perfectly.”
“Excellent.” Finlay offered Charlotte his arm. “Let us leave this place, my dear.”
“Yes, let’s,” she agreed, pressing into his side.
Before they swept out the door with the duke, Lord Inverray, and Lady Flora, Charlotte glanced at the Townsends. Mrs. Townsend was weeping softly into a handkerchief, but her former father-in-law observed her with a crinkle in his brow. When he met her gaze, he nodded.
Charlotte suspected she was finally free.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Darkness shrouded Berkeley Square, but Darington Terrace glowed bright with candlelight. Relief had tempered Finlay’s racing heart once he had rushed Charlotte out of Newgate and into the ducal carriage. Now, she sat across from him, freshly bathed and in a dress Alethea had given her, a thick wool shawl draped around her shoulders and a steaming cup of tea in her hands. His twin sat on her right side and Lady Flora on her other, each woman murmuring low words to her and flashing warm smiles. He was thankful the people closest to him had been willing to come to her aid and embrace her so readily.
But at that moment, Finlay wanted her to himself.
“Firthwell, you played that masterfully.” Darington raised a glass in salute. “I was convinced the pair were going to have an apoplexy right there.”
“I wish they had. They’re horrible people.” Lady Flora scowled.
“I’m just happy I no longer have to worry about them reappearing in my life.” Charlotte tugged on the sleeve of her gown, and Finlay suspected she did it so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him.
“They should leave you in peace. I’ve provided them with plenty of reasons to.”
“You have. Well done!” Lady Flora clapped her hands. “Now what are your plans?”
The question seemed to startle Charlotte for she jerked back, her eyes wide. “I–I’m honestly not sure.” She studied the wedding band that lay in her palm. “With your permission, I’d like to return to the Home. I was so very happy teaching there.”
Inverray smiled. “The position will be yours for as long as you want it.”
Finlay was relieved she was surrounded by people who welcomed her back to her old life so easily, and yet…
“Why the forlorn face, Firthwell?” Darington had an unholy twinkle in his eye.
Damn him.
Sucking in a discreet breath, he crossed to where Charlotte sat and kneeled in front of her. He reached for her hand, unsure of what to think when he found it trembling.
“I’d hoped you might take pity on me. Alethea has declared I’m in need of management, which we know means I need a wife.”
Her breath hitched, and hope bloomed in his chest. Before she could answer, Flora interrupted.
“I’m sure we’ve been an ill-mannered, uninvited audience for long enough. Why don’t we give our friends some privacy.”
