Page 46 of Tamed By a Duke
Dancing a waltz with the duke was nothing like dancing with her old dancing-master. For one, Penrith held her so scandalously close that Charlotte was certain people would be whispering about her for weeks. But it was also different because it was so enjoyable; she had never truly understood how dancing could make one feel as though their body was merged completely with their partner. The waltz, when performed correctly, was a union of body and soul, and it left Charlotte utterly breathless.
"Well," she said, as the music came to an end, and Penrith relinquished his hold on her, "That was...enjoyable."
"I am dedicated wholly to your pleasure, Miss Drew," he replied, his lips quirking as Charlotte flushed crimson at his words. There was no mistaking his innuendo this time.
"You look warm," he said, once again taking her by the elbow, "Come, let us take some air on the veranda."
And, despite being aware that nearly every eye in the room was following them, Charlotte allowed the duke to lead her from the dancefloor toward the French doors which opened out onto the gardens.
There were other couples here, walking arm in arm under the light of the stars and the full moon. Penrith ignored them, guiding Charlotte toward a set of steps, which led to a sunken garden, hedged by rosebushes and honeysuckles, and with a fountain at its centre.
"Charlotte, I have something to say to you," Penrith said, as they took a seat upon a low, stone bench.
The sound of the fountain's gentle splashing filled the silence which followed his words, for Charlotte found that she was unable to speak. Her heart thudded so loudly within her chest that she was certain Penrith might hear it—and how could he fail to notice the sharp rise and fall of her chest as she struggled for breath?
Was this it? Was he about to propose?
"I know about your daughter," Penrith finally said, when it became clear that Charlotte was unable to reply. His words had come out in a rush, hastily offered and almost apologetic.
Silence reigned, as Charlotte tried to digest his offering.
"My, my—what?" Charlotte questioned, feeling a wave of hysterical laughter bubble up in her throat. This was not a proposal of marriage, far from it! This was the wittering of a man fit for Bedlam.
"I know it must be a surprise," Penrith continued, very seriously, "Lud knows, it was a surprise for me. But I know now, Charlotte. I know all about Molly and what a fiend Deveraux was to you. How you shouldered such a burden alone, I will never understand, but you are not alone any longer. Once we are married, I will bring Molly under my protection and we can live together as a family."
Knock me down with a feather, Charlotte thought, half torn between laughter and tears. Penrith had got all muddled up with the sorry tale, but his willingness to take on little Molly as his own could not be ignored.
"Oh," Charlotte clasped his hand, "You are the sweetest man to offer to take Molly, but I'm afraid that her mother might not let you. She's rather attached to her, you see."
It was Penrith's turn to look perplexed, and despite her best efforts, Charlotte could not help but laugh at his expression.
"I am not Molly's mother," Charlotte continued, "Agnes Thatchery is."
"Deveraux's maid?" Penrith grunted with surprise, "I thought that he had employed her to mind the wee thing."
"No, unfortunately Mr Deveraux did not feel any need to provide for the child he had sired..."
Charlotte hesitated, wondering momentarily if she should explain the situation fully to Penrith, but she could not hold back, not now that he was so involved.
In a halting voice, she quietly explained how Charles Deveraux had ardently pursued her during her first season out.
"He was so charming, so fashionable," she said, her eyes focused ahead on a moth, which was dancing around a nearby rose-bush, as she recalled the past. "He sent lavish bouquets of hot-house flowers, sweetmeats from Gunter's, and recited sonnets which he composed himself."
Beside her, Penrith stiffened, and she vaguely hear him mutter something which sounded like, "I could compose sonnets too, if it was called for." But she ignored him. Charles Deveraux's attributes were not the point of this tale, it was his faults she wished to discuss.
"My head was easily turned," Charlotte continued, slightly shame-faced, "I had always thought myself a good judge of character, but it seems flowery words and Hobby boots were all it took to distract me."
She sighed a little, as she remembered how enamoured she had been by Deveraux. His charm had won her over, had made her forget her beliefs and ethics. She had sought new dresses, ribbons, and vanities to try and beguile him with, whilst ignoring the feeling of anxiety which surfaced in her whenever he made a cruel or snobbish comment about those less fortunate.
Charlotte rather regretted all her efforts in aesthetics now, for Charles Deveraux had not cared a jot about her appearance—the only thing he had been interested in was her inheritance.
"One evening, about half-way through the season, Lord Marshdon held a ball," Charlotte said, at last coming to the crux of her tale, "It was expected that Charles would propose to me, and I admit that I was rather excited by the prospect. The ball went on as a ball usually does, and towards the end I excused myself to—"
She hesitated; she had been about to say "visit the water-closet" but that really was not the sort of thing one said to a gentleman.
"Go on," Penrith waved a hand, urging her to skip over whatever it was that had tripped her tongue.
"On my way back to the ballroom, I overheard voices arguing nearby. I would have ignored it," Charlotte continued, not wishing to appear nosey, "But when I realised that one of the voices was Mr Deveraux's, I could not help myself from trying to find out what was going on."
