Page 55 of Tamed By a Duke
He had not even minded when she had spilt a glass of wine all over the original Thomas Whitty Axminster rug in the library.
"It's just a rug," he had said soothingly, "I expect when we have children they'll add a few stains to it too."
No children had yet arrived to add more stains to anything, a fact which Charlotte had begun to worry about—until recently that is...
"Fancy finding you here," Penrith called across the room, interrupting Charlotte's reverie.
She turned her head to find her husband—tall and handsome as ever—watching her with soft, affectionate eyes from the doorway.
"I must congratulate you on your powers of detection, my dear husband," Charlotte replied with a grin, "Only a true investigative mind would be able to discover the whereabouts of his wife in such a large house. Tell me, what was it that lead you to this room? Was it the fact that this is my favourite spot? Or did something else lead you here?"
"The house is not so big that you might go missing," Penrith replied with a smile, as he sauntered toward her, "Though if you were to disappear, I would only need to ask a footman. Jackson reported that he delivered you some tea just five minutes ago."
"And cake," Charlotte nodded to the tray of French fancies upon the coffee table, before patting the seat beside her in invitation.
Penrith, never one to turn down cake, promptly deposited himself beside Charlotte on the chaise.
"I came to bring you this," he said, after he had scoffed down two of the pastries in record time. Penrith proffered a letter toward Charlotte, which she took, recognising the writing as Bianca's.
"There was other correspondence as well," Penrith continued, his face barely able to contain a smile.
"Was it from Leo?" Charlotte wondered aloud. Her brother-in-law had been residing in Norfolk for the past few months, setting up a stud-farm on which he intended to breed and train racehorses. It was a long-held dream, which Leo had said could only be realised now that his stint in the army had gifted him with a work-ethic which had been previously lacking.
"No," Penrith shook his head, "Though he sent word a few days ago to say that he is certain he has a winner lined up for Ascot. No, this letter was from a rather unexpected author."
"Oh," Charlotte frowned; she hated guessing games, "Don't tease me, Penrith. Who was it from?"
The duke acknowledged Charlotte's use of his title with an amused raised eyebrow; he knew that if she was addressing him so formally, it meant that she was not pleased.
"From Agnes Thatchery," Penrith revealed, his expression one of joy, "Though she is no longer known as that, she signed herself as Mrs Bergin."
"You mean?" Charlotte glanced at her husband in surprise.
"Agnes met and fell in love with a local farmer," Hugh confirmed, his delight evident in his voice, "They married just last month. She wrote to thank both of us for all our help and assistance but has said that it is no longer required. She—and her husband—can provide for themselves."
"Why," Charlotte's voice was husky with emotion, "What a wonderful end to Agnes' tale."
"How lucky she was to have you," Hugh replied, taking Charlotte's hand, "For had you not been kind-hearted enough to help her, Agnes and Molly might have faced a far bleaker future."
Husband and wife fell into silence, as they both thought on the plight that Agnes might have faced, had she not found a champion in Charlotte. Penrith had, to Charlotte's delight, decided that he too would be a champion for the poor. He regularly proposed bills in Parliament which might help those whose futures were precarious, and attempted to use his political muscle to push through much needed reform.
Unfortunately, he was still a Tory, but Charlotte supposed she couldn't have everything.
"Is that from Bianca?" Hugh nodded to the unopened letter in Charlotte's hands, which she had forgotten about in all the excitement.
"Oh," she looked down, "Yes, it is. Let me see what she says."
The missive was short enough; Bianca and Mr Dubarry—or Augustus, as she now referred to him—had reached Bath in record time, thanks to the spell of dry weather which had meant that the roads were in better condition than usual. They had settled into their apartments, and would stay there for a month—near Augustus' family—before heading for the port of Bristol, and then on to the Continent.
"It's all backwards," Charlotte said with a light laugh, as she finished reading aloud to Penrith, "Bianca was supposed to have married a duke and I was supposed to marry an artist and disappoint my grandmother by galavanting around Europe."
"Are you disappointed that I am not a bohemian," Penrith queried, a little nervously.
"Lud, no," Charlotte smiled and took his hand in hers, "I could not wish for a better man than you, my dear."
"If you would like to go galavanting, we might take a trip abroad?" Penrith offered, still worried that Charlotte might not be content. "Perhaps Paris? Or Vienna?"
"Perhaps, one day," Charlotte conceded, as she took his hand and placed it upon her belly, "Though for now, I feel it might be pertinent if we stay close to home."
