A Lesson in Pride (14 page)

“I apologize for my mistake, Lady Essex. I have little contact with the aristocracy.”

“What brings you to the Copeland Ball?” Ginny asked, seeing that Charlotte was still discomfited.

“My benefactor, my lady. I was born and raised a gentleman, so he believes I should act like one. That is, to say, that I should participate more in the activities of the ton.”

“How nice of him. I believe you have this dance, do you not?”

“We do, my lady. Thank you,” Braydon said, as he grabbed Charlotte's hand and headed to the dance floor. When was he going to learn that not everyone enjoyed his weird sense of humor, especially the ladies.

They joined a country dance with little opportunity to speak. Braydon could see that his partner's heart wasn't in it. He hoped it wasn't because of his bad behavior, but figured it probably was. The only thing that could come out of his questioning was to embarrass her and he was afraid that was exactly what he did.

When the dance was over, Braydon offered his arm and a consolation. “May I get you something to drink, Miss Drake?”

As though finally realizing that there was someone standing right next to her, Charlotte startled. Embarrassed once again, she lifted her chin and answered, “That would be appreciated, Mr. Pierce. I find myself quite parched.”

He deposited her next to a potted plant and stated he would return shortly. Not wanting to dance yet again, Charlotte hid slightly behind said potted plant, hoping her next partner would eventually give up looking for her. She was tired and hot. In her mind, she used that as an excuse for her rudeness. So far none of the men who she'd danced with even came close to her ideal and that left her vexed. It wasn't as though she were asking for the moon after all. A financially stable blond-headed man topped her list, with other criteria simply nice to have.

After a few minutes, Mr. Pierce returned with two glasses of the weak fruit punch they always served at these affairs. Charlotte would have liked to try the champagne that Ally had been drinking, but that would have been inappropriate.

“Here you are, Miss Drake. You look a bit overheated, if that is not rude to say. May I escort you to the terrace?”

“Whether it is rude or not, Mr. Pierce, it is the truth. I would appreciate your escort.”

The two walked out the terrace doors to the crowded patio. With so many people around, propriety would be maintained. The two found a spot along the balustrade and drank the punch.

“How is your punch, Miss Drake?”

Refraining from rolling her eyes, she answered, “Lovely. Yours?”

Placing the cup on the balustrade, Braydon gave her a sheepish smile. “Warm and watered down, I'm afraid.”

Laughing, Charlotte noticed how his eyes lit up. The man was fairly handsome, even if he didn't fit her ideal mold. Perhaps Hope would appreciate his looks. “May I tell you a great secret, Mr. Pierce? Or will you tattle on me to my stepmother?”

Now Braydon gave her his full, toothy smile. “You can trust me, Miss Drake. I shall take your secret to my grave.”

“I have desired all season for a sip of champagne, but it would be too improper for me to do so.”

With a twinkle in his eye, he uttered, “Give me one minute.”

Then he grabbed her cup from her hands, threw the contents over the railing, and walked back into the ballroom. Charlotte was too shocked to say anything, let alone move from her spot.

True to his word, the man appeared not one minute later, still holding her cup in his hands. He walked up to her and stated in a stage whisper, “Here is your punch, Miss Drake. I refreshed it just as you asked.” With a wink, he handed her the cup and motioned for her to drink it.

Stunned, Charlotte held the cup but didn't sip. Surely the man didn't put champagne into her punch cup. Surely, this gentleman wasn't encouraging her step away from propriety and break the rules.

Her body nearly shaking with curiosity, Charlotte took a small sip from her cup. The first thing she noticed were the bubbles that tickled her nose. Feeling braver, she took a larger sip and almost choked on the strong flavor and effervescence. Moving the cup from her lips. Charlotte beamed a smile at her partner in crime.

“That, sir, was highly inappropriate.” Before he could utter an apology, she stated, “And I thank you for it.”

Charlotte was always the good one. She was the steady one. She was the sister that all her younger siblings could count on when hurt, upset, scared, or sad. For just this one silly moment, she could be a little outrageous, a little daring. It felt good.

“It was my way of apologizing for earlier,” he said, head down like a child about to be scolded.

“Apologize? For what?”

“I knew you could not remember me. I was teasing and I saw that I had embarrassed you. My mother often tells me that I need to be more serious.”

Placing her hand lightly on his arm, Charlotte leaned forward and whispered, “But if you were more serious, Mr. Pierce, I would never have had my first taste of champagne.”

“Your stepmother might not appreciate my assistance in that, Miss Drake,” Braydon whispered back while he enjoyed the feel of her hand on his arm.

“My stepmother is the same age as I, so I think she would forgive me this small indiscretion. She may have even provided me some champagne herself if I had asked.”

“Your father must have been pretty old when they married.” As soon as he uttered the words, Braydon remembered the other thing his mother always lamented about his behavior. He never knew when to stop his mouth before it was too late.

Charlotte removed her hand, thinking that this man really did need some lessons in deportment. When she actually answered him, she didn't know who it surprised more.

“He was. Ally was his third wife, and by some grace of God, she was only married to him a few hours before his heart gave out.”

Both were startled by her reply. Braydon pleasantly so and Charlotte not as much. She took a large sip from her cup before remembering it wasn't punch. The strong taste and the bubbles had her coughing to clear her throat.

“Miss Drake... are you... Can I be of assistance?” Braydon had really done it now. This woman would never speak to him again.

When the spasms had finally calmed and the rest of the terrace finally went back to their own conversations, Charlotte looked up at Braydon. His face was the picture of concern and she felt something shift in her. Shaking her head, she placed the cup on the balustrade next to his and sputtered, “I should return to my stepmother now. She must be concerned. If you will excuse me.”

Before he could offer to walk her, the girl disappeared into the ballroom. Braydon stood there for a few more minutes, staring at where she'd disappeared. He was probably completely inappropriate and most certainly unworthy, but he would make it his mission in life to have Charlotte Drake as his wife. Thus bringing him to the third thing his mother had tried to repress in him. Braydon Pierce got what he wanted, no matter the cost.

Chapter 19

Ginny sat alone in her room, staring out a window at the dark night. In her hand was a glass of whiskey that she'd pilfered from her dead husband's study. She couldn't even say it was her study, because her dead husband had made for damn sure that she would feel like a guest in her own home.

Everything was on loan, the house, the carriages, the prestige. If she ever decided to remarry, it would all disappear. If she crossed some arbitrary line, like give money to her family, it was gone. Like a fairy godmother and her magic wand, it would all vanish in a cloud of smoke and the sound of
poof
. For the past year, it hadn't bothered her so much. That night, it did. It was eating at her very soul, most likely thanks to the over-emotional Alysanne.

He wouldn't marry Persephone. Something would change that would make it possible for them to be together. It was a romance novel and all things turned out the way they should in the end. It was a neat, little story that shouldn't have lasted even this long, but so far it had. She wasn't a virgin, yet she still slept alone every damn night waiting for one man to figure something out. She wondered if he'd even tried.

Over the past year, Ginny had tried to solve the problems on her own. What if his brother died? Then Grant would be the heir and they could be together. When she thought it was sick to wish ill on someone she didn't even know, she reminded herself that the man in question was a goddamn fictional character that could die and no one would be injured by his death.

His sister-in-law could be carrying another girl. Franklin Drake had managed to shoot only X chromosomes, so it was possible that Grant's brother was the same way. That would not solve their problems though. The duke of Bedford would still be a tight-fisted bastard and Grant would still be left with practically nothing.

The duke's carriage could plummet off a cliff into the churning, dark waters of the North Sea in January. How would that solve their problem? It wouldn't, but it made Ginny smile just thinking about it.

The more scenarios that went through her head, the more she wondered if she'd finally lost her mind. She had never been a vindictive person. Sure, she would mock total strangers who'd made interesting clothing choices. There might have been a time or two when she'd “accidentally” forgotten to call back her siblings when she knew they were going to bang on her for still being single. She never went out of her way to hurt someone. And if she did something wrong, she always apologized.

Now, as she sipped her drink and thought about this new life, an itchy sort of impatience came upon her. He was the one, she was sure of it. Not because he fit the mold... well, not
only
because. It just made perfect sense. After her many lives, she could practically write these damn novels herself. So why was he going to ask the Horton chit to marry him?

Now she knew she'd gone crazy. Overthinking again. It was her classic blunder. Every time. What was the worst that would happen if Grant married Miss Horton? She might be stuck here. Ginny shook her head. No, she wouldn't contemplate that. She had bigger fish to fry.

Alysanne had already lived a pretty crappy existence. In the grand scheme of things, her time after Drake's death had not only been the easiest in her life, but the happiest. Without Grant, this character would live on.

With a sigh, Ginny sat hard on the chair at her vanity. Try telling that to Alysanne. Even now, Ginny was fighting the urge to write a strongly worded letter to Grant explaining what a tragedy it would be to marry a girl only for her money. She could never make him as happy as Alysanne could. Why doom himself to such a miserable existence?

So not only was Ginny fighting the novel's plot points, but she was also fighting an eighteen year old girl madly in love with an unattainable man. There were times Ginny thought Alysanne might win. The girl made her say things she'd never otherwise say. She made her do things that caused Ginny to cringe. She was suffering from multiple personalities, only literally so. Could Alysanne be wondering who this other conscience was?

Chuckling to herself, Ginny finished her drink. She had to get some sleep before she finally lost her mind. What was planned for tomorrow? Whatever it was, she didn't want to face it with only a few hours' sleep. She had to buck up and get moving. If Grant wanted to marry some girl for her money, maybe she would marry some man for his. As though that would get her home.

Chapter 20

Grant walked from the Horton home having made the biggest mistake of his life. No, he couldn't think that way, not in the beginning. He had no choice. He had been left with no choice. Everything could be blamed on another, especially if his future wife should one day blame him for this.

Damn his father for being uncharitable. If Grant were younger, he could have joined the army, but his father wouldn't allow it. He was his spare and since Bedford had no desire to remarry and have another son, Grant would damn well make himself available in the meantime. So he had been led on, given scraps of the duke's great fortune.

Now those scraps would be taken away. Grant wasn't any better than a mongrel dog left behind by his owner. He would be expected to obtain his scraps from Horton and his daughter.

Not that Persephone was complaining. She'd beamed at him when he'd asked for her hand. Her father had slapped him on the back and the mother wept with joy. The entire family saw this as the opportunity of a lifetime, as though they could not possibly be snubbed with such a connection.

The banns would be read the following Sunday and the date would be set in a month's time. The Hortons were anxious to have it done, but Grant had yet to speak to his father. If Alexandra carried a girl, would he want such blood and connections so close to the dukedom? As Grant walked to find a hack, he began to wonder if his father would want him to put off his marriage. The man was such a snob, he couldn't imagine him risking the title going to such a common girl, a tradesman's daughter.

The potential reprieve brought a genuine smile to Grant's face. His step lightened as he walked a little faster. This might just be the best way to put off his marriage.

Finding a hack was easy and the trip to his father's house took no time at all. Knocking on the door and waiting to be allowed entry didn't eat at him as it usually did. Jennings, his father's butler, was his usual cheery self, taking his hat and coat without so much as hello.