An Heir of Deception (22 page)

Alex briefly closed his eyes, his fight an internal war he wasn’t sure he could win. It had been a mistake to kiss her. When would he learn? But the fact that he’d been unable to help himself concerned him more.

The first to break the stare, he said, “Come, they are waiting.”

If he had kissed her to take her mind off the impending meeting with his parents, Alex had partially succeeded. Like a flame that never died, her desire for him needed only the smallest spark for it to ignite. Looking at him, dreaming of him, talking to him, being with him could do that effortlessly.

But all he had done was give her another cross to bear. One should never feed unrequited love. Although if she were smart, she’d refuse the meal. But then unrequited love and smart were innately at odds.

The walk to meet with the duke and duchess felt like the final walk of a prisoner to the gallows. Charlotte’s dread climbed with every step.

Alex, acting the perfect gentlemen, held the door open for them and she walked into the room, clutching her son’s hand tighter than he held hers.

They haven’t aged a bit
was her first thought when she saw them both seated in the kind of expensive sofa and chair one would expect to find in a house so well-appointed.

They also didn’t appear at all pleased. And it was that second thought that increased the flutter in her belly and accelerated her breathing and pulse.

The duke, in fact, looked positively livid, his handsome face was not quite as handsome flushed so bright a red. His scowl he made no attempt to disguise. Perhaps his blond hair had grown grayer over the years, but his face had weathered the time well enough and he appeared fit and trim.

The same could be said of his wife, whose blonde hair was perfectly coiffed. But the nostrils of her aristocratic nose quivered as if something distasteful had just permeated the air. Charlotte could see the meeting would not be pleasant.

After the duke pronounced his displeasure at seeing her with one seething stare, which adequately expressed his contempt, his gaze then shifted to Nicholas.

It was extraordinary, really, what happened next. Such a look arrested his features, if it hadn’t been so remarkable to see, it might have been comical.

The duke—and the duchess now—looked at their grandson as if they were seeing a ghost.

Her Grace’s gasp was shortly followed by, “Oh dear Lord!” Her exclamation almost coincided with the duke’s, “My God.” But the sentiment was the same. In unison, they rose slowly to their feet, staring at Nicholas as if they dare not let him from their sight.

“Charles.” The duchess’s voice shook with emotion.

The duke swallowed hard, the action pronounced enough for Charlotte to note it. He then turned to Alex. “He is yours?”

Alex gave a terse nod but there was something in his expression when he responded to his father’s sharp query that told Charlotte something else was at play here.

“Charlotte, you remember my parents, the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.” Given all that had just silently transpired, the introduction contained enough irony to sink a battleship.

“Your Grace,” she said pleasantly and dipped in a curtsey, still gripping her son’s hand. Or should she have addressed them collectively as
Your Graces
? Well, she couldn’t worry about that now. If she’d somehow breached social etiquette, she was sure Alex would inform her of it later when they were alone.

“And this is my son, Nicholas. Nicholas, these are my parents, your grandmother and grandfather.”

Responding to Charlotte’s light squeeze of his hand—a silent communication to mind his manners and greet his grandparents like a proper young man—he replied in a low, nervous voice, “Hullo.”

The duchess slowly approached, looking dazed as she continued to stare at Nicholas.

“He looks exactly as Charles did at his age.”

A tall woman, the duchess stopped directly in front of them forcing Charlotte to peer up at her. No one could call her handsome, but her features combined in a way that made her striking. In a French design of ice blue silk that was all the rage now in London, she looked eminently polished and elegant.

“So Alex told me,” Charlotte said but they were paying her no mind. Their too focused attention was on their grandson.

The duchess reached out and touched Nicholas lightly under his chin, so loving a gesture it nearly brought a tear to Charlotte’s eyes. Nicholas stood perfectly still under the brief caress, looking up at Charlotte as if to draw support. She knew he was aware this meeting with his grandparents was important but he was still a child. He’d made it quite clear he’d rather be home playing with his cousins.

The duke cleared his throat, staring mutely at Nicholas. Unlike his wife, he stayed back beside a high-backed chair, which boasted as regal a presence as the duke himself.

“Nicholas is my heir.”

There was a hard edge to Alex’s tone that made it more an edict than a statement of fact.

The duke did not confirm his son’s claim nor did he refute it. Contrarily, the duchess turned to her husband and gave one affirming nod. It appeared her mind was clear on this particular issue. The story of their marriage would have her full backing and support.

To Charlotte, the duke had come across as the type of man who not only adhered to class distinction, but rank distinction as well, hanging fiercely to the notion that he had, by the nature of his birth, been born better than most.

At present, she saw uncertainty in his eyes, as if today some of his beliefs had taken a hard wallop.

When the duchess turned back to them, her attention centered on Charlotte. The softness in her face when she’d regarded her grandson vanished. Displeasure settled into the faint lines around her eyes and mouth.

“I should like to speak with the marchioness alone,” she said in a tone clinging to civility by a hairsbreadth.

Alex came swiftly to stand at Charlotte’s elbow. “You can speak with the marchioness in due time.”

The duchess dismissed her son with a wave of her hand and a smile that was as genuine as the diamonds sold in Cheapside to the ladies of the evening. “You needn’t fear your dear wife will come to any harm. She
is
mother to the future Duke of Hastings.”

Her light response didn’t appear to appease Alex nor did it come close to making Charlotte feel the tiniest bit more amenable to being alone in her company.

“I should like to show Lady Avondale the music room. If my memory is not failing me, you are quite accomplished on the pianoforte, is that not correct?”

Failing memory? The duchess’ mind was as sharp as a tack. It was doubtful she had forgotten one moment of their initial meeting when Her Grace had mentally measured and weighed her, and found her lacking in every conceivable way.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of playing much on the piano these last few years.” A piano was one of the luxuries she’d been ill able to afford and she’d refused Lucas’s generous offer to purchase one for her.

“Then I should think you’d be eager to see one as grand as the duke gave me.” With that, she turned and headed for the door, clearly expecting Charlotte to follow her.

She turned and saw Charlotte hadn’t moved from her spot. Her lips thinned. “Come, we will leave the men to talk. I’m sure my grandson will be happy for the male attention.” She looked at Alex. “You will stay and talk to your father.”

The duke and his wife shared an indecipherable look. He then looked away, his blue eyes troubled. Alex didn’t so much as glance in his father’s direction.

“Let’s give your mama and grandmama some time to talk,” Alex said, taking his son’s hand from her. Nicholas immediately latched on to his father.

Reluctantly, Charlotte followed the duchess from the room. The duchess led her down a long corridor lined with columns aplenty and stately furniture. The
click click
of their shoes on the porcelain floors echoed sharply on the otherwise silent walk to their destination.

The double doors to the music room stood open and a black lacquered piano sat in the middle of the room. The duchess glided in and waved her hands at the half-dozen armchairs and the three settees arranged to give anyone seated an unobstructed view of all the instruments situated in the front.

“Do have a seat.”

Charlotte did so, choosing the chair closest to the door if by chance she was required to make a quick escape.

Her Grace chose to stand. Lord, it appeared she was to be lectured.

“I will come straight to the point, Miss Rutherford.”

Charlotte noted she was no longer the marchioness.

“My son may have forgiven you for the spectacle you made of him five years ago, but I have not.”

Charlotte didn’t cringe or even wince. They had accepted Nicholas and right now that’s all that mattered to her. Moreover, if she could survive Alex’s wrath, his mother’s frigid hostility hadn’t the ability to break her.

“In case you were not aware, Her Majesty, Queen Victoria is the duke’s third cousin once removed, and it was due to her considerable magnanimity that she agreed to intervene on my behalf and secure the cathedral for the wedding. That you should repay her largesse as you did is nothing less than disgraceful. The Duke of Wellington is buried there. Royalty is married there.”

Charlotte wondered how long the duchess would stress the importance and sanctity of St. Paul’s Cathedral, of which she was well aware. One of the many things she learned in the small rooms of Our Lady Fatima School for Young Girls.

“I do apologize, Your Grace. My intention was never to embarrass Alex or you and His Grace,” she replied sincerely.

“I do not care to hear about what you intended if the result was precisely the opposite.”

It didn’t matter what she said, what apology she offered, it was clear the duchess wasn’t of the mind to forgive her.

Charlotte studied her hands as the duchess stood court, standing regally next to the gold brocade settee. Silence fell and lengthened to such a degree, Charlotte finally looked up to find the duchess’s gaze fixed upon her.

“I am waiting for an explanation,” she snapped impatiently.

“Pardon?”

“Truly, Miss Rutherford, I know it has been some years but you didn’t appear witless when last we met. I want to know the reason you ran out on my son.”

For some inexplicable reason, Charlotte hadn’t expected this question from her. The duchess carried herself in a way that suggested asking would be beneath her.

“I’m sorry but that is between myself and your son.”

The duchess’ spine lengthened, no doubt unaccustomed to being refused anything. If possible, she pinned her with an even colder stare, her displeasure further evidenced when a white line replaced the pink of her lips.

“Why are you here? Why have you come back after all this time? My son is no longer in love with you. He has been doing quite well without you.”

Her words stung. But she understood the duchess’ anger. A mother’s love could cause any woman to become the most ruthless creature when protecting their child.

“I would have to be blind not to see your boy is a Cartwright through and through. And it is for the sake of my son and grandson that I shall go along with this so-called marriage scheme of yours. But take note, Miss Rutherford, if you hurt my son again, I
will
destroy you.”

“I have no wish to hurt Alex. I care very much for him.” She loved him.

“Then I must say you have an extremely curious way of showing it. I refuse to go through what I did when I was told he’d been fished from the Thames inebriated and half dead over a woman who would leave him at the altar. I warned him marrying you was a mistake.”

Shock froze Charlotte in place as a sort of numbness stole over her.

Fished from the Thames inebriated and half dead.

The duchess’s words echoed in her head until she could hear nothing else.

Over a woman who could leave him at the altar.

“
What?”
she asked in a strangled voice.

The duchess narrowed her gaze and regarded her in silence. She tipped her head to the side and said softly, “I see you were not told. I’m surprised. Your brother was one of the men who came to his aid.”

“What happened?” Charlotte couldn’t keep the distress from her voice, which wavered and shook. Her hands trembled uncontrollably in her lap.

The duchess’ mouth curved in the facsimile of a smile. “If your own family and my son haven’t yet shared it with you, I see no reason that I should.”

That her heart could hurt so much yet still continue to beat in her chest must be one of life’s great mysteries. Overcome, Charlotte forced herself to breathe slowly. She couldn’t believe Alex would ever try to harm himself but if he had been drunk and not himself, accidents like that could occur. And if anything had happened to him it would have been
her
fault for it had been her abandonment which had driven him to that.