Caroline Linden (19 page)
Authors: What A Woman Needs
“You’ve grown quite fond of Stuart, haven’t you?” asked Amelia. Charlotte glanced up guiltily, not surprised to find herself the subject of keen scrutiny. “He’s a handsome boy,” continued Amelia. “I don’t blame you. All the Drake men are handsome devils.”
Charlotte cleared her throat, not quite meeting her hostess’s gaze. “We have become friends.”
“Now, now. We are both grown women. You are not, I think, naïve or inexperienced. I give you leave to admit you are attracted to my son.”
Charlotte opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no idea what to say.
Amelia reached for the teapot and filled her cup, the steam curling around her wrist. “But I must warn you,” she added with a sympathetic glance, “he will never marry you.”
Charlotte’s eyes almost popped from her head. “I assure you, I—I had no idea of any such thing,” she stammered. Marriage? To Stuart? He wanted a wealthy young bride; she enjoyed her freedom and independence. Marriage between them was ludicrous, even in theory.
But then, Mrs. Drake likely meant it as a warning to Charlotte not to harbor hopes of tricking Stuart into marriage. With her past, no mother would want her for a daughter-in-law, Charlotte realized. She was tarnished, soiled. Stuart might find her appealing enough to take to bed, but his mother was right: he would never marry her, because she wasn’t the sort of woman a respectable man married.
It was a lowering thought. Despite all her efforts to become more respectable, she was still beyond the pale. No matter how she changed her hair or her dress, she would always be the one who had run wild in her youth. She was caught, stuck between her earnest wish to reform and the past she couldn’t escape.
“I say that not out of my own wishes.” Amelia sipped her tea, still watching her. “Some men are simply not capable of responsibilities like a wife and family, and Stuart is one.”
Charlotte wasn’t sure she believed the first part, but she was quite sure Stuart would have married Susan in an instant if she had consented. While the thought of them as man and wife made her ill, it ran counter to what his mother claimed. He had told her he would have been grateful to Susan, and Charlotte knew he wouldn’t have abused her niece; he would have seen to it that his wife was comfortable, at least. “I cannot agree,” she said slowly. “I think he craves responsibility.”
Amelia shook her head. “Stuart has never craved responsibility. He wouldn’t mind the appearance of it—a country estate, perhaps, or a stud farm—but he hasn’t the slightest idea how to manage it. It’s all he can do to take care of himself, and not well at that.”
“But he has never had anything to manage.” Charlotte didn’t even know why she was defending him in this. Her opinion had been exactly the same, only a few days previously. “Do you not believe he would rise to the challenge, should the need be there?”
Amelia laughed, sadly. “No. I have known Stuart all his life, and although it pains me to say it, he will always rely on his charm and handsome face to make his way.”
“He’s been invaluable to me,” protested Charlotte, forgetting that she had once described him in those exact terms. “He’s quite clever, and very determined.”
Amelia sighed. “When a man is intent on seducing a woman, he can assume an infinite variety of guises. Gentle suitor, mysterious adventurer, knight in shining armor ... They’re all acted with one goal in mind, and that goal is not marriage. And the moment they achieve that goal, they’re off to the next woman.”
“That is true of some,” Charlotte allowed after a moment. “But not all. Surely you, as his mother, must see the better parts of his character. I think you underestimate your son.”
Something raw and desolate flashed across Amelia’s features. She gave a short, sad laugh. “You don’t know what you speak of. Stuart is just like his father.”
Charlotte didn’t find that too flattering; Mr. Drake seemed about the coldest, bitterest man she’d ever met. Was Amelia warning her Stuart would be the same in time? That would be the direst warning imaginable. “And do not be fooled into thinking the love of the right woman will make a man better than he is,” continued Amelia. “Love is a fiction, for a man. He can never love a woman as much as she can love him. Above all, don’t marry for love, my dear; it will break your heart. There is nothing so terrible as being married to someone who doesn’t return your love.”
“I don’t love Stuart,” she whispered. “And he doesn’t love me.” Although she was suddenly a little less sure of the former, the latter was undeniable.
“Good.” Amelia lifted her teacup again, her polite smile restored. “It will save you a world of heartache. Other ladies have not been so fortunate.”
“Other ladies?” Charlotte echoed in confusion. Again she thanked her lucky stars she wasn’t a mother; she wouldn’t be able to survive her daughter falling for adventurers and fortune hunters, and she could never warn other women away from her son. Her maternal fancies had only covered children to a certain age, never into the years when they would be adults. When did a mother’s responsibility end?
“Other ladies who have fallen for Stuart,” clarified Amelia gently. “It ended badly for all of them. One was sent into the country in disgrace, and the other was quickly married to a cousin who was willing to overlook her dishonor.”
“Anne Hale,” said Charlotte, staring at her. “Eliza Pennyworth.”
Amelia looked away. “Two young ladies in the course of a month. Terrance was justified.”
Suddenly Charlotte didn’t know. She had repeated the rumors to Louise Kildair, but by the time the gossip had circulated back to her, it reported Stuart all but seducing one girl in front of her horrified grandmother. The supposed elopement with Eliza Pennyworth had become an abduction. If her little bit of tattle could grow so monstrous in a week, how much might it have grown before she heard it the first time?
“Mrs. Drake,” she began, “you have been very direct with me. May I ask a similarly direct question of you?”
“Of course.”
“Why does Mr. Drake dislike his son so?”
Amelia’s expression closed. “Terrance has been so disappointed in Stuart; he hoped to raise him to be a better man than—than he has become.” Charlotte wondered at that stumble, but Amelia went on. “But Stuart turned out wild—impossibly so. Everything Terrance wished him to do, Stuart refused, and everything Terrance warned him against, Stuart pursued.”
“But he is a man now. Surely Mr. Drake will not hold the recklessness of youth against him his whole life.”
“You are assuming he has reformed.”
Her tone ended the discussion; clearly Mrs. Drake, for all that she loved her son, still believed the worst of him. Charlotte was amazed in spite of herself. Her father, at least, had needed the terrible truth proven beyond all doubt before he turned her out. Perhaps he had done her a favor, for Charlotte truly didn’t know which was worse: being cast out never to return, or always subject to suspicions and judgment from the very family one was dependent upon. “I have found him quite honorable,” she said slowly. “And I know rumors can exaggerate.”
“My dear Madame Griffolino.” Amelia took her hand. “Stuart is my only child. I adore him, and I confess, I invited you to stay here so that I might see him more. But I am not blind to his faults, and don’t wish you to be. It is easy for us women to be swept away by feelings and emotions, and I would be very sad to see you betrayed. The terrible lesson of your own niece has persuaded me to speak.”
Charlotte didn’t know what to think. She did know, from cruel experience, how easily a charming man could steal a woman’s heart. Most of what Mrs. Drake said was gospel truth, as far as Charlotte was concerned. But it was Stuart Mrs. Drake spoke of, not the heartless cad who had ruined her all those years ago or the nameless villain who had abducted Susan. Despite plentiful opportunities, and motive provided by Charlotte herself, Stuart had taken pains not to hurt Susan; he had convinced her she was
Juliet
, of all people, to avoid breaking her heart.
Juliet
, of all people, to avoid breaking her heart.
But he was a fortune hunter, by his own admission. There was nothing respectable about that. How could she see him as honorable, after the way he had coldly set his sights on Susan and her inheritance? How could she like him, when he was partly responsible for Susan running away?
Susan ran away because of you
, whispered her guilty conscience,
not because of him. If not for him, you would be lost, with no idea whom to turn to for help
.
, whispered her guilty conscience,
not because of him. If not for him, you would be lost, with no idea whom to turn to for help
.
But that didn’t mean she was falling in love with him. Even if he could arouse her like no one else could, he also aggravated her like no one else could. He wasn’t put off by anything she said to him. He laughed when she threatened him with a pistol, and managed to turn a conversation on the opera into a sensual promise. Charlotte had flirted with too many men to have missed what he was saying: he still wanted her. But none of that was love.
She worried about it all day. For a time she considered going to bed with Stuart just to break the tension between them; why shouldn’t two adults enjoy a discreet, mutually agreeable affair? Then she thought about Susan, and how utterly devoid of decency she was to think about her own pleasures while Susan was at the mercy of some Italian madman. But if she waited until she had her niece back, how could she have an affair with Stuart then, knowing how hurt and betrayed Susan would be? Charlotte confronted the possibility that there would never be a good time, and it made her want to weep. He was the only man she had ever wept over in regret.
Could that mean there was more to her feelings than desire? Ever since the one disastrous time she had given her heart, Charlotte had refused to let herself feel anything beyond desire for a man. She didn’t want Stuart to be any different. She couldn’t afford to let him be different.
What if he were, in spite of all her wishes to the contrary?
A brief affair, she decided, was the answer. She couldn’t be in love with Stuart. She didn’t want to marry him. She wanted him, true, but it was a purely physical need. Once they made love, the attraction would burn itself out ... unless it were something more. If making love to him failed to move her heart, she would know it was simply lust. And if it did move her heart ...
She would deal with that problem when it arose.
Stuart spent an exhausting day canvassing taverns and pubs. Charlotte had given him money for rewards, and despite distributing it liberally, he was unable to find the boy who brought the message. By evening, he was hot, tired, and frustrated. They had been so close to someone who could lead them to Susan’s kidnapper, but had nothing to show for it.
After meeting with Pitney to confirm that neither had found the messenger, Stuart headed toward Mayfair. He was so tired, he wanted nothing more than to go home and fall into bed, but he had to tell Charlotte about the day. He also wanted to see her again, enough to brave the house when Terrance was likely to be there, a fact which made him somewhat uncomfortable. He probably wouldn’t even be alone with her, but he was still walking half a mile out of his way, hungry and covered in dirt, just to see her.
She was waiting for him in the hall, a sight which made his mood considerably brighter. She took one look at his face, and her hopeful expression faded. “You didn’t find him.”
Stuart took her hand. “We put the word out over all London. The lad is sure to turn up soon. You mustn’t lose hope.”
“No.” She nodded, looking distracted. “I’ve been thinking—”
“What are you doing?” Stuart winced at his father’s growl. Beside him, Charlotte shrank a little. He turned around, keeping their clasped hands behind him. “Good evening, Terrance.”
“If you’re going to come here, behave with some civility,” snapped Terrance. “We receive guests in the drawing room.” He stood back in the drawing room doors, and Stuart led Charlotte in, trying not to drag his feet. He seated her on a chair, then took the other one for himself. Terrance sat in the middle of the sofa, his stiff leg stretched in front of him, and regarded Stuart with a cold stare.
“So. What mischief have you been causing today?”
Stuart shrugged. “Less than usual. You should be proud.”
Terrance grunted. “Why were you standing in the hall?”
“I wanted to speak to Madame Griffolino privately.”
“How many ladies have you disgraced with your private conversations?” Terrance glared at Charlotte for a moment. “Where have you been?”
Stuart sat back and draped his arms over the back of the chair, knowing it would infuriate his formal father. “Dens of iniquity and havens of vice.”
“Do not mock me!”
“I wasn’t mocking you,” said Stuart. “I was telling you what you expected to hear. I do try not to disappoint, Terrance.”
Terrance’s frigid stare switched to Charlotte. “I trust you can see, madam, that your trust in this scoundrel is highly misplaced.”
Charlotte blinked, then her eyes narrowed. “I have not been disappointed thus far.”
“You will be.” He turned to Stuart. “Was it the tables? You’re due for a loss.”
Stuart, who hadn’t wagered a pound in months, shook his head with a soft tsk. “Terrance, please. There is a lady present.”
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