Page 62 of Always the Chaperone

Matthews paused by her chair, but then nodded and left the room without speaking.

Sighing, Charlotte leaned back in her chair and listened. The only sound was the ticking of the clock. For the first time since his marriage, she missed Richard. She never thought she would miss him at breakfast, of all times in the day, but no matter what wild time of night he returned from one of his parties, or balls, or card tables, he would always make the effort to drag himself up and have breakfast with her.

Now she breakfasted alone.

The clock ticked away the minutes, and Charlotte realized she had not moved. Leaning forward to help herself to tea, she raised the cup to her lips, took a refreshing sip, and looked at the letters waiting for her.

She had hoped at least one of the six letters would be from Richard or Tabitha, but as she perused them, none of the handwriting seemed familiar.

Matthews had thoughtfully left the letter opener beside her plate, and after taking a gulp of tea to soothe her throat, sore from crying, Charlotte slit open the first letter.

It was not long, and as she perused the lines, a frown appeared between her eyes. Putting it aside and taking a long deep breath, she opened another. It was almost identical to the first.

Five of the letters were opened, read carefully, and laid in a row across her plate. She drank the last of the tea in her cup and read the longest again.

Dear Lady Charlotte,

I do hope you are not alarmed by receiving a letter from me as I know we are not intimate, but I wanted to communicate my thanks to you and could think of no better way than this.

I am truly grateful that you chaperoned me with William Lennox, Duke of Mercia, especially your fortuitous seating arrangement at the opera. I am even more grateful for the park excursion for it gave John, the Marquess of Gloucester, I mean—and I the opportunity to speak openly, and my heart is more full of him than I can say.

There have been some rumors, I have just been informed, that I have been accepting the addresses of Philip Egerton, Earl of Marnmouth, which could not be further from the truth. He is a great friend of my father’s cousin, and so has called here several times to pay his respects. I have attempted to explain this to many people, but no one believes me, and all I can do is think of John.

If I am honest, I believe he loves me almost as much as I adore him, but with the spring here, many people are returning to the country, and I am in need of at least one more opportunity to fix him. I am sure that, with encouragement, he will make me the happiest person on this earth and ask me to be

But no. I cannot even write it, in case all my hopes are for naught. Please, Lady Charlotte, will you do me the honor of acting as our chaperone again? It would mean the world to me and could make all the difference.

I know you are a chaperone for many ladies, but if you could find room for me, my father and I will be eternally in your debt.

I am your ever-affectionate friend,

Miss Rebecca Darby

Charlotte leaned back in her chair. Each of the letters were written in the same vein. I should not be writing to you, Lady Charlotte, but I am; I want to be married, Lady Charlotte, and to this gentleman in particular; please, Lady Charlotte, be our chaperone.

This was her life. Watching from a seat, not part of the dance itself but merely an admirer of those who took the steps. Watching everyone else find their happily ever after. She was truly the chaperone in every social occasion, never to be the bride at all.

“You have never been a chaperone to me, but a captivating lady.”

Charlotte shivered, despite the warmth of the blanket still tight around her shoulders. Will wanted to marry her. He saw past the label of chaperone and saw her. It had been difficult to believe him, and for a while, she could not have imagined herself as a lady courted by such a man.Any man.

But then that night when she had invited him to her bedchamber…

She shivered, but this time due to the remembrance of desire. She had never known a man to be so persistent. Even some of those she has chaperoned had not been this determined!

She poured more tea and added a wedge of lemon, which was Cook’s latest indulgence. It was not enough that he haunted her every waking step, but she was dreaming about him, too, and even when awake, she could think of no one but Will.

By God, she loved him. It had twisted her heart, his laughter the day before, when she had felt her most vulnerable when she had been mocked by society for the most excruciating…

The memory of Mrs. Holmes’s flabbergasted face popped into her mind, and Charlotte snorted with laughter—and put her hands over her mouth in horror. Now that she thought more about it, it seemed ridiculous. The simpering daughter, the overly eager mother, herself and Will stuck in the middle, attempting to have their own moment of love.

Remorse filled her heart. He had laughed, and perhaps out of nerves as well as the stupidity of the scene. Just as she realized how much she loved him and how precious he was, he had laughed, and she stormed out of the Pump Room.

Would he ever propose to her again? Would he even want to see her again? Wild panic flooded through Charlotte as she tried to see the whole situation as an outsider. If she was Will, would she want to propose again?

Her heart plummeted to her feet, bypassing her stomach. Certainly not. Had he not attempted to persuade her? Had he not made love to her, kissed her, and been honest with her?

Charlotte glanced at the fifth letter, the one from Miss Darby, and read it again.