“Neither a lady nor a gentleman should ever use the words, ‘I want’.”
“Shouldnae we?” he smiled. “How are we ever to say what we want in life?” He managed to earn a small laugh from her this time. It was a warming sound, one he wished to hear again.
“We should always say, ‘I would like,’ if we are in need of something. ‘I want’ sounds particularly demanding.”
“And where did ye learn this lesson from?” he asked, nodding at her mother far ahead. “Surely nae yer mother? She seems too free a spirit for such a thing.”
“Not my mother. My aunt. She is very elegant, very proper, and always knows what to say.”
“If I dinnae ken any better,” he slowed their pace, so they were a little further behind her mother, “I would say ye are despairing of yer parents, lass.”
“I am not. I would never.” She shook her head quickly. “I love them, very dearly indeed.”
“We can love and despair of someone at the same time.”
“Oh, you are beginning to sound like my mother and father when they argue now.” She laughed and pulled him on. He imagined she was trying to catch up to her mother again. “I swear she says that each time she argues with my father. ‘Those in love should argue, dear, it keeps a spark alive.’ She says that all the time.” She did her best impression of her mother, though he struggled to smile this time.
He was thinking of his own mother and father, who loved from very far apart, such a great distance that they occupied different countries in the end. His mother never went on to marry, not when she was raising Gerard, but his father did marry. The late Duke of Rodstone married a woman whom from all accounts had good fortune and position, but not a lot of kindness. The marriage was a childless one.
“You seem lost in thought,” Charlotte observed.
“I am. Me apologies,” he said swiftly. “I was just thinkin’ of mothers and fathers, and… love.”
“You really are an honest man, are you not?” she whispered as they halted outside of the teahouse door. Lady Winchester stood in the doorway asking for a table of four. “You told me your true thoughts just now.”
“That I did.” He nodded slowly. “I daenae believe all marriages are made for love, lass.” He wasn’t sure what made the words fall from his lips. Perhaps it was the proof of Lady Winchester before him, and the fact that she was clearly a very happy woman indeed.
My mother dinnae have such happiness in her life.
She had been content enough, but happy as this woman? No, the two things were quite different.
“I know they are not.” Her voice turned somber.
He looked at her, recognizing the same sense of distraction that had been in him momentarily before.
“And what are ye thinkin’, lass?” he whispered, noting that today, she didn’t seem to be correcting him in his pet name for her.
“I’m thinking…” She blinked as she stared at her mother, then seemed to rouse herself and look at him again. “I’m thinking that the tailor shop you were looking in was not the one for you.”
“Nay? Is this me next lesson?” he asked with a smile.
“Yes, it is.” She matched the expression, though he rather thought she had determinedly changed the subject. “You should try Osmund’s Tailors on Third Street. They have the kind of caliber suit you need.”
He released her arm and turned in a circle ready for her to appraise.
“Am I nae good enough in this suit for yer eyes, Lady Charlotte?” he teased her.
“You cut a fine figure indeed.”
Fine figure?
He turned to face her with arched eyebrows.
“Nae a sack of potatoes then?”
She blushed even worse than a beetroot now.
“Osmund’s,” she said purposefully. “Pick a finer suit than this for proper occasions, and maybe try a cravat.” He grimaced, having no liking for cravats. “I thought you wanted to blend in, Your Grace. To be one of theton, you have to at least to try and look like them.” She smiled and walked into the teahouse.
