“Better that than a divorce.”
“A divorce might well have ruined him socially,” Charity mumbled. “He’s a duke.”
“You married aduke!”
“Well, he wasn’t a duke at the time!” Charity flounced about upon the sofa, giving Mercy her back. “And if you could stop shouting at me.”
“I beg your pardon. I was surprised.”
“What, because Ihad married?”
“No,” Mercy said slowly. “It’s not that. Not exactly. I suppose it’s more like—I can’t imagine a duke winning your heart.”
“I certainly didn’t ask him to,” Charity said sulkily over her shoulder. “I didn’twanthim to.” But he was so different from every other man she had ever known. Gentle and earnest and a bit shy. Soft where she had always had to be hard. Forgiving and indulgent where she was inclined toward pettiness and jealousy. Sincere, where she had always been irreverent and sardonic. Contrarily, all of the things that had made him the sort of man who would have required her tutelage to find a proper wife had also made him the only sort of man she could ever have loved.
“And he did not…return your feelings?” Mercy inquired delicately.
“He’s aduke,” Charity repeated blandly. “He can’t have a courtesan for a duchess. He was just as willing to pursue an annulment as I was.” She scrubbed at her eyes, which had once again grown alarmingly moist. “There’s a lady,” she said. “One I was helping him to court. Lady Cecily Wainwright. She is just entirely perfect. The right match for him, in every way.”
“Perfect on paper does not mean perfect in truth.”
“I’m afraid she is also perfect in truth,” Charity said on a heartrending sigh. “I’ve met her. She wasn’t even rude to me, and she knew who I was—or what I was, I should say. Can you imagine? I was devastated to find that she was perfectly pleasant, even to me. And I had wanted so badly to dislike her! To find some fault or flaw which might make me feel at least atinybit superior. Is that so petty of me?”
“Yes,” Mercy said crisply, with the hint of a laugh tucked behind her teeth.
“Phoebe said so, too,” Charity muttered, and even that tiny bit of forced levity slipped away from her as melancholia seeped back in. “I’ll recover,” she said in dogged determination. “It’s my very first heartbreak, you understand.” And her last. Of that, she would be certain. “But I should like to spend just a bit of time feeling very miserable and sad for myself. And I don’t want to do it alone in London, where I might encounter him.Them.” Her voice broke across the word, and she pressed her hands to her eyes with a suppressed sob. They kept sneaking up upon her, those horrible little sounds.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Mercy said. “But what will you do when you do return to London?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t yet considered it. Perhaps I won’t return.”
“Oh, come now,” Mercy chided. “You cannot let yourself be chased from your home by some—some awful duke who rejected you!”
“He’snotawful; he’s wonderful,” Charity returned, offended on Anthony’s behalf. “And—” She chewed her lower lip, curling in on herself. “He did not reject me, precisely. I didn’t give him the opportunity.”
“Charity! You wretched little coward!”
“I couldn’t bring myself to face him,” she said plaintively. “I really, truly wish him every happiness. But I can’t watch him find it with someone else. I just can’t.” Perhaps there would come a time in the future, when the heartache had abated, that the mere prospect of it would not hurt so very badly. But it would not be soon. “I beg of you, don’t chastise me now. Just—just be a good sister and let me be miserable.”
“May I chastise you later?” Mercy asked in exasperation.
“If you must.”
“Oh, I really must.” Mercy rose from her seat. “Turnabout is fair play, after all. And I will certainly relish it every bit as much as you once did.” She nudged Charity’s feet, prompting her to bend her knees to free up a bit of space. “But not right now.” She dropped into the space Charity had made for her. “Right now, I can just be a sister,” she said as she reached out to give a soothing stroke to the tangle of Charity’s hair. “Now, then. Tell me everything.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Lady Cecily’s foyer was bursting with arrangements of flowers which Anthony surmised had been gifts from gentlemen seeking her favor. Upon his first visit, he’d found himself somewhat intimidated by the lavish displays, assuming—rightly, he supposed—that had he sought to court her in earnest, he would have no small amount of competition for her hand.
Knowing what he now knew of her, he realized that none of those who had delivered those extravagant arrangements were any true contenders for it, for she had either not cared enough for them to confess her honest opinion on cut flowers—or if she had, it had been ignored.
Except for one. Amidst the wild sweep of blooming hothouse flowers which dominated the table there sat an unassuming clay pot which held a few scraggly fuchsia blossoms. Half-hidden beneath a spray of hydrangeas, the bedraggled flowers looked for all the world as if they were cowering from any comparison to their prettier cousins.
Anthony hadn’t the slightest idea of what the mysterious flowers held within the clay pot might be, but he knew enough to understand that Lady Cecily would find them the most precious of the lot. Possibly, he hoped, they meant enough to her to make the ordeal of this last morning call somewhat less awkward than he had anticipated.
The muted sounds of conversation within the drawing room grew louder as the speakers approached the door, and the butler waiting outside cleared his throat, with a subtle nod toward Anthony. His fifteen minutes had come at last.
Lady Cecily and her prior caller appeared in the doorway, and…she sparkled. Absolutely radiant with a glow of pleasure, of happiness that lit her from within. She might not have had any great need to marry—but she was going to. And it would be to the man standing with her now; a gentleman of some middling years with an almost threadbare look about him. He hadn’t come garbed in any particular finery. The coat he wore was patched upon one elbow, and his trousers were woefully out of style. His gloves were old, and a bit stained at the fingertips. His hair, greyed at the temples, was badly in need of a trim. But even in profile, he had a jovial air about him, the brackets lining his mouth suggesting a propensity to smile a great deal.
