The Captivating Lady Charlotte (Regency Brides: A Legacy of Grace #2)(30)
He left, and the room became silent again. Too quiet again. Thoughts clattered round his head.
Somehow he needed to find another doctor for Barrack; he refused to give up hope, no matter what Dr. Lansbury said. He’d rather swing than see poor Barrack placed in a mental asylum.
Somehow he still needed to decide what to do about the child upstairs. In the weeks since he’d been home, it had just felt wrong to send the mite away, his one visit to the nursery only deepening indecision. She’d looked so sweet, peacefully asleep, it had almost made him wish she was his. For all her faults, Pamela had managed to bestow something of her beauty on the child.
He rested his elbows on the desk, pushed his head into his hands. The girl didn’t need him, but she would soon need a mother. And how could he possibly supply one of those?
“Heavenly Father… ?”
Almost as soon as the whisper filled the room, an image hovered, fragmented.
No. He could never do that. Never force motherhood on such a young lady. Besides, hadn’t she made her feelings toward him perfectly obvious?
“Lord, no. It could never work.”
A verse floated into memory: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”
A desperate chuckle forced past his doubts. “She’d be the one needing strength, Lord.”
He pressed his fingers into his forehead, as the other concerns of past weeks ate into his thoughts. The assailant, whose identity remained unknown. The experiment for Mr. McAdam, yet to be implemented. The battle for funding for Bethlem’s Hospital for the Insane. His responsibilities in London, necessitating his fleeting visit three days ago. The usual issues of tenants and farmers, his myriad of other concerns. Everyone wanted something from him: ideas, the implementation of ideas, financial handouts, help of one sort or another. Everyone wanted something.
Even him.
Around him, the ancient house groaned and settled, its creaks familiar, yet seemingly louder tonight. A window ajar drew a mournful moan, the sound that used to make his sister believe in ghostly voices. Inside, his concerns swelled and subsided, like the deep rolling waves of the ocean, washing round his mind, sluicing away, leaving him with but one certainty.
He was lonely.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grosvenor Square
June 15
“MAMA, PLEASE. I’D give anything—”
“No.”
“Oh, but—”
“Charlotte, it is simply not appropriate for a girl your age to be interested in such things.”
“Out of curiosity, Mama, just how old should a girl be before such things are of interest?”
“Henry!”
Charlotte shot her brother a thankful look and pleaded her case again. “Mama, truly, how many opportunities will there be to see such splendid sights?”
“When you are older, perhaps.”
“Yes, but when she is older there won’t be a parade celebrating such a glorious occasion. Surely, Mama, you do not think Napoleon makes a habit of gathering troops to fight again?”
Charlotte silently applauded her brother. It seemed Henry had felt more than a twinge of remorse at being the chief reason for Charlotte’s expulsion from London society for a fortnight. Upon news of Lord Markham having quit the season to head north, Henry’s arguments that Charlotte be brought back to London and under Mama’s watchful eye had finally found a soft ear. But while glad her family had finally seen reason, the very fact she’d been sent away in the first place, courtesy of his interference, continued to rankle. Coupled with the news that Lord Markham had not even left her word but had gone meekly on his way, doubled her desire to see her brother make amends.
She eyed him again, raising her brows.
Henry sighed. “Mama, I cannot understand how you consider Charlotte old enough to wed and take on the responsibilities of managing a household, but cannot find her old enough to watch a simple parade.”
“That is because you are not a mother,” Mama said with a sniff.
Henry exchanged glances with Charlotte, as if to say he’d tried his best, but Charlotte wasn’t ready to concede. “Mama, if the person of whom you disapprove is not there, then what can be the matter?”
“There might be others.”
“Other young gentlemen, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Well of course there will be,” Henry said. “I’ll be in attendance, and I’m sure Fanshawe won’t mind putting in an appearance.”
“No Fanshawe,” Mama snapped.
“But Freddy is as good a man as any. Mama, you’re not still thinking of selling Charlotte off to the highest bidder?”
“Oh, I wish your father were here to stop this silly brangling!”
Charlotte wished that, too. But he was in Parliament—or so he said.
After another exchange of glances, Charlotte bit back the heated words and summoned up a smile. She would try to live higher than her emotions.
“Very well, Mama.”
Her mother blinked. “Well! I’m pleased to see you have come to your senses.”
“I understand you have no wish to be embarrassed by me, Mama.”
“Oh, but—”
Charlotte kissed her mother on the cheek. She would behave with dignity and decorum. Even if she felt like she might explode from the tension coiled within.