A Rogue of Her Own (Windham Brides #4)(24)

Her ladyship was a formidable redhead nearly six inches taller than Charlotte. The countess had a regal air, despite having been born on the wrong side of the ducal blanket.

“The sums proposed are generous to a fault, Charlotte. Why do you need more?”

“I just do. Sherbourne has never had a wife before, and he can’t very well waltz into his club and ask the nearest viscount how much a well-born missus costs these days. He won’t know enough to quibble over the figure for pin money.”

Pin money was Charlotte’s to use as she alone saw fit—even Sherbourne had defined it thus—and yet, deceiving him made her uneasy. Telling him the truth regarding the various Mrs. Wesleys was impossible. Not yet. Not before the wedding, and possibly not after.

Maggie lifted the pot as if to refill Charlotte’s cup, but Charlotte hadn’t taken more than a polite sip. Her ladyship set down the teapot and gave Charlotte an uncomfortably protracted perusal.

“Charlotte, you were seen by Their Graces in a most passionate embrace with your prospective spouse. If you don’t care for him, say so now.”

That interrupted farewell kiss had not been the most passionate Charlotte had shared with Sherbourne.

“I respect the gentleman greatly, but hardly know what to expect from marriage to him.” After Charlotte’s initial refusal of his suit, how could their wedding night be anything but awkward? “He was compelled by honor to propose to me, and that is not the best foundation for a successful marriage.”

“Would you like a crumpet?”

“No, thank you.” Did polite society have nothing better to do than swill tea and consume sweets?

“If honor compelled him to propose, what compelled you to accept?”

The same inconvenient honor. “I was tired of turning down buffoons. Mr. Sherbourne is a surpassingly sensible man and he doesn’t put on airs.”

“You’re saying he suits you.”

Charlotte wanted to bolt away from the conversation, but Maggie was family, and as the oldest female cousin, she’d always been something of a confidante.

“I hope he suits me. I still need more pin money.”

“Then we’ll reduce his contribution to your dower account.”

He had offered settlements at the limit of what Maggie considered prudent. Why? “Reduce them by as much as you can without insulting him. I have no wish to beggar my husband.”

“You won’t,” Maggie said, munching on a crumpet. “He’s merely in the same position as most of the best families, though his wealth is tied up in commercial assets rather than land. He has a substantial income, and he’s reinvesting much of it in his mining venture. New businesses typically require capital and attention before they become profitable. He also refuses to treat his bank as his personal treasure trove, which is commendable.”

Maggie reviewed with Charlotte the terms of the proposed agreement, paragraph by paragraph, but Charlotte couldn’t focus. The numbers stuck with her of course, but the endless, convoluted words…

“You’re woolgathering,” Maggie said, some thirty minutes later. “With a wedding in less than a week, you’re entitled.”

By special license, of course. The stated reason was to allow the ceremony to take place at the Moreland townhouse, but the real reason was Her Grace’s nerves.

“I’m preoccupied,” Charlotte said, the grandmama of all understatements, surely. “I wish I knew what to expect. Mr. Sherbourne and I aren’t that well acquainted. I know hardly anything about him.”

Maggie patted her hand. “Marriage is an adventure for two. Look for the good in him, the same as you would with any friend. Give him your loyalty and the benefit of the doubt, find things to laugh about together, and don’t worry if the early days are a bit bumpy. That’s part of it.”

What about the wedding night? What about those moments under the covers when the two became as one flesh?

“Maggie, the whole business makes me…anxious.”

Panicked, in truth. Charlotte was about to take vows with a man who believed she didn’t respect him, and who very possibly didn’t respect her. How in all creation was she to get through the wedding night?

“If you’re anxious, that’s good. Marriage is an enormous step. One shouldn’t take it lightly.” Maggie left off studying the garden. “They’re back,” she said, rising and gathering her skirts. “I can hear them coming up the alley. We must greet them and hear all about their adventures.”

Charlotte rose slowly, keeping a hand on the back of her chair. “You’ll see the settlements modified? More pin money, less invested in the funds?”

“Of course, though I think you’re daft. You’re also a bit pale, but then, this has been an exciting week. Come along, my dear, and prepare to be regaled with tales of dragons and wizards.”

Charlotte followed Maggie back into the house, more relieved than she could say. The wedding night was still a looming ordeal, but at least she’d weathered tea on her ladyship’s third-floor balcony without serious embarrassment.

*



“We found Cousin Charlotte’s friend in the park,” the Earl of Hazelton said. “Much to the delight of all concerned.”

Hazelton, a dark-haired brute with northern antecedents in his speech, was being ironic.