On a Cold Dark Sea(6)

Charlotte was disappointed; they’d been planning to go to Harrods and charge a new set of clothes to the Cavendish account.

“I’d best make myself scarce, in any case,” Reg said. “I’ve gotten rather greedy and made myself a few enemies.”

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m going to leave London,” he said. “Allow tempers to cool.”

They were walking in Regent’s Park, their favorite place to hatch plans and savor their triumphs. Charlotte had allowed herself to believe the two of them would stroll down these paths forever, in a vaguely imagined eternal future.

“How long will you be gone?”

Reg held up his hands in an amused show of helplessness. “Who can say?”

Charlotte didn’t have the heart to smile back. She was angry and hurt, and all she could think was that she had to get away from all the people around them, to find a place where she could calm the dirgelike thudding of her heart. With abrupt resolve, she stepped off the path and across the grass, still damp from the previous night’s rain. She could hear Reg behind her, but she didn’t look back. Didn’t want to face him with her teary eyes. When Charlotte reached a high point among the trees, she stared down at the muddy hem of her dress. Reg’s spattered boots sidled up next to her. It must mean something, for a man who took such care with his clothes to follow her this far.

Charlotte waited glumly for Reg to speak. She wanted to tell him not to go, that she couldn’t face the emptiness of a world without him. But Reg wasn’t one for such sentiments.

“We’ve had fun, haven’t we?” Reg spoke in his usual cheery tone, but the words came out hesitantly.

“The most fun I’ve ever had.”

“You could have fooled me, from the way you’re carrying on.”

Charlotte knew she was supposed to laugh, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Today, for the first time, she didn’t want to play a part. She didn’t want to be Lady Cavendish, or Pippa the orphan, or the missionary’s sister. She didn’t want to be pretty, devilish Lottie, who gleefully took strangers’ money and laughed about it afterward. She had never realized until that moment how exhausting it had become.

Charlotte looked up at Reg, at the smile she’d seen dozens—hundreds?—of times. Reg used his smile to charm and disarm; it was his greatest weapon, and his greatest disguise.

“We couldn’t have gotten away with it forever,” Reg said. “Sooner or later, there would have been a copper round the corner at the wrong time, or a woman doing her shopping who recognized you at the shop. I knew, every time, that I’d have to put a stop to it sooner or later.”

“I wish we’d had a bit longer,” Charlotte said.

“You can still make something of yourself, Lottie. You’re clever and you’re beautiful. You can do anything you want.”

In the early days of their acquaintance, Charlotte had been prepared for Reg to grab her or kiss her, but he never had. He’d treated her with the protectiveness of an older brother, and he was looking at her the same way now. It wasn’t the money or the adventure she’d miss, Charlotte realized. It was Reg’s faith in her. The way she felt when he was at her side.

All at once, in a dazzling rush of certainty, Charlotte knew what to do. She’d always thought love would overtake her like a sickness, leaving her helpless and weak. Her affection for Reg was something else entirely: a force that strengthened and sustained her. And wasn’t that what every woman hoped for in a husband? She remembered the evening they’d spent acting as the Australians, selling mining shares. Their conversation had come so naturally, it was as if they were already married.

Reg was likely to laugh if she began spouting grand declarations. So Charlotte did what her body urged: she rose up on her toes and kissed him. His lips pressed back against hers; his arms encircled her; his chest pushed against her with such force that her back collided against a tree. For those few, breathless seconds, Charlotte felt how much he loved her.

Then, with a jolt, Reg released her and stepped back. He made a show of adjusting his hat, composing himself, then shot Charlotte a look of wry amusement.

“Good gracious,” he said. “My apologies.” As if he’d spilled his tea or bumped against her in the street.

“No,” she stammered, “I was the one . . .”

“My dear Lottie, I am enormously flattered. But you must see—this won’t do.”

“Why?” she asked, reeling with confusion.

Reg was an expert at reading his marks; he must have known he’d hurt her. “I am greatly flattered,” he said again, gently. “But you should save your kisses for someone who deserves them.”

“There’s no one else. You’re the one I want—I know it.”

“Ah, you’re young! You think you aren’t, but you are.”

“And you’re such a wise old man?”

Charlotte realized with a start that she had no idea how old Reg was. Twenty-five? Thirty? He carried himself with a confidence beyond his years.

“I am richer in life experience,” Reg said. His lips twisted into a mischievous smirk. “And that vast store of knowledge tells me you’re meant for a better man.”

“I don’t care,” Charlotte insisted. “I love you. I want to marry you.”