I am sorry for your loss. I am here for you. I know what needs to happen now.

  Ruth nodded back, then glanced at William. Charlotte wagged her head once in the negative, gave a shallow curtsy and made her way down the side of the steps and home.

  Once home, she attempted to draft two more notes, one to Ruth and one to William. In Ruth’s, she offered her ear to commiserate whenever Ruth might desire, and said that she would see if she was open to a quiet social call in a fortnight. William’s was more difficult. Her own devastation interfered with finding empathy for his. He was also likely more miserable over her distance than the loss of his father, which was not ego but based on her knowledge of his frustrations at his parent. After several heart-rending tries, she gave up, unable to find words beyond the stilted condolences and best wishes for his new role she’d parsed together in her first missive.

  There was nothing more to say, although that thought filled her again with despair. Whilst her grief might be different than his, it was nonetheless as deep. This felt worse than the loss of her husband. Her bereavement now had the added fillip of watching the person she had lost move around London, even as her heart felt as though he was gone as thoroughly as Charles was. The fact that she had gone into this willingly, knowing the outcome, made it worse. She’d brought it on herself.

  How could she stand it?

  Unable to focus through the pain and seeing the ghost of William everywhere she looked in her home, she scribbled a third note and asked the servant to wait for a response. While she waited to see if Belle was available for a call, she paced, holding her hand to her mouth as though it would force back the tears.

  After what felt like hours, the servant returned, and she called for the carriage. Speeding over to Belle’s, she found her friend waiting with open arms and several bottles of sherry sitting on the sideboard for their evening.

  “Belle.” She collapsed into those arms, and let it all go. Sobbing, sniveling, dripping from eyes and nose on her friend’s dress, she could not seem to stop. Taking heaving breaths in between, she tried to speak. “I…he…Belle…” She wailed again.

  Belle held her and rubbed her back. After an hour or a week, she let go with one arm and led them to the sofa. “Shh, dear. I know. I am sorry.”

  “Oh, lud. Why?” Charlotte frowned through her tears. “Why did you encourage me in this?”

  “Because you deserve him.”

  “I did not deserve this heartache, which we always knew it would come to.”

  “No, you do not. But I used present tense. You still deserve him. We just need to convince you of that.”

  “Ack, I cannot argue with you right now, Belle. Please? You know my reasons, and they are the right ones. Please, let us not discuss this. I can’t bear it.” Leaning her head wearily against the back of the sofa she sat sideways on, facing her friend, Charlotte closed her eyes for a second, exhausted.

  “Right, then. Sherry? That was the plan, I believe.” Belle rose to pour them each a rather large glass, and they proceeded to work their way through the bottle as they talked about anything other than William. Much later that night, Belle poured Charlotte into a guest bed at her house to sleep it off.

  Unbeknownst to her, Charlotte had hoped to sleep there to avoid William.

  As Belle was between paramours, Charlotte wallowed, sending for a few items from her home, and spending the days playing cards, discussing investments, and drinking vast amounts of sherry with her friend.

  On the third morning, morose but resigned, Charlotte picked at her apple cake as her tea grew cold. The end of her courtship with William had been a foregone conclusion. She had regularly reminded her rakelet of that fact. She’d expected to have time to plan, to see the end coming, but she’d adjust.

  Belle sat across from her, watching her move crumbs around. “You know you’re welcome to stay with me forever. You might be invited to participate in a threesome now and then, but I’ve no doubt you can handle that. I think you will be more comfortable in your own space, though, to move on with your life.”

  “I know,” she answered with a wan smile. “Thank you for having me these past days. I appreciate you letting me hide. And yes, I admit I’ve been hiding. It so happens I packed this morning.”

  “I still think you should—”

  “Please. Not again.” Charlotte waved a hand. Belle had been harping on the possibility of marriage to William sporadically, despite Charlotte’s protests. She was too tired and too sad to have the argument again. There was no getting around the risk she could not bear children. “I am grateful for your support and encouragement. But having dealt with the aristocracy at one level or another for more than a decade, I know ’tis not the right thing. The correct thing is to ensure the continuity of the title to his children.”

  “What about his estate?”

  “Of course. The estate and the title go together.”

  “Not necessarily. Not if he cannot afford to maintain the estate—or estates, as I believe there are a few properties that are sellable, beyond the entailed assets.”

  Charlotte frowned. “I knew funds were scarce, but I thought William had started to turn the corner.”

  “My source—”

  Charlotte snorted. “Your source? Do I even want to know? Is the source connected to the footsteps I heard in the hall last night?”

  “Pish, a girl has to earn a living.” Belle snickered, before resuming her intelligence sharing. “My source tells me that his father’s most recent investment failure has made their circumstances rather more dire.”

  Oh, puppy. Another burden for you to bear.

  Belle watched her closely. “If only he had someone he was interested in marrying who could solve the financial issue, to help him keep the estate whole.”

  Her lips flattened. “Belle. Do not start again, I beg you.”

  “Hmph. What have I told you about that word? Do not use it around me unless you mean it.”

  They both laughed at her favorite joke.

  When Charlotte returned home, she started a note to Ruth to follow up on her note after the funeral, paused, and put down the fountain pen to pace. Thinking hard, she returned to the note with fresh words of invitation in mind.

  * * * *

  Charlotte slid a nervous glance to the hall mirror to check her hair. She had dithered over her appearance all morning after receiving Ruth’s acceptance of her invitation yesterday.

  Not wanting to appear ostentatious, she had chosen a simple gown. Her earrings had only small gems in them. She had contemplated removing some of the more valuable art from the parlor, but realized Ruth had already seen it. Besides, she was proud of what she had achieved—with Charles’s help, of course. Ruth had not had that, at least in recent years, but this was her house and her life, and she was not going to hide it. Indeed, it put her in a place of being able to offer a new friend help.

  She swung into the kitchen to ask them to prepare a tea tray with pastries, and then to the parlor, where she fidgeted with the two versions of Homer. She had been unable to focus on reading this past week, but promised herself she would not stop learning just because she did not have her favorite tutor any longer.

  Voices murmured in the hall, and the butler announced the Countess of Harrington before standing aside for her to enter. Charlotte stepped forward to greet her, grasping her hands and leaning in to buss her cheek.

  As they sat, Charlotte said, “Thank you for coming, Ruth. I am sure this is a difficult time for you.”

  “It is, although in some ways, I had lost my husband years ago, I’m afraid. As ’tis common knowledge, I may as well discuss it freely, at least away from the gossips.” She shrugged.

  “I never thought of it like that. I suppose your grieving has been spread out over these past years then.”

  “Yes. But I do appreciate your offer of support. Shared perspectives, and all that.”

  “Ruth, I may have a way to offer you support in…a more tangible way.” Charlotte was not sure how to frame her idea. Fidgeting for a moment, she finally looked up. “I am sure you are aware of the speed with which rumor flies about the Ton?”

  Ruth nodded, cocking her head, no doubt wondering what tale Charlotte was referring to.

  “I have heard that your family may have been hurt by the latest damaged shipment the papers mentioned last week?”

  Ruth straightened. “Why do you ask?”

  Charlotte leaned forward. It was now or never. She hoped her good intentions would get her through, even if Ruth was offended. “Ruth, first let me clarify. I have not seen William since the funeral, nor do I intend to. I do understand the…unsuitable nature…of our relationship given William’s change in station. However, I care about him and about you, as my friend. And I am in something of a unique position. My jointure from Charles was generous, and above and beyond that, Charles’s brother gifted me this London townhouse, as it was my favorite place.”

  Ruth tilted her head, her brows furrowed.

  Charlotte sighed and spoke plainly. “Even before then, I—we—invested. Since then, I have added to my portfolio using that jointure and have…been very successful. Frankly, given my lack of children, I have more than I could ever need.” Her words came faster as she battled nerves at being so forthright. “I should very much like to loan your family any funds you may need to get back on your feet. I know that William is a very astute investor, and I have no doubt you will recover sooner rather than later. But I also know that he worries a great deal about his tenants and servants. I should hate for him to lose sleep over someone dependent on him being affected by this loss.”

  Ruth opened her mouth, but seemed unsure of what to say, and Charlotte held up a hand. “One last thing. My only stipulation is that William not know where the funds come from.”

  The older woman closed her mouth, nonplussed. She narrowed her eyes at Charlotte.

  Charlotte gulped a breath, unable to discern if Ruth was angry or offended.

  “Why?”

  “Because he will try to take advantage, using it as a reason to continue our relationship. He might even see it as an overture on my part.” Or worse, he could take it as Belle had, and think she was buying his services. But she was not going to share that with his mother.

  After a long moment, William’s mother said something Charlotte had not expected. “You appear to understand my son quite well.”

  “Perhaps. Likely not as well as you.” Charlotte did not want to talk about her and William. “This will depend on you being able to mask the source of the funds successfully. Can you do that?”

  Ruth snorted. “He still does not know why I put up with his father’s drinking all these years. I am confident I could manage that aspect, if I accepted.”

  Charlotte’s curiosity was peaked. “Since you raised the subject, may I ask why you did?”

  The new widow sighed, her back bowing as her head lowered to look at her lap. “That is a long story, and not well done of me. But given your generosity and care with my family, I shall share the short version. William’s sister is more than three years younger than him. It took us that long to have a second child, although we both would have liked her sooner. Then, three years after her, I became pregnant again. It only lasted three months, and I nearly died when I lost the baby. The physician said any more pregnancies were dangerous. Fred had always wanted as many children as possible. He was devastated. That and almost losing me put him over the edge. He was always more sensitive than me…For the first few years, I thought he would get over it. He’d drink until he didn’t need to any longer. But he never reached that point. By then, William was older, and it just did not seem right to make William grieve our loss as well.”

  “Do you believe that now?”

  “No, not at all. William is like me. Strong enough to do what he must. To shoulder the needs of the family and ensure they are met. Too, I saw their previous father-son relationship fall apart. And more recently, I’ve come to realize that without understanding the reason behind it, Fred choosing drink over him hurt him terribly. I regret not telling him.”

  “’Tis never too late, Ruth.” Charlotte leaned over and held her friend’s hand.

  “I know. I will, soon, now. Better late than never, I suppose. But I digress.” Ruth pulled herself up and looked straight at Charlotte. “You made me a very generous offer, one I never could have imagined, and I have not even addressed it to offer my gratitude. I cannot thank you enough…I am not even sure I have words.”

  She sounded choked up, and Charlotte rushed to spare her further discomfort. “Please consider it. I really do mean it, and I really do have enough to do it comfortably.”

  “Very well, I shall consider it. May I call on you in a few days then?”

  “’Twould be my pleasure, Ruth.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  William flung the book of Catullus’s naughty poems across the room. He could not even concentrate enough to find something fitting. Poetry was fine as a method of wooing when he was miles away at university. Now he could not stand being close yet unable to see his Mistress in person, even if it was to debate the merits of their relationship.

  He needed her. Not the stress relief that she brought. He was learning to handle that. The essence of her—her smell, her fingers in his hair, her wit and raised brows and teasing. The little frown when she was beleaguered by a Latin verb. The smile of satisfaction when she’d helped more women start businesses. All of her felt as essential to him as air, and he was gasping for lack of her.

  He glared at the book lying spread-eagled on the floor. Even Catullus did not have the words, so what would William manage to say if she did permit him entrance? More to the point, how would he even get an audience? Her doors and windows were locked to him.

  And what response would he get from a poem? He was Penelope in Ovid’s Heroides: “This your Penelope sends to you, too-slow Ulysses; A letter in return does me no good; come yourself!”

  No. Whatever else I am, I am a man, and I must fight for her like a man. How do I balance fighting and giving her control, as I have in the past?

  He stared blindly at the wall, the idea of marriage circling. A servant’s knock interrupted his musings. At his question, the butler called out, “Your mother requests you in the library, sir.”

  “Right. I shall be down momentarily.”

  He found his mother in the seating area by the fireplace, and settled across from her as she poured him tea. “William, I need to tell you something that is long overdue. I’ve been remiss in sharing information with you that was pertinent to your relationship with your father.”

  “I don’t understand, Mama. And why now?”

  “Because you deserve to know, and it may help you understand my actions as well as his.”

  Ruth shared with him the loss of her third child, his father’s reaction, and her attempts to wait it out, manage it, and finally accept that she’d lost her husband in addition to her baby.

  He sat back, tears in his eyes, as his mother held both his hands in hers. “I beg your pardon, William. There was just never a good time, but that is not an excuse. I was a coward.”

  Leaning in, he hugged her. “Mama. Never a coward. You simply had too much to deal with and had to prioritize. I am sorry for the loss of the babe.” He shuddered at the thought. “To be devastated and not have a partner to turn to, the person you thought would be your mainstay through thick and thin.”

  His mother nodded and clutched his hands. “Thank you for understanding, William.”

  He straightened, the connection made. His parents’ bond is what he wanted—nay, had, with Charlotte. They were partners, in every sense of the word. He could not care less if they never had children, although he realized that his mother would. It did not matter. He needed his Mistress. He would not have children without her, because he would never wed someone else. No one else would be his safe harbor in times of trouble as well as the first person he turned to when he had something to celebrate. Without her, he would be a ship lost at sea, never mind the finances.

  There was no time like the present to start his battle for his Mistress. “I never understood how you could still love him. I mean, I assumed you stayed with him because there are not many choices for women, but I saw your patience with him, and struggled.”

  Ruth snorted. “You know me better than that. I could have made my own arrangements if I wanted to live separately from your father. ’Twas not lack of choices, or even responsibility to those depending on us. ’Twas an actual choice. I was lucky enough to wed someone I loved, and whilst not everyone can be as strong as you and I are, I understood why he did what he did. He felt too much sometimes.”

  Stifling his snort of impatience at his father, he took advantage of the opening. “I may have a touch of my father in me, then. I also feel too much sometimes. I have never allowed you to witness the tremor in my hand when I signed a document with significant impact on our family or the estate. But Charlotte saw. More, she helped me recenter myself, and regain my strength whenever I wavered. She is as much or more of a partner to me as Father was to you, and I cannot do this without her, Mama.”

  “William, no. It cannot be, my dear.” Ruth’s mouth pursed, although he could not tell if it was sorrow or anger. “You need heirs.”

  “Without Charlotte, there will be no heirs anyway. I will not shackle myself to some chit merely for children—or money. Do you recall the conversation when I gave you that brooch?” He gestured to the starling she wore every day.

  She nodded.

  “Who do you think helped guide me to those investments? Charlotte is smarter than me, perhaps even smarter than you, Mama, without so much as a day at Oxford. She researches and evaluates opportunities and then directs her man of business to invest where she wants. All I did was follow her suggestions, right down to using the same investment manager. Without her help, we would have been far worse off when father’s latest investment failed. We would have been selling properties, as you know from reading the ledgers.”

 

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