Pent-up emotion leaked out of her as she cried until the building headache receded, withdrawing its claws for another day. The crackling blaze of the fire and the clean citrus scent of her hair soothed her, leeching the tension away with each shuddery sigh.
Lottie flung the quilt aside far enough to free her legs just as her belly rumbled. Between the doctor’s visit, the bath, waiting for clothes, and that brief emotional breakdown, she’d missed the midday meal. A glance out the window showed the skies darkening as the first raindrop hit the glass pane with a plop. Brilliant. The weather matched her mood.
Chapter Four
Studying his cards, Ethan wished to be anywhere besides this little inn in rainy Warwickshire. Not long after their visit with the local brewmaster this afternoon, Mother Nature had opened the skies in a deluge that made travel unwise. Several other men stranded by the weather had formed a card game in the public room and provided alcoholic social lubricants, and here they were.
Ethan motioned to Cal. “Your play, my friend.”
Two queens fluttered to the floor. After squinting at the remaining cards in his hand, Cal peered down at the queens with a frown but didn’t seem inclined to pick them up. Apparently their time at the tables had come to an end.
“I think we’re done.” Ethan ignored the groans from the other players. In his current condition, Cal was an easy mark. “Move along, Calvin. Let’s leave our chairs for a few fellows who aren’t as bosky.”
“It’s fine, Mac. I can play piquet with my eyes closed.” Cal clutched a bottle of whisky to his chest as if someone would snatch it away.
Ethan hefted his friend out of the chair and led him to a table near the window. “The game was vingt-et-un.”
“Oh. I guess that changes things.” Cal collapsed into a chair, the seat barely catching his backside. “Any news on the lovely Lady Charlotte?” Rolling his Ls must have been vastly entertaining, because Cal sat flicking his tongue for a moment before refocusing on their conversation.
“I haven’ seen her since she told me tae go tae the devil.” Not that he hadn’t looked. Every time he entered one of the public rooms, he searched for her dark curls. During their visit with the brewmaster he’d gleaned valuable insight from the local brewery’s layout, but she’d lingered in the back of his mind. All plans to leave for London were washed away when the rain wreaked havoc on the streets. They were stuck here. With her.
“What are you going to do about it?” Cal asked with his typical cheer. “Perhaps this is your chance to grovel—a lot. I would recommend the most impressive level of groveling ever seen by man or beast. A grovel worthy of such a damn spectacular bosom.”
“I owe her an apology at the very least.” The idea took hold, and he held tight to the hope it brought. His behavior during those early years after inheriting had provided ample reasons to make amends to several people since. If she forgave him, it would be one more piece of absolution toward his pile of sins. If nothing else, he knew the act of apologizing and owning his actions would go a long way toward soothing the painful memories he carried.
“Lucky dog. You have the opportunity to tell a woman you were a drunken idiot.” A hiccup punctuated Cal’s teasing.
“Back then I was a drunken idiot with alarming frequency.”
“You’re sober as a judge now. At least one of us is. In those days, we viewed too many nights through the bottom of a bottle.” He held up the whisky as if making a point. “Haven’t imbibed like this in a long time.”
True. It had been quite a while since he’d seen Cal like this. “I’ll have tae wait for an opportunity, I suppose.” Ethan held out a hand for the bottle. “Do you think you’ve had enough? You’ll hate your head in the morning.”
With a sigh, Cal pushed the bottle of whisky toward Ethan with one finger. “Fine. You may have to run her to ground and make an opportunity. The onus falls on you, my friend. You made her the laughingstock of London. When you tell everyone a girl is dull as dishwater, don’t expect a great deal of goodwill from that corner.”
“I never said she was dull. I said—”
Calvin raised his glass in the air as if reciting Shakespeare. “Witless, with nothing to offer but a dowry and a passably pretty face. She’s a Paper Doll Princess. Dress her up, then carry her in your pocket—along with the fortune you gained in exchange for a lifetime of boredom.” Amber liquid sloshed over the rim onto the table. Cal grimaced at the mess and shoved his glass aside. “You, my friend, were a bit of a prick.”
Studying his long legs and dirty boots, Ethan winced. “Aye, I was.” There had been a clear moment after he’d said those awful words when regret had churned in his belly, threatening to eject the drinks he’d imbibed. Even as he’d tried to backtrack, to call back the foolish words spoken to the men he’d been trying so hard to impress, those so-called friends became wagging tongues. It wasn’t long before the gossip rags got wind of his cruelty. The nickname spread faster than anyone could have predicted. Highlights papered shop windows with damning ink sketches. Each morning, as Lady Charlotte’s visage appeared in unflattering cartoons, society lapped up every drop of the scandal over tea and toast. And Ethan? The men thought him hilarious, demanding more of his biting commentary. That night had set the stage for both his and Lady Charlotte’s reputations, neither of them liking their new role.
The irony lay in the fact that Lady Charlotte had been the perfect debutante. The expectations of her station were clear, and she lived up to them. Set on a course to find a husband, she’d been ready to do her duty to her family and further the blue-blooded aristocratic values of England. God save the king, and all that.
He’d needed her money. The new title had come with crippling debt, and like a young fool, he’d seen her as an easy way to save the estate. It was a cold comfort that he hadn’t fallen into the trap of being a full-fledged fortune hunter. Any old fortune wouldn’t do—he wanted to like his wife, to desire her. In a perfect world, he’d have a love match like his parents, with a conveniently hefty dowry.
Licking a drop of ale from his lip, Ethan scanned the ceiling. She was up there somewhere, injured, but would be mad as a wet cat if he showed up to check on her. How had the doctor’s visit gone? It would take a physician with a steady hand to avoid a scar like the jagged silvery-white line on Ethan’s shoulder. For certain, her coachman needed a doctor who would try his damnedest to keep the leg intact. Unlike that drunkard who’d been there after Ethan’s accident. That hack had taken his friend and passenger Connor’s limb with no more thought than he’d give to carving a Christmas ham.
Although he’d made sure the rescue team brought her trunk to her room, the need to do more nagged at him. But then, many things about Lady Charlotte Wentworth lingered in his brain.
The memory of the first time he’d seen her hadn’t faded despite the years. One look at those dark eyes across a dance floor, and he’d proudly scribbled his new title on her dance card at every gathering after that. On several occasions during the following weeks, he’d brought flowers to her home during calling hours, like a proper suitor. But when they spoke outside the confines of a waltz, she lacked the fire he’d witnessed today. Little by little, that initial attraction waned, replaced by disillusionment.