Page 59 of Rogue of My Heart

“Despite being bossy and fussy, as you put it?”

A ghost of a smile played at her lips. “Yes. I do know all there is to know about running a household. I’m not particularly accomplished at playing music or drawing, but I am quite useful with a needle and thread.”

“Stop.” He held up a hand to cease her speech. “I don’t need you to sell me on yourself, Charlotte. I wouldn’t have offered to marry you unless I believed you capable of being a good wife. And I don’t give a damn about your skills, musical or otherwise.” He forked a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t be an arse about this. This was his mess to clean up. Still he couldn’t not mention her rejections. “You should see things from my perspective though. I’ve offered for you, asked you to be my wife, twice now, and you’ve turned me down both times. That doesn’t really illicit a sense of generosity in me.”

She winced slightly, then nodded, and she stood. “I understand.”

He came to his feet. “I’ll go see the Bishop first thing and secure a special license. We’ll marry in two days. I will send a carriage over to gather your belongings tomorrow, whatever it is you wish to move with you. And I’ll send a note over with all the details of where the ceremony shall be held.” He met her gaze, and held out a stack of bank notes he’d withdrawn from one of his desk drawers. “This should cover any gown costs you’ll need. But if more is required, just let me know.”

She opened and closed her mouth several times, looking very much like a fish. “You’ll marry me?” she finally asked.

He grabbed her hand and stuffed the funds into her palm. “Yes, Charlotte, I’ll marry you.” Then he turned and left the room.

They wouldn’t have to have a traditional marriage. They could marry quietly, perhaps even persuade people to believe they’d already been engaged. They’d known each other long enough that it could be believable. Then he’d take her. He’d consummate their marriage and sate his lust for her, once and for all. After that, they’d have a traditional English marriage. One where they were polite and civil, and discussed nothing more than menus and draperies.

Eight

Charlotte stared at the mirror above her dressing table, but failed to see her own reflection. Behind her, the room was a flurry of activity. It wasn’t every day that she got married. After all the weddings of her friends over the last year, today was her day, today she was the bride.

It was totally unnecessary that all of them be here, but here they all were. Her mother, Frannie, Amelia, Meg, and Willow. They bustled about, getting last minute details in order. Directly behind Charlotte, her maid, Anne, made the final arrangements of a very complicated coiffure. How she would get all the pins out this evening was beyond her.

“Charlotte, are you finished?” Amelia asked as Anne put the last pin in place.

Charlotte rose and turned to face her friends. “I believe so.”

Her mother came and stood before her, grabbed both of her hands. “You look exquisite.” She leaned up and kissed Charlotte’s cheek.

“Thank you. Might I have a few moments alone with my friends?” Charlotte asked.

“Certainly,” her mother said.

“The carriages should all be outside waiting,” Meg said.

“Thank you, Meg, for your generosity,” her mother said, then she and Frannie stepped out of the room.

“Are you nervous?” Amelia asked.

“No,” Charlotte said immediately, but the word still felt like a lie. “Why should I be nervous? It’s Edmond.” Her apprehensive laugh probably betrayed her words. The fact was, she was beyond jittery. She was about to marry a man she did not love, and whom did not love her. It was certainly not the first marriage of the sort, and would not be the last.

“I never would have thought to put you two together,” Meg said. “But the more I think of you as a couple, the more it makes sense. As if the two of you were inevitable.”

Charlotte offered her friend a weak smile. It was kind of Meg to try to lift her spirits and add some romance to the day. Everyone danced around the truth of the matter. That she was a ruined woman, and Edmond was a selfless man who’d offered to save her.

That he had stepped in to save the poor, ruined Charlotte. The words went unsaid, but everyone knew who the hero for today was. She might be the bride, it might be her day in that regard, but Edmond was the one who deserved the credit and the attention.

“He said he needed a wife,” Charlotte said, unsure if the explanation would matter. She conveniently left out the part where she’d initially declined his proposal, then had to swallow her pride and beg him to marry her regardless.

“And who better than one of my best friends?” Willow said, then pulled Charlotte towards her in a gentle squeeze. “We shall be sisters. I always wanted a sister.”

The rest of the girls joined them.

“I know you’ll be as happy as Colin and I are,” Amelia said.

“Just give it some time,” Meg said.

“Oh, stop it. All of you,” Charlotte said. “You’re saying all the right things, but not one of you are smiling. What is the matter? This is my wedding, not a funeral.” She stared at each of their faces. “You are all worried, then?” she asked. “You believe I’m making a mistake, that I’ll never be happy?”

“Were you not worried about me when it looked as though Colin would never come to his senses?” Amelia asked. “Or when Meg herself was compromised, and chose to out herself to protect Gareth? And what about Willow who nearly missed her perfect match because of her stubborn nature?”