Page 1 of The Honorable Rogue (The Notorious Nightingales #5)

CHAPTER ONE

C harles Thomas rode into the village. He would eat and drink, then resume his journey to London to tell his younger sister what he’d learned since his father’s passing. It would not go well, so he was most definitely not arriving on an empty stomach.

Patting his inside pocket, he felt the crinkle of paper. Going through his father’s things, he’d found evidence of his perfidy, and the weight of that made his jacket feel heavy.

Stabling his mount, Charles walked down the main street.

I can’t live without you.

He stopped as the words slid into his head. Despair, he thought. Turning in a circle, he saw no one who appeared upset, and yet he knew whoever had spoken those words was that.

The pain of losing you is too much.

Charles stared at the narrow building to his left, which listed slightly to the right. It was two stories with a large sign stating Trotter’s Books above the door.

Please make the pain stop.

Charles was a clairvoyant, and his ability was to hear voices. For the most part, he blocked them out, but one had got through.

He was sure the words were coming from inside there. Ducking so he did not hit his head on the doorframe, he entered the shop.

“Good day to you,” the young woman behind the counter said.

“Good day.”

“Let me know if you require my assistance at any time, sir.”

“I will, thank you.”

Charles felt the need to climb the winding staircase. Reaching the top, he saw this floor held bookshelves on two sides and a shorter one down the center, which did not leave a great deal of room for walking. Looking around, he saw it was empty. Deciding to see what books the shop had on offer, as he was here, he browsed down the first aisle. It was as he reached the end that he heard a loud sniff.

Glancing around, he saw the top of a bonnet behind a half wall. Whoever that bonnet belonged to, she was weeping. Was she the owner of those words? He had two options: stay and ask if she was all right or leave and ride as far away from this woman as he could get. He wanted to take the second option, but the gentleman in him couldn’t. Plus, he had sisters, and if one of them were distressed, he’d want someone to help them.

As he moved closer, Charles observed a bench seat on his side of the half wall, and he realized she was seated on the other side, now facing the stairs he had climbed.

“I have no wish to startle you, madam, only ask if you are all right.” He deliberately kept his voice gentle.

The crying stopped with a loud gulp. Charles sat opposite her .

“I am well… th-thank you.” The voice was raspy from crying.

“I sometimes wish I could cry like you are,” Charles said.

“But surely n-no one can stop you,” she said.

“I’m a man. I cannot simply sit and weep, madam. It would be seen as weakness.”

“That’s silly.” Another loud sniff followed these words. “If you wish to sit and w-weep, then you should,” she said.

“I don’t, actually, but the option would be nice.”

“Well then, here is your chance.”

He heard rustling and then the sound of more sniffing.

“I came here to be alone, sir.”

“You were until I arrived.” She made a snuffling sound at that and then sighed.

“Surely it is a bookshop, so there was the chance that someone would be here?” Charles said.

“I checked first. Had it been busy, I would have found somewhere else.”

“Are you all right, madam?” he asked again, unsure how to proceed. Should he start looking at the books again? Or walk around the wall and sit next to her?

“I lost my fiancé, Tobias,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “It hurts. I came here for some privacy because I had no wish for my family to see me upset.”

“In a bookshop?”

“I did not come here to weep, merely browse and be alone,” she said with a little more strength in her voice. “But I found a book that reminded me of my friend?—”

“And the weeping started?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You cared for your fiancé very much?” Charles asked.

“We have known each other since we were babes. I-I’m not sure how to go on without him, even so many months after his d-death. ”

Charles knew she was crying again because her voice wobbled. Having two sisters, he was well used to tears and still hated them.

“How long ago did he die?”

“Six months, and I know I should not still be weeping piously in a bookstore alone. But sometimes the grief creeps up on me, and I feel the need.”

“I doubt there is a time limit on grief. My father died recently, and I’m sure I will grieve for him my entire life, even if he is not who I thought he was,” he muttered.

“He wasn’t your father?” she asked.

“He was, but after he died, things came to light, and it seems his character fooled us for many years.” Charles had no idea why he’d said that to a complete stranger, and yet he had. Perhaps because he’d never see her again. Or perhaps because it felt good to say the words out loud.

“I’m sorry. That has to be hard.”

“Extremely.”

“We had put off marrying, as there really was no hurry,” she said then, as if him sharing something had urged her to do so. “I wish we hadn’t—at least then I would have memories of our life together as husband and wife,” she added in a sad little voice. “N-now, I am unsure how to go on.”

“But surely he would wish you to do exactly that,” Charles said. “What would he say to you right now if he heard you say those words?”

“He would say that I was always the stronger of the two of us, and I must live life now for the both of us and do what I always wanted to do.”

“He sounds a sensible sort.”

“Far more sensible than me,” she said.

“My father always had good advice, even if I had no wish to hear it,” Charles said.

“I have a brother like that. He’s excessively irritating. ”

Charles snorted. “As is my elder sister.”

“Can you forgive your father, sir?”

“I don’t know,” he said, being honest with himself for the first time since he’d learned what his father had done. “I will be faced with his actions for the rest of my life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is never easy to see that the life you thought you lived was, in fact, a lie,” Charles said. “I must admit there is anger mixed in with the love now when I think of him.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must be, sir.”

Closing his eyes, Charles tried to picture this woman’s face. He didn’t think she was overly tall. He was and rose above the half wall, whereas he could only see her bonnet. Was she dark or fair? Blue eyed or brown? It was intriguing not knowing.

Had they met before?

“What have you always wanted to do?” Charles asked. “You said your friend would want you to do it.”

“I study languages,” she said. “I want to learn twenty before I die. My friend challenged me to achieve that.”

“Well then, you must for the both of you.”

“There are many factors to consider now.” She sighed. “Plus, I am no longer as driven to do so.”

“Will you tell me about him, your friend?” Charles asked.

“He always said the right thing?—”

“You cannot tell me that was not vexing upon occasion,” Charles interrupted her.

She gave a desperate little laugh. “Oh, it was, but he was also calm and rational. Everyone loved him.”

She spoke of the adventures she and her beloved fiancé had taken. The streams they’d walked through and trees they’d climbed, and Charles heard the love in each word.

What would it be like to love like that ?

Then she spoke of the day he grew ill. He’d fallen from his horse coming to see her and hit his head.

“I was with him when he died.”

“It must have been a comfort to him knowing you were,” Charles said.

“It’s my hope it was,” she whispered. “But he never regained consciousness.”

They were both silent then, lost in their thoughts. Two strangers, alone for a small moment in time, who would likely never see each other again after this day.

“Tell me about your father, sir.”

Charles talked about the man he’d loved and, yes, respected, or thought he had. It was comforting and even cathartic to speak of happier times and memories. She laughed when he talked of the silly things his father had done.

“I’m sorry that he wasn’t who you thought he’d always been, sir, but your memories of him tell me you loved him deeply. Hold on to those.”

“I will try.”

They sat in silence for long minutes, and it was a comfortable one, Charles thought, which should be odd, as they did not know each other.

“So how do we go on, madam?” Charles was the first to break it. “Will we live our lives in maudlin sadness because of our suffering?”

“That sounds horrid,” she said.

“I think you must grieve. Also start living again. Because to live a half-life serves no purpose. A life where you simply go through each day numb and doing very little but existing will be a long and sad one.”

“That sounds horrid too,” she said.

“Live your life for the man you loved, madam. Embrace his memories, but don’t let them keep you from enjoying life.”

“I want to do that, but the weight in my heart is so heavy.”

“I carry it, too, from the loss of my father. And you probably have no wish to hear this, as I’m sure others have said it as they have to me, but the pain will lessen and become a dull ache, like a sore tooth.”

She snuffled again.

“But you can live without him.” Her silence told Charles she wasn’t sure about that.

“Do you have hobbies, madam, other than languages?”

“Do you?” she countered, and Charles had a feeling this woman, when not grieving, was not one to take a backstep when a forward one was offered.

“I write stories.”

“I admire people who can do that. I’m horribly unimaginative,” she said. “But I do like to learn languages.”

“How many do you speak currently?”

“Seven.”

He said hello in French. She returned his greeting, so he went for Latin next. This she knew also.

“That’s about the extent of my language knowledge,” he said.

She then proceeded to greet him in several languages, explaining after each which country they were from.

“I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. My friend said I was excessively annoying, as I could insult him in another language, and he didn’t know what I was saying.”

Charles laughed.

“I also have a list I must fulfill for him.”

“List?” Charles asked.

“Things we wanted each other to achieve before we… b-before we passed,” she said. She fell silent then, collecting he rself before speaking again. “We wrote it years ago. One of my tasks is learning to speak Russian.”

“Not terribly easy, I should imagine,” Charles said.

“I will complete the list for him.” He heard the determination in her voice.

“And honor his memory in doing so,” Charles said, and she sighed.

“I am not a person who always stays on task.”

“I also have a sister like that. She’s younger than me.”

“My friend knew me better than anyone, sir. For example, I have a dislike of crooked things. He used to understand that and straighten them for me.”

The man sounds like a bloody paragon.

“That has to prove difficult in London, as so many buildings are crooked,” Charles said.

“I look down a great deal if I go there.”

He laughed.

“I fear being ill.” The words were spoken before he could swallow them down. “I was ill as a child, and I know it’s irrational, and for the most part I can cope, but even a sniffle can be taxing.”

“I’m sorry you were a sick child, sir. Fears, I think, are not rational and overwhelm us before we can dismiss them.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Exactly that.”

“My brother fears heights. He becomes a child when forced to climb anything.”

“I’m quite sure I would enjoy that one a great deal more,” Charles said gravely.

“I fear knowing my friend is not there to speak to when I need him. To discuss things with or be exactly myself,” she said in a rush of words. “I fear I will never love another like I did him.”

Charles thought about that. He had his sisters whom he loved, but he’d never loved like this woman had .

“To say there will be another would be easy right now,” he said. “And perhaps there will not be, but I think one day you owe it to him to at least try.”

“My aunt grieved the loss of her husband until she died,” she said.

“How old was your aunt when her husband died?”

She made a small sound that could have been demonstrating her annoyance, which made him smile. “Sixty.”

“Well, unless you are that age?—”

“Which I’m not.” She sighed. “Are you a practical sort, sir?”

“Very much so. It annoys my family excessively.”

“My friend was like that. It annoyed me also.”

Charles laughed, and to his surprise, she joined in, and soon they were both laughing for no other reason than they could.

“Thank you for talking with me, sir,” she said when they’d stopped. “I feel a great deal better.”

“Shall we make a promise to each other, madam?”

“If you wish.”

“Shall we try and move past our grief and anger?—”

“I am not angry.”

“Yes, you are. You’re angry that he left you.”

“I-I—” She fell silent. “I hadn’t even realized that until this moment,” she said softly.

“Live your life for the man you loved, madam. And I will live mine for the man my father was. But most importantly, live it for yourself.”

“I will try,” she said. “Are you here for a book, sir?”

“Nothing specific. I was just browsing.” Charles could hardly say he’d heard her voice in his head and come to investigate.

“If you will stand up, I will direct you to one that I think you may enjoy, as my friend and I both did. ”

“Very well.” Charles regained his feet, thinking her instructions odd.

“Go to the end of the last row on the far wall and look up to the third shelf. The book is the farthest on the right, against the wood.”

He walked to where she’d directed and found the book. The spine said The Seven Voyages of Captain Majorie.

When he returned to his seat, she was gone. Walking around the half wall, he saw her handkerchief. Lifting it to his nose, Charles inhaled the soft, subtle scent.

He felt a ridiculous need to follow her and see her face, but he knew she’d wanted to leave before that happened. It had been an interlude he and the stranger shared—nothing more. But for some reason, the short time they’d spent together meant a great deal more to him than it should.

Tucking the handkerchief into his pocket, he went to pay for the book and leave. It was time to head to London.