“I’d thought to make the acquaintance of Charlotte’s friends.” To learn what he could from them about a woman he was likely to spend the rest of his life with.
“Ah, now, there I can offer you a bit of marital advice,” Westhaven said, with more enthusiasm than the topic warranted. “You be Charlotte’s friend and allow her to be yours. The other part is lovely of course—connubial bliss is more than a cliché—but be Charlotte’s friend.”
The aristocracy was prone to eccentricity—foxes under the sofa, for example. “I’ll be her husband, once you approve those settlements. Good day, my lord.”
Sherbourne left the earl’s townhouse with much to ponder. Westhaven was a lordly prig, a ferociously devoted father, a loyal brother and cousin, and a conscientious minder of the family fortunes.
Also besotted with his countess, if gossip was to be believed.
Sherbourne was not besotted with Charlotte Windham, but one admission she’d made gave him peace where their union was concerned: If I were to marry anybody, it would be you.
If Charlotte was honest—and Sherbourne believed she was—then her objection was not to him personally, but to marriage in general. He wasn’t overly fond of the institution himself, which boded well for their expectations of each other, if not for their connubial bliss.
*
“The only possible risk is that he might from time to time be somewhat cash poor,” Maggie, Countess of Hazelton, said. “The same ailment afflicts half the titled families in the realm.”
“Sherbourne is poor?” Charlotte couldn’t keep the dismay from her tone.
“Far from it,” Maggie replied, taking off a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. “We would never allow you to entertain his suit if he were without means. Sherbourne’s worth is impressive. He owns majority shares in a bank, shipping ventures, and numerous mercantile establishments. He owns an entire school in the Midlands and built a hotel last year in the Lakes that was booked to capacity all summer.”
“May I see the figures?”
Westhaven had given Charlotte a summary version of the negotiations: Sherbourne had met or exceeded every item on the Westhaven’s list—unasked.
His lordship hadn’t seen fit to explain to Charlotte what the list of demands had entailed. If Sherbourne had been negotiating settlements on behalf of a cousin, he would have ensured that she grasped every detail, down to the penny.
“Charlotte, I understand that you’re nervous,” Maggie said, pouring herself a third cup of tea. “But you needn’t fret about the settlements. Sherbourne assured Westhaven that every aspect of his proposal was within his means.”
“You have doubts.” Charlotte certainly had doubts, an entire queasy tummy full. She’d sent Tansy to the post with next month’s payments for the various Mrs. Wesleys, but Tansy wasn’t coming to Wales. Charlotte would need to establish alternate arrangements almost as soon as she arrived at Sherbourne Hall.
“I have reservations,” Maggie said, “but then, I’ve become averse to risk since the boys came along.”
The boys were at present with their papa in the park, flying kites, sailing boats on the Serpentine, and otherwise enjoying a pretty autumn day. Would Sherbourne take time for outings with his children?
And good gracious, Charlotte blushed to think of how those children would be conceived. Sharing passionate kisses was all well and good—also safe. Never had a child resulted from intemperate kisses alone. This marriage would involve far more than kisses, though, Sherbourne had made that clear.
“I need pin money, Maggie. Lots and lots of pin money.”
Her ladyship was a formidable redhead nearly six inches taller than Charlotte. The countess had a regal air, despite having been born on the wrong side of the ducal blanket.
“The sums proposed are generous to a fault, Charlotte. Why do you need more?”
“I just do. Sherbourne has never had a wife before, and he can’t very well waltz into his club and ask the nearest viscount how much a well-born missus costs these days. He won’t know enough to quibble over the figure for pin money.”
Pin money was Charlotte’s to use as she alone saw fit—even Sherbourne had defined it thus—and yet, deceiving him made her uneasy. Telling him the truth regarding the various Mrs. Wesleys was impossible. Not yet. Not before the wedding, and possibly not after.
Maggie lifted the pot as if to refill Charlotte’s cup, but Charlotte hadn’t taken more than a polite sip. Her ladyship set down the teapot and gave Charlotte an uncomfortably protracted perusal.
“Charlotte, you were seen by Their Graces in a most passionate embrace with your prospective spouse. If you don’t care for him, say so now.”
That interrupted farewell kiss had not been the most passionate Charlotte had shared with Sherbourne.
“I respect the gentleman greatly, but hardly know what to expect from marriage to him.” After Charlotte’s initial refusal of his suit, how could their wedding night be anything but awkward? “He was compelled by honor to propose to me, and that is not the best foundation for a successful marriage.”
“Would you like a crumpet?”
“No, thank you.” Did polite society have nothing better to do than swill tea and consume sweets?
“If honor compelled him to propose, what compelled you to accept?”
The same inconvenient honor. “I was tired of turning down buffoons. Mr. Sherbourne is a surpassingly sensible man and he doesn’t put on airs.”
“You’re saying he suits you.”
Charlotte wanted to bolt away from the conversation, but Maggie was family, and as the oldest female cousin, she’d always been something of a confidante.
“I hope he suits me. I still need more pin money.”
“Then we’ll reduce his contribution to your dower account.”
He had offered settlements at the limit of what Maggie considered prudent. Why? “Reduce them by as much as you can without insulting him. I have no wish to beggar my husband.”
“You won’t,” Maggie said, munching on a crumpet. “He’s merely in the same position as most of the best families, though his wealth is tied up in commercial assets rather than land. He has a substantial income, and he’s reinvesting much of it in his mining venture. New businesses typically require capital and attention before they become profitable. He also refuses to treat his bank as his personal treasure trove, which is commendable.”
Maggie reviewed with Charlotte the terms of the proposed agreement, paragraph by paragraph, but Charlotte couldn’t focus. The numbers stuck with her of course, but the endless, convoluted words…
“You’re woolgathering,” Maggie said, some thirty minutes later. “With a wedding in less than a week, you’re entitled.”
By special license, of course. The stated reason was to allow the ceremony to take place at the Moreland townhouse, but the real reason was Her Grace’s nerves.
“I’m preoccupied,” Charlotte said, the grandmama of all understatements, surely. “I wish I knew what to expect. Mr. Sherbourne and I aren’t that well acquainted. I know hardly anything about him.”
Maggie patted her hand. “Marriage is an adventure for two. Look for the good in him, the same as you would with any friend. Give him your loyalty and the benefit of the doubt, find things to laugh about together, and don’t worry if the early days are a bit bumpy. That’s part of it.”
What about the wedding night? What about those moments under the covers when the two became as one flesh?
“Maggie, the whole business makes me…anxious.”
Panicked, in truth. Charlotte was about to take vows with a man who believed she didn’t respect him, and who very possibly didn’t respect her. How in all creation was she to get through the wedding night?
“If you’re anxious, that’s good. Marriage is an enormous step. One shouldn’t take it lightly.” Maggie left off studying the garden. “They’re back,” she said, rising and gathering her skirts. “I can hear them coming up the alley. We must greet them and hear all about their adventures.”