The real surprise was what she had asked of Char.
And in all the deliberation afterward, it had been Papa who’d offered the best advice. “You’ll remarry someday, Char, but you’ll always have a heart for Arthur’s children. Can you live knowing they could have had a better life with you? Can you live knowing what is likely to happen if you don’t take them in?”
What should she do now? Miss Toddy had promised. Was it all a ruse to obtain continued support from Char, since Arthur was gone?
She’d scoffed at the idea to begin with, but once she’d seen the new babe and the toddler, once she’d seen Arthur in them, the conflicting emotions nearly tore her heart out.
Now it was happening all over again.
“Please. Please don’t do this.” The tears filled her eyes, until one large drop tumbled over her cheek. She wiped at it and tried to find her voice. “Should I have the family solicitor speak with you?” It was a slight hope, a legal authority who might dissuade her from this folly. A desperate measure.
“I’ve made up my mind. I’m sorry, Lady Dunlevee.”
“Do you mind if I visit on occasion? I promise I will not be a nuisance.”
“No. It won’t be good for the boys. Or for you.”
“Of course. You are right.”
Char pushed to her feet. She’d patiently waited for over a year and half, thinking today she would be taking the children home, not here in London, but with Mama and Papa, who’d both accepted the idea. A nurse had been hired, a room prepared.
Miss Toddy stood, holding baby David over one shoulder and patting his back.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” How could she walk out the door? All these months of waiting, the exuberance, the despair, the secrecy?
The trickery and deceit.
Char stared at Miss Toddy. Jane. She was a pretty girl. It was easy to understand Arthur’s attraction, but she did not understand his betrayal. Char believed she’d been a good wife, offering as much or more than many titled ladies.
Only a woman who had been rejected by her husband could understand Char’s true feelings. How horrible it was to be rejected for reasons Arthur had never bothered to explain. She never wanted to experience such anguish again. She’d examined their marriage, she’d judged her actions and thoughts and attractiveness only to come up with one thing: It wasn’t about her.
“Did you love Arthur?” Char asked. Maybe that answer was the most important one.
“He loved me,” she said.
*
To Joshua’s mind, the Forresters’ reputation had grown disproportionately to a few unsavory events from their past, now long forgotten. The Forresters were, in fact, gentlemen.
So when a gentleman proposed marriage, he was subject to the woman’s wishes in the matter, unless he withdrew the offer and proved himself a first rate cad.
He had not stopped thinking about her, and those thoughts were all very pleasant indeed.
So why did he feel like a complete bounder?
Maybe because she was right. It was a shoddy, ill-conceived request unbecoming of a lady. Of course, he would make a proper request to her parents, and soon, which meant a trip to Long Leaf and the adjoining Taylor estate. Squire Taylor had always been an amendable neighbor and an industrious landlord, but Joshua had not seen him in years. What would he think of a sudden betrothal?
So why had Joshua done it?
He did not particularly cherish bachelorhood, but the alternative seemed so interminable. Permanency with Char Dunlevee had all sorts of appeal, though. Had his being alone all these years finally asserted itself? Had his cold heart finally cracked? Kisses such as the one he had shared with her had warmed more than the cockles of his heart.
He had only gone to Lady Beckham’s to hand over a written apology. He might have been as dazed as she had been by the unscripted declaration. He held back a smile. Hadn’t their kiss been unscripted also? Yet, he did not regret the kiss, or quite frankly, the proposal, only how he’d made the request.
But first things first. There was one impediment, and he meant to rectify the matter today. Tuesday. At DuChamp’s salon.
He hurried up the marble steps and the first person he met was Ward Sutherland, standing next to a large clock with a loud second hand.
“Couldn’t resist, I see,” Ward said.
“We men are such weak creatures.” Joshua would have winked and nodded at such behavior before. Before he knew a lady such as Char had been trapped. Or disillusioned. Or whatever it was that had ultimately influenced her decision.
Ward and a few others went into the main room to take their seats. Joshua lagged behind, glanced at his pocket watch and then disappeared down the hallway outside the studio. Each tick of the clock sounded as if it were his own heart.
He envisioned the inside of the interior room, realizing the hallway continued on, making a sharp left turn. And there was the private entrance. The undressing room. Even better, further on was a private way outside.