Scandal's Daughters

Chapter 16

Charlotte stood just outside the door of their last inn before London. A hired hackney awaited them at the curb, its door flung wide and inviting. Her legs shook.

She could not have wished to run away more.

London was going to be dreadful. Her chest constricted with dread. After last night, anywhere would be terrible. She could resolve to keep to herself all she wished, but the truth was Anthony was already inside her heart.

And breaking it from the inside out.

It was not wholly his fault. His assumptions were identical to those of every other man she’d ever met. She’d just hoped, with him, it could be different.

Charlotte realized he might not have consciously thought of her as a whore, as a prostitute who received coin in exchange for her favors. But he had seen her as easy pickings all the same.

He had clearly been shocked to learn she was still a virgin. That she hadn’t followed in her mother’s footsteps. In his experience, a proper debutante guarded her maidenhead because it was the most valuable social currency she owned. Someone like Charlotte, on the other hand, possessed no social currency. A whore’s illegitimate child would never be on the marriage mart. Her purity was meaningless.

Even the butcher’s son, the street sweepers, saw in her only the opportunity for a quick, forgettable tup. They had neither believed in her virginity nor cared in the slightest. They weren’t going to marry her. They weren’t even planning on asking her name.

And now Anthony. Wed to her. Kind to her. The closest she’d ever come to feeling like she had somewhere she belonged.

Yet even he had only seen her through the lens of what her mother had been.

Charlotte’s chest tightened in despair. He had once said his goal was to deserve her. She had always known she was the one who would never deserve him. Now they both knew.

He couldn’t help but identify her as a courtesan’s daughter. To associate their bed-play with her knowledge of her mother’s trade.

It wasn’t his fault. Had she not done the same? Associate him solely with Society because he moved there freely? Identify him as a rakish ne’er-do-well because that was she had assumed all men like him would be? She swallowed thickly. How could she blame him for returning the favor? Why should she expect, or deserve, anything else?

She lifted her chin in determination. Nothing would make him forget her past. But she didn’t want whore’s daughter to be what he saw every time he looked at her. She was not her mother. Thanks to Anthony, Charlotte was more of a person today than she had been before she met him. “Holding court” as an impromptu advisor in travelers’ inns had made her realize she did have value. Her mind was just as important as her body.

If she wanted her husband to see her as more than the product of her past, she would have to show him her future. And her courage.

Even if that meant returning to London.

She was returning to that cursed city not for herself, but for her husband. If there was any possibility of her father’s bequest helping to keep Anthony out of prison, utilizing it would be worth any amount of suffering.

He stepped out of the inn. Despite a rather tense breakfast—after the morning’s upset, she hadn’t wished to speak to him until she’d had the opportunity to collect her thoughts—he offered his arm without hesitation.

“Ready?” he asked.

Of course not. Taking a coach into London was like taking a hackney straight to hell.

She gripped his arm. “Ready.”

“I apologize for leaving your side for such a long moment,” he said as he helped her into the carriage. “I ran into an old friend as I was settling the account. Were you terribly bored?”

She shook her head. At this inn, at least, her face had become synonymous with a sympathetic ear. She was never alone for long.

“I met a woman seeking to hire a new governess. Based on what I learned speaking to the one who was desperate to leave the children behind, I think I was able to offer the woman a few sound suggestions for questions to ask during the interview.”

“I’ve no doubt your advice was on the mark.” His eyes sparkled. “Was it another wealthy old biddy? Did she shower you with pound notes, too?”

“She offered to. She said I’d saved her hours of time and the wasted salary of hiring someone unlikely to stay.”

His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Then why didn’t you accept her money?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. This was the future she wanted him to see when he looked at her. She smiled hesitantly. “I told her my name was Mrs. Fairfax, and the best way she could repay me would be to tell all her friends to schedule a consultation any time they found themselves in need of an impartial confidante or good, sound advice.”

His eyes widened with respect. “Darling, that’s brilliant. Such a reply should cement you in her mind all the more as a woman wise beyond compare.”

“Those were almost precisely her words.” Charlotte’s cheeks heated. She had never been called darling before. And had rarely been complimented.

“Then she was an excellent judge of character.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Every day, I discover yet another reason to be amazed that you are mine.”

She leaned into his caress. From this moment on, she intended to only give him positive surprises.

She was well aware of the irony in helping others improve their lives whilst she hadn’t the slightest inkling what to do with her own. But that was no longer true. She now had a purpose. Slowly, she was starting to have worth.

Rain streaked against the dusty glass as the carriage rattled ever closer to London. With Anthony at her side, the fear that had knotted her stomach began to ease.

Anthony didn’t see her as nothing more than a mirror of her mother. As far as he was concerned, she was the product of her own actions, not those of her parents. Her value came from within.

Now that she was Mrs. Fairfax, women unaware of her past spoke to her like an equal. An entire magical week had passed without being insulted, rebuffed, or propositioned even once.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed in sleepy contentment. It was definitely a life she would love to get used to. Her eyes drifted shut to dream.

“Charlotte?” Anthony pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “This is the final posting-house. We’re in London. Once we eat, we’ll head to my parents’ townhouse.”

London. She lifted her head and winced at a crick in her stiff neck.

Dusk was falling. The rain had eased. They had stopped in front of a posting-house. “You don’t want to go straight to your family?”

“I want food,” he replied, his expression shuttered. “My parents’ pantry has something of a capricious nature. Come. Let’s have a hot supper.”

She took his hand and let him hand her out of the carriage. A cold wind swept through the street, taking rubbish—and Charlotte’s loosened bonnet—with it.

Some yards up the street, an inebriated gentleman with a glass of some murky drink in his hand managed to swipe the bonnet up as it tumbled past. He swaggered unsteadily in her direction. “This yours, lassie?”

She snatched the now grimy bonnet from his hands. “Thank you.”

He frowned and leaned forward to squint at her. “Don’t I know you?”

Suddenly aware of the curl of her freshly washed hair and the setting sun illuminating her telltale face with rosy light, she hurriedly shoved the dirty bonnet back onto her head.

It was too late.

“You’re the dead spit of Judith Devon.” His cracked lips curved into a lascivious grin. “Had her a time or two before she got too old. You must be her daughter. Bet you like to shag just as much as your mama, eh?”

Before Charlotte could do more than stare at him, frozen in panic at having to face one of her mother’s many clients this far from London, a fist shot out and slammed into the man’s cheek, knocking him to the ground.

Anthony’s voice was icy with fury. “No one speaks to my wife with disrespect.”

“N-no, sir,” the gentleman stammered, wiping blood from his split lip. “I didn’t know she was yours.”

“Now you do.” Anthony wrapped his arm about Charlotte’s trembling shoulders and led her toward the posting-house. “Let’s leave the rubbish in the street.”

A thousand emotions assailed her whirling mind at once. Shame at even a drunkard being able to identify her for what she was. Humiliation that Anthony should witness it happening. Shock that, for the first time in her life, someone had come to her defense. Amazement and wonder at the realization that Anthony was her protector—in the true sense of the word.

He didn’t pay her for the use of her body. He respected her and required others to do the same.

Warmth began to ease back into her limbs. She took a shaky breath and leaned closer to Anthony to catch her breath. This wouldn’t be the last time she was accosted on the street.

But this time, she wouldn’t have to face it alone.